Dear Peter:

As I read your profound insights and the quotes you included, I find myself- as i often do- developing my own thoughts alongside them.

“I can hear myself saying ‘family can’t help family.’ I do not recall the events leading up to that realization… or maybe I do…” — Perhaps the mind shields itself from painful or complicated memories, hesitating to fully confront and process the events.

For the longest time, I didn’t remember that my mother found pleasure in seeing her shaming words register on my face. When that memory resurfaced about a year ago, I saw her more as a villain—a further shift from viewing her as a victim to seeing her as a victimizer. Over the past couple of days, as my anger seems to have untangled, I no longer view her solely as a victim or a victimizer. I see her as both. And now, instead of anger, I feel compassion for her.

“In trying to help family our ‘ghosts’ can’t help themselves from ‘playing’ and haunting, triggering old pains. Pain that only distance is capable of seeing…” — I am learning that recognizing and working through my own emotional pain is critical to ensuring that I don’t unintentionally complicate or hinder a family member’s healing process.

Acknowledging my emotional pain helps me differentiate my feelings from theirs, preventing projection. If my pain remains overwhelming or unresolved, it blurs boundaries—causing me to take their pain too deeply or feel drained in my attempts to help. Addressing my own pain makes it possible for me to be present without overextending myself.

Unresolved pain can cause me to dismiss, amplify, or misinterpret a family member’s feelings. By working on my healing, I can empathize genuinely, without reacting from my own hurt.

Demonstrating emotional resilience and awareness may create an example for loved ones—showing them the importance of personal growth and the value of addressing their own challenges.

Supporting someone doesn’t mean “fixing” their pain—it often means simply witnessing and validating their experience. When I work through my own emotional pain, I am better equipped to offer this kind of nonjudgmental support.

“I wonder if in such moments witnessing is the role left to us, perhaps to acknowledge the ‘tears in things’… doesn’t feel enough. The Hawaiian ritual Ho’oponopono coming to mind as memory of family, mother, father arise… I love you; I thank you; I forgive you, please forgive me…” — Witnessing their pain means being present, empathetic, and nonjudgmental—not trying to fix or change the situation, but simply acknowledging it.

“I recently came across a Youtube video – Like Stories of Old – ‘Why We Can’t Save Those We Love’ that explores this notion. That in the stories we tell and witness we are not alone… It’s worth watching.” — For some reason, I feel reluctant to watch it. Maybe I will. As to the question, “Why can’t we save those we love?” an answer that comes to mind is that we care too much. The saying, “anything in moderation,” seems relevant. How do I not care too much? By resolving further my own pain.

“It is true we can seldom help those closest to us.” — Our own unresolved issues and emotions—our “ghosts”—often resurface. These ghosts can unconsciously shape how we perceive and respond to their struggles, complicating the situation rather than helping it. In close relationships, blurred boundaries can make it difficult to differentiate between their pain and our own, leading to either overinvolvement or detachment—both of which are counterproductive.

Even with the best intentions, our ability to help is limited because no one can truly “fix” someone else’s inner struggles. We can offer support, but the work must be done by the individual themselves.

“Either we don’t know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.” — Even with the best intentions, the support we provide may not align with what the person actually needs or is ready to accept. For instance, offering advice when they only want someone to listen, expressing concern when they perceive it as judgment, or taking action when it feels patronizing. This makes me think that the most effective way to help is to simply be present—bearing witness to their experience and respecting their autonomy to heal in their own way.

“And so, it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them – we can love completely without complete understanding.” — This highlights the individuality of human beings. No matter how close we are, there will always be elements of mystery in relationships. While complete understanding may elude us, it doesn’t have to limit our ability to love fully. Love isn’t conditional on perfect comprehension; it is rooted in acceptance, empathy, and presence.

“What I saw might have been just another winter scene, although an impressive one. But what I knew was that the earth underneath was alive and that by tomorrow, certainly by the day after, it would be all green again. So, what I saw because of what I knew was a kind of death with the marvelous promise…” — Maclean beautifully reflects on the contrast between the apparent “death” of winter and the vibrant life hidden beneath it. By recognizing the earth’s cyclical transformation, he captures the promise of renewal.

The strangest thing just happened. I just felt something entirely new: a sadness, a goodbye to the winter of my life— a goodbye to the old me. I felt as though I will miss the old me, however painful my life has been, because it will soon be gone. This transformation—from anger to compassion, from duality (this OR that) to inclusiveness—marks the death of the self I’ve known and experienced until now. I will miss me. strange..?

anita

Dear Jana:

🌸 Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m deeply grateful for your warmth and support. It’s so encouraging to know that my photo expressed joy and freedom. Your happiness for me is heartwarming, and I appreciate it more than I can express. ❤️

I’ll be posting a reply to your earlier message soon, as your reflections deserve my full attention. Thank you again for being such a genuine and caring presence in my journey! 😊

anita

Typing as I am thinking: first, I intend to have my image- a recent photo of me dancing- show up above my name for the first time in 10 years I’ve been on tiny buddha. I want people to see me. I tried to make this happen this evening, but am having technical difficulties. Hopefully tomorrow.

I don’t want to hide anymore, don’t want to minimize myself. So, my photo is next ✨

It no longer has to be ME or MY MOTHER, empathy for her OR empathy for myself. It can be both- empathy for her (from afar) and empathy for me.

I’ve been alone for so long, terribly alone, socially isolated, that I have to learn the ABC of positive human interactions. It’s like in that movie where people’s lives stopped in their youths and resumed in their middle age, a big gap in between… Awakening is the name of it.

anita

Dear Jana:

Thank you so much for sharing your reflections yesterday. Your words have stayed with me and inspired some meaningful thinking, which I’d love to share with you.

You mentioned, “Let her go,” when referring to my mother, and, “I only learned to let her be herself and let me be myself,” when talking about your own. Letting go has been incredibly difficult for me, largely because my mother’s presence was so overwhelming that it left no space for me to simply be myself. Her emotions and needs consumed so much room that I had to minimize myself—shrinking smaller and smaller—just to survive. Without enough of “me,” letting go has felt impossible.

I wonder if the connection you found with nature helped you feel more like yourself—more whole—and created the space you needed to let go. Perhaps the openness and stillness of nature allowed you to reclaim enough of yourself to feel free. And maybe your relationship with your mother was inherently different from mine; if she wasn’t personality disordered, as I suspect, that could have made letting go less complicated for you.

Your comment about my attachment to my mother also made me reflect. I believe that attachment is deeply tied to the lack of space I had for my own identity. Her overwhelming presence left me feeling as though I wasn’t truly my own person—like I existed as an extension of her. Letting go has meant not only releasing her but also reclaiming the parts of myself that were overshadowed or lost.

Thank you for sharing your perspective—it’s helped me gain deeper insight into my own experiences, and I really appreciate you listening. I’d love to hear more of your thoughts.

anita