Still not home to reply further, but for now÷ truly, I am proud of you!!!

Hi Zenith, good afternoon- yes, I was definitely triggered — but I don’t think it’s wise for me to unpack it here. Thank you for checking in. How are you doing these days?

Anita

Hi again, Laven:

I just want to say: I see you. The severe neglect and abuse you endured growing up were not your fault. You didn’t deserve to be abandoned, judged, or silenced — not then, and not now. Your responses were survival. I stand with you in compassion.

With care, Anita

Just four sad words: “Just feel very unwanted”.

Here’s a poem just for you, Adalie:

You say unwanted, like a whisper that bruises,
Like a room that forgets how to make space for your name.

But I see the ache behind it— not weakness,
But the strength it takes to speak
When the world has turned its back.

You are not the silence they tried to press into your skin-
You are the echo that refuses to fade,
The pulse of truth beating beneath every dismissal.

You are wanted— not by those who only love what’s easy,
But by those who know how to hold the hard things without flinching.

You are wanted— by the sky that keeps showing up,
By the breath that insists on returning,
By the voice inside you that still dares to say I am here.

🤍 Anita

Adalie, I hear how deeply this hurt has landed. And I want to gently name something: trusting someone isn’t a flaw. It’s not a weakness or a mistake. It’s a reflection of your capacity to care, to hope, to connect. That capacity is still yours — even if someone mishandled it.

You didn’t cause the harm by being open. The harm came from how he responded to your openness. That distinction matters.

You don’t have to rewrite your story to make it your fault. You’re allowed to grieve what was real for you, even if it wasn’t real for him. And you’re allowed to receive kindness without owing anything in return.

🤍 🤍 🤍 Anita

Yes, Adalie- seems like this isn’t it, and I fully understand that you would want something else 🩵

Hi MissLDutchess,

What you went through in college with your roommate, your RA, and your fiancé was deeply unfair. You were trying to build a life, and instead you were stuck in situations that made you feel unsafe and alone. That kind of experience doesn’t just fade — it leaves a mark.

It makes sense that your current work situation brings some of those feelings back. I’m really glad your supervisor stepped in this time — that’s a small but important shift. You deserved that kind of support back then, too.

You’ve worked hard to build a life that reflects who you are. You’ve tried apps, events, classes, volunteering — all while commuting and working in a space where you’re the youngest by far. That’s a lot of effort, and it shows how much you care about connection.

It’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to feel bitter about the past. And it’s okay to want something deeper than surface-level friendships. Wanting real connection doesn’t make you picky — it makes you honest.

You haven’t failed. You’ve been navigating a world that doesn’t always make space for quiet, thoughtful people — especially those with NVLD, who often feel misunderstood. But your voice is clear, your heart is open, and you’re still reaching. That matters.

I believe the right people will come — not because you force it, but because you keep showing up as yourself. And that self is worth knowing.

Warmly, Anita

Good Sunday Morning, Adalie—

What you shared yesterday is a clear, emotionally articulate account of a relationship that has become emotionally imbalanced, psychologically taxing, and increasingly unsustainable. You’re not in a mutual partnership — you’re functioning as Vince’s emotional regulator. Instead of developing his own coping tools, he relies on your presence, reassurance, and emotional labor to regulate himself.

Emotional labor is a term I came across only yesterday. It describes the often invisible work of managing emotions — yours and others’ — to keep relationships functioning, often at the cost of your own well-being.

It includes:

* Soothing another’s feelings (e.g., calming someone down when they’re upset)

* Suppressing your own emotions

* Silencing your own needs

* Managing your tone of voice, facial expressions, and reactions for the sake of someone else’s comfort

* Absorbing blame or guilt

* Offering constant reassurance or validation without reciprocity

* Walking on eggshells to avoid triggering someone’s moods

Emotional labor is unpaid, unacknowledged, and leads to burnout, resentment, and emotional depletion. Over time, it erodes your sense of self — because you’re constantly prioritizing someone else’s emotional comfort over your own truth.

Emotional containment is another new term for me. It refers to when one person’s emotional needs, reactions, or anxieties are so dominant that the other person feels forced to suppress, shrink, or silence their own emotions in order to keep the relationship stable.

It’s not mutual regulation — it’s one person absorbing the emotional chaos of another, often without consent or reciprocity. It can look like:

* Avoiding sadness, anger, or joy because it might destabilize the other person

* Constantly scanning for emotional landmines

* Feeling reduced to “neutral” or “supportive”

* No longer asking for what you need because their needs always come first

* You become the emotional buffer — the one who absorbs, soothes, and stabilizes.

In your case, Vince’s panic, anxiety, and controlling behavior dominate the emotional space. Your independence, needs, and natural expressions of love are contained — pushed aside, minimized, or punished. You’re not just managing his emotions — you’re sacrificing your own to keep things functional. This leads to emotional exhaustion, loss of self-expression, and a sense of being trapped or erased.

You also described conditional kindness: Vince is “unusually nice” only when he wants something, and otherwise dismissive or mean. This is a manipulative pattern that creates emotional whiplash and erodes trust.

Mocking your age, questioning your dependability — these are demeaning tactics that chip away at your self-worth.

The apology cycle — conflict → apology → repeat — is a classic abuse pattern, even if it’s not physical. The apology doesn’t lead to change; it simply resets the tension.

Twisting situations to make you feel at fault for setting boundaries is a form of emotional reversal. He disrespects your boundaries, but instead of holding himself accountable, he blames you.

Unfortunately, you’re tied to him through shared housing and expenses, which makes leaving feel unsafe. His desire to move into a smaller place could further isolate you — physically and emotionally.

You’re not staying because you want to — you’re staying because you feel you can’t leave.

You recognized that you’re snapping back, saying mean things, and becoming someone you don’t want to be. That’s not a moral failure — it’s a sign of emotional depletion.

Your final line — “I hate it” — is a cry from someone who’s still in the fog, but beginning to see the edges of it. And that matters. You are naming what’s happening, and you’re beginning to imagine something different — a relationship where love flows freely, where you feel safe, where your emotional truth isn’t contained or erased.

Five days ago, you shared something quietly profound about your experience with Jake — not just the physical intimacy, but the emotional texture of it:

“Yeah it awakened what think I’m missing because it’s not always present at home. Tenderness… he was kind quiet gentle, didn’t make fun of me or force anything. So yeah for sure tenderness and care. Also motivation to go for concealed carry. I was interested in it and have only thought about it. He said “go for it”. And I did. I got my permit still working on step 2. He even suggested a firearm based off me saying my hands are small.”-

That tenderness — the absence of mockery, pressure, or emotional volatility — is what your nervous system has been craving. It’s not just about Jake. It’s about what you’ve been deprived of in your marriage: emotional safety, gentleness, and respect.

The concealed carry permit isn’t just a practical step — it’s symbolic. It’s you reclaiming your right to protect yourself, to enforce boundaries, to make decisions in your own favor. It’s you placing your needs at the center of your life, rather than orbiting around Vince’s moods and demands. It’s a gesture of self-trust — sparked not by control, but by care. Even if brief, Jake’s presence reminded you what it feels like to be encouraged, not diminished.

With care, Anita