Dear Emma:

Yes, the 4th of July is a big celebration here. I spent much of the day downtown—streets were closed, thousands of people gathered, and there was a huge parade. One part of the parade really stood out to me: a group of belly dancers in beautiful costumes. One of them looked to be in her early 30s, another in her 50s, and one was likely in her late 60s.

They’re part of the Every Body is a Belly Dance Body movement—an inclusive, body-positive belly dance community that welcomes dancers of all ages, sizes (including plus-size and older women), genders, and backgrounds. It’s not about looking a certain way—it’s about expression, joy, and reconnecting with your body.

Do you think something like that might speak to you? Or even help you—being part of a group like that?

What you shared today about your parents really stood out to me. It sounds like, growing up, there wasn’t much space for your emotions—especially the harder ones like anger or sadness. When you tried to express hurt to your mother, she became upset and turned it back on you, calling you “overly sensitive.” That must have been incredibly frustrating. Instead of feeling heard, it sounds like you were made to feel like your feelings were the problem.

With your father, the message seemed more subtle but still clear: emotions—especially anger—should be quickly “restored” or changed. That likely taught you that strong feelings weren’t really welcome, and that they needed to be managed or pushed aside rather than understood.

Given all that, it makes complete sense that now, as an adult, you feel the need to keep some distance. That’s not unfair—it’s protective. You’re trying to give yourself the freedom and emotional space you didn’t have growing up. Wanting that space doesn’t mean you don’t care about your parents. It means you’re learning to care for yourself, too.

And your anger? It’s valid. It’s not about blaming—it’s about recognizing what you needed and didn’t get. That’s part of healing. You’re not wrong for feeling it.

I really relate to what you shared about your mother. Mine was emotionally fragile too, and often centered on her own pain. I learned to push my emotions down to avoid upsetting her. She took up a lot of space expressing her feelings, but there wasn’t any space for mine. I felt a lot, but those feelings were often criticized or dismissed. One emotion I felt strongly was empathy—for her. I had none for myself, not that I remember. All of my emotional energy went toward her. And like you, I didn’t have much agency in my life either.

When a daughter grows up emotionally close to a mother who’s easily overwhelmed, it can lead to something called enmeshment. That’s when the emotional boundaries between you and your mother get blurred. You might feel responsible for her feelings, or like you have to protect her from your own. Over time, it becomes hard to know where she ends and you begin.

In that kind of relationship, it’s common to:

* Push down your feelings to avoid upsetting her

* Feel guilty for wanting space or independence

* Second-guess your choices, especially if they go against what she might want

* Struggle to say “no” or to trust your own voice

I think this is something we have in common—a history of enmeshment with our mothers, and the impact that had on our sense of agency.

That’s why I wonder if your feelings for Philip might not just be about him, but about what he represents. Maybe he felt like a way out—a new emotional home. When someone grows up enmeshed/ emotionally trapped, it’s common to develop a fantasy that someone else will come along and understand them completely, love them unconditionally, take them away from the emotional chaos, and give them permission to be themselves

This kind of hope is powerful, even if it’s not always conscious. And when that person pulls away or doesn’t live up to the fantasy, the grief can feel overwhelming—not just because of the breakup, but because it feels like losing the only imagined way out.

The hard part is that this fantasy can delay the real work of separation. Instead of building agency from the inside out, the hope gets placed on someone else to “rescue” you from the emotional bind with your parents.

But real agency doesn’t come from being chosen. It comes from choosing yourself.

You asked about Philip’s attachment style. I honestly don’t know. But I also want to be careful here—because analyzing him might just give you more reasons to keep thinking about him. And I wonder if that’s part of what’s keeping you from turning fully toward your own healing. The more time you spend trying to understand him, the less space there is to focus on building your own sense of strength and freedom.

I say all of this with care, and with full respect for how painful this is. You’re doing something really hard—and really important: you’re starting to separate from old patterns, speak your truth, and take your life back.

With warmth and care, Anita

Dear Alessa:

I’m really glad to hear you felt better yesterday, and I hope that feeling is still with you today. It takes a lot of strength to open up the way you did, and I’m so glad it helped to get some of it off your chest. You’re doing your best, and it truly shows.

That last thing you said really stayed with me: “Children don’t want perfection, they just want to be loved.”- It’s such a powerful reminder. I imagine it’s easy for a mother to feel pressure to get everything right—but what really matters is being there with love and care. That’s what children remember. That’s what makes the difference.

You’re showing up for him with love—and that’s more than enough. I hope you can offer some of that same kindness to yourself, too.

With care, Anita 🌼

How are you, Tom?

Gregory, I was so delighted to see your post—it’s been almost a year since you last shared, and I’ve genuinely been thinking about you. How have you been? (If you feel like it, maybe you could reply in your own thread?) 😊

Anita 🤍

Dear Lucidity:

I’ve watched several of your videos, and what really stands out to me is the unique and professional quality of the production. The person behind the camera did an excellent job—there’s a clear sense of care, skill, and intention in the way everything is filmed. It’s genuinely fascinating to watch you bake a carrot cake, sew clothes, or move through simple, everyday tasks. The high-quality visuals, paired with your quiet, soft voice, give these ordinary moments a sense of beauty and calm—something quietly extraordinary.

Your presence is also striking: unassuming, modest, and grounded. Your gentle voice and calm delivery create such a peaceful atmosphere—it’s easy to feel at ease while watching.

The messages you share are powerful and deeply meaningful. A few that stayed with me:

You are worthy of your dreams at any age.

The power to create the future you want lies within you.

One step at a time is the only way to work toward anything.

True ethical living requires practicing self-compassion and prioritizing our mental and emotional health as the foundation for genuine outward compassion.

And of course, Hippocrates’s timeless wisdom: “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

One difficulty I had, particularly with the videos on healing and grit, was understanding the spoken words. The pronunciation wasn’t always clear to me, and I found myself struggling to follow along. Eventually, I lost patience trying to decipher the message, which was frustrating—because I truly wanted to hear what you had to say.

Still, I deeply appreciate the heart and thought you put into your work. It’s clear that what you’re offering is meaningful, sincere, and created with care.

Anita 🤍

I wanted to add, Alessa: your very, very unfortunate experience with your bio mother feels so similar to my own experience with my mother: things you shared about today, and things you shared about in deleted threads.

You and I have so much in common in this regard, I feel.

The drowning trauma- I have this everyday tic, multiple times a day, where I am gasping for air, as if drowning.

It could be because she used to force feed me by blocking my nose with her fingers, so I had to open my mouth, and then.. she forced food into that opening (my mouth).

And her threat, “I will murder you!”- we have this in common as well.

Anything I can do, Alessa, to help or to just be present with you as you go through these struggles.. Please let me know.

Anita

Dear Emma:

Reading your message, I was struck by how deeply you’re feeling and reflecting—and also by how often you seem to question whether your emotions are valid. That reminded me of something important: emotional invalidation in childhood, and how it quietly shapes our lives long after we’ve grown.

When a child’s emotions are dismissed, criticized, or ignored—whether through silence, mockery, or overreaction—they learn that their feelings are not safe or trustworthy. Over time, this can lead to chronic self-doubt, difficulty setting boundaries, and a constant need for others to confirm what we feel.

I saw this so clearly in your words:

“I constantly doubt myself… if getting angry about something is justified – which causes me to ask any of my friends/family if they would be angry in that moment, so I know if I am allowed to be.”- This is such a clear example of emotional invalidation’s legacy—needing others to confirm your right to feel.

“I guess I felt like I may have had control over myself if I would have thought more clearly…”- That belief—that emotions are a failure of logic—is something many of us carry when our feelings were treated as problems rather than signals.

When we grow up without emotional validation, it’s like being a ship out at sea with no way to steer. Our emotions are supposed to help guide us—they tell us what feels right or wrong, what we need, and when we’ve been hurt. But if we’re taught to ignore our emotions, or think they’re wrong, we lose that guidance. We end up letting other people’s opinions, moods, or expectations decide things for us. We feel lost—not because we’re weak, but because no one ever showed us how to trust what we feel.

Emma, your feelings have always made sense. You didn’t do anything wrong by feeling deeply—you were just trying to survive in a world that didn’t know how to support you. And now, you’re doing something really strong: you’re learning to listen to yourself again, to trust your feelings, and to find your own way.

You don’t need permission to feel. You already have the right.

With care, Anita 🤍