Strange, Tommy (don’t know if you will be reading this), strange that I grew somewhat attached to you.. because you are so uniquely honest. It’s okay if you don’t post again. I want you to do what’s right for you.

It’s just that you touched my mind/ my life. And I miss you.

Wishing you the best, Tommy!

Anita

And about your sister, it makes me sad how much your mother had hurt you when she told you that you are not as pretty as her. That hurt lingers in you, and that too makes me sad.

Anita

Dear Emma:

You wrote today (evening where you are): “I am sorry for once again sharing these heavy feelings with you, even after we wrote the letter.” —

There’s no need to apologize, Emma. All your feelings—light or heavy—have space here. As much space as they need.

In your original post on June 19, you wrote:

“He talked a lot about himself… Initially, I was put off… I remembered not finding him physically attractive… So I told him I wanted to cancel the date… Then he convinced me to stay… I had been so wrong – he was so handsome!… I have severe anxious attachment, resulting in me being very scared of rejection… It felt safer to me to not invest too much emotionally if I expect someone to leave me… It feels safer to flee myself rather than him rejecting me…

“I told him, a few days later, that I was not sure about us again… I said to him I might want to inclusively date… I broke it off with him… This was the 3rd time I made an attempt to break it off. I said to him he should not try and convince me to stay again, as we would be trapped in this loop.”

And today, June 25, you wrote:

“I have been talking to some other guys in the past few weeks, and even though with two of them I seem to have found some more common interests, and I think maybe they dare to present themselves more vulnerable in ways, which made it easier to connect, there are things missing which I had with Philip… I hardly knew Philip… I think I am wondering this to find out if I am mourning the loss of someone I would not have been compatible with anyway.”

What stands out to me this morning is this: maybe the safest place for you to love a man right now is in his absence. Because absence doesn’t ask you to be vulnerable in real time. It doesn’t ask you to stand there, heart open, unsure of how the other will respond. Distance gives you space to idealize, to feel everything fully, without the threat of rejection, misunderstanding, or loss of control.

This doesn’t make your feelings less real. Quite the opposite—it shows how alive and deeply wired your heart is. But it might help explain a cycle: wanting in, then wanting out, then wanting back in again. When intimacy comes too close, it can feel overwhelming… but too much distance, and the ache begins.

It felt risky to love Philip up close. So at first, you were put off. You didn’t find him attractive. You tried to cancel a date. You told him you weren’t sure. You broke up—more than once. The key line from you: “It felt safer to me to not invest too much emotionally if I expect someone to leave me.”

Now that he’s gone, and the threat of real-time rejection is over (he blocked you, and stayed blocked even after you reached out)—you are free to invest, free to love him. The danger has passed. The space is safe. There’s no more tightrope, no more emotional ambiguity to tiptoe across.

And those other guys? You wrote: “I have been talking to some other guys… there are things missing which I had with Philip.” One thing missing may be that they haven’t rejected you yet. And maybe that’s what makes them feel unsafe—because if they’re still available, rejection is still a possibility.

In your words: “It felt safer to flee myself rather than him rejecting me.” That line feels like a window into the part of you that’s learned to leave first, before being left. And now that Philip is gone, you’re free to feel everything you couldn’t let yourself feel when he was still within reach. It’s safer to love from a distance…?

My honest sense is that you and Philip were likely not compatible for a long-term relationship—and that part of his emotional pull now may come from the safety of distance. It’s easier to yearn for what can no longer hurt you, and safer to idealize someone who won’t offer the chance to discover more of his imperfections. I believe that gently tending to your fear of rejection could open the door to a new kind of connection—one that doesn’t rely on distance to feel safe.

In response to your question—I live in the U.S., in a part of the country with lots and lots of trees and mountains. It’s a beautiful, quiet place. I wasn’t born here, though. I arrived as a tourist in my 20s and stayed.

I’m looking forward to reading your thoughts about what I wrote here, whenever you’re ready.

With warmth and understanding, Anita

Dear Suzanne:

I’m so sorry to hear about your brother’s diagnosis. I understand that treatments at this stage of the disease are typically palliative—focused on relieving symptoms and improving quality of life, rather than curing the illness. I truly hope he’s receiving the best care possible.

And please know: there’s nothing self-centered about grief—especially the kind that strikes deep in the gut and keeps returning in waves. That kind of news is seismic, and the heartbreak you’re feeling is profoundly human.

I hear so much love and loyalty in what you wrote. You’re showing up for your brother, despite past wounds, and that speaks volumes about your heart. The way you’re still caring for others—even in 100-degree heat, walking dogs and keeping them safe—that’s resilience in motion.

You’re not just coping—you’re moving through pain with quiet determination. You’re showing up for your brother. You’re tending to the dogs. You’re managing life alone in a house that feels heavy with memory. Despite her grief, fear, and the sense of being abandoned, you’re still choosing to show up with compassion for others.

Your care for your brother’s peace—whether or not he holds spiritual beliefs—is deeply tender. Just your steady presence can offer comfort, no beliefs required. Love reaches beyond those lines.

You are not broken, Sue. You are a woman standing in a storm, doing her best to love and hold steady. And I see that.

I also wanted to remind you of our conversation on May 11, about Radical Acceptance:

“Radical Acceptance is about accepting reality AS IS—without resistance… It’s a life philosophy that aims to reduce suffering by embracing life’s challenges without trying to change or deny them… By accepting the reality of a situation, you eliminate your internal struggle against it. This reduction in inner conflict can significantly decrease stress and anxiety… Implementing Radical Acceptance in your daily life is like giving yourself a gift – the gift of peace amidst the chaos.”

Still worth repeating, I think.

And also, the Serenity Prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; > the courage to change the things I can, > and the wisdom to know the difference.”-

This prayer holds meaning even without “God.” I imagine your brother might hear its spirit, if not its exact words.

Take gentle care of yourself, Suzanne. I’m thinking of you and sending warmth your way.

With heart, Anita

Hi Emma, just thinking of you and hoping you’re doing okay. No pressure to reply—just wanted to say hi and send a little care your way.

Anita

How are you, Lunar?

Anita

Thinking about you, Suzanne, hoping you are well. 🍓

Anita