Dear Omyk:

You’re welcome—and thank you for your kind words.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 7:7–9: “Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do. But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion.”

And in 1 Corinthians 9:27: “But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”

Galatians 5:16: “Walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.”

You wrote: “There is an internal battle… I cannot agree that trying to stop something that emerges from within is harmful.”- That same battle was written about 2,000 years ago. You’re not alone in it— Maybe part of the grace in faith is knowing that even our private battles have ancient echoes.

💫 Anita

Welcome back from the trip, Tom! I’ll be here during the 6-8 weeks of waiting, anytime you want to talk .

💛 Anita

Dear J:

You are thoughtful, creative, and kind young woman, J. You see things deeply and feel things deeply too. You’ve grown up with more traditional values, but inside, there’s a part of you that also wants to explore, dream, and connect on a deeper emotional level. This can make it hard to find someone who matches both sides of who you are. You sometimes doubt yourself when you feel like you don’t fit others’ expectations. But what makes you special is how carefully you try to understand others—including people who confuse or hurt you. And you’re not only looking for love—you’re looking for someone who will understand your mind, your heart, and your way of seeing the world.

About A- he is very guarded with his feelings. He was raised in a strict family where emotions were seen as weakness, so he learned to hide what he feels by acting tough or logical. He seems sharp, maybe even harsh at times, but it may be because he never learned how to feel safe being soft. He cares about control and honesty, but doesn’t always know how to show kindness in a gentle way. Still, there are signs that he wants connection—he just doesn’t know how to ask for it. He might be afraid of being hurt, or afraid that if he shows feelings, others will see him as weak. Under his protective shell, though, he could still be someone who hopes to be loved.

You asked, “Why would he have felt the need to stuff away feelings, or not feel them? Do you really think that could be his reason?”- Yes, that could very well be the reason. You said that A. grew up with a strict father, a fierce mother, and in a family where men were not allowed to cry or be vulnerable. In a home like that, showing feelings could be seen as weak or even dangerous. So he likely learned to hide his emotions—not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

And when someone grows up like that, their emotions don’t disappear. They just come out differently—like anger, frustration, or becoming distant. Those reactions were probably more “allowed” in his world than sadness or fear.

“Do you really think he saw my interest in imagination as something vulnerable?”- Yes, I really do. A. seemed to value directness, strength, and control. So your love of dreams, stories, and soft emotions may have felt strange to him—but also interesting. People who hide their own feelings sometimes find that kind of tenderness both scary and beautiful.

Your softness may have reminded him of the part of himself he had to hide when he was young. That part of him might still be there, buried. So being around your imagination could have touched something deep inside him—something he didn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore either.

That’s why, when you asked him not to criticize the castle, and he said he “might not be able to”—maybe it wasn’t really about the castle. Maybe the beauty and wonder of it made him feel something he wasn’t used to feeling. And that made him a little uncomfortable.

So yes—your softness and imagination might have meant more to him than he ever said out loud.

You also asked, “Why didn’t I dare more? Why did I run again?”- because you were trying to protect yourself—your safety, your self-worth, your hope. In your past, love came with judgment, or made you feel like you weren’t enough, or you had to give up important parts of yourself. So when this connection with A started to feel real—but also uncertain or intense—your first instinct wasn’t to move closer. It was to protect your heart.

J, you don’t need to punish yourself for how things ended. You need compassion—for the version of you that showed up the best she could, and for the part that was scared.

If you’d like, I can help you write to that part of yourself—the one who got scared and ran. That kind of letter can be healing. Let me know.

“I think, we felt something. Maybe something less obvious to the outside world. Maybe recognized something in each other”- That less-obvious something might have been an emotional connection that didn’t show up on the surface—not shared interests or matching personalities, but a quiet recognition of hidden parts of yourselves. Maybe you saw a softness in him that he tried to hide. And maybe he saw the quiet strength in you—the same strength I see. 🕊️

Anita

Dear Tommy:

You say you may not understand love, but I think you understand something many people never learn: how to live beside someone with compassion, compromise, and care. That counts for more than words can say.

There’s something about the way you speak of music and movies—the heavy heart during romance films, the resonance with love songs—that tells me you feel love in your bones, even if you don’t always call it that.

I’m grateful to know that my note reached you. And I’ll say this again, even louder, even gentler: I like you, Tommy. I’m still on your side.

And maybe one day, you’ll hum along to a song and realize… you’re on your side too.

With care, Anita 🌙

Dear Davina:

You’re very welcome.

Reading your response, I was struck by how much clarity and emotional honesty you’re already holding—even in the middle of uncertainty. You’re not running from the truth—you’re circling it, slowly and bravely. That matters.

I think it’s wonderful that you and your partner are considering couples therapy. That step alone speaks volumes about the care and seriousness with which you’re both approaching your future.

In the meantime, something you might find helpful is this: try journaling (privately or even here)—not the polished, reflective kind, but something freer, looser. Let your thoughts spill. Set a timer and describe—without judgment—the kind of relationship that would truly thrill you. Not necessarily with a real person. Just let your imagination go.

What does that kind of love feel like in your body? What kinds of conversations, tensions, moments of passion or uncertainty show up? Is there chaos? Silence? Hunger? Laughter?

Let it pour out unfiltered—no editing, no evaluating. Just write as if no one will ever read it but your own curiosity.

You don’t need to figure it all out at once. This isn’t about rushing to a decision—it’s about becoming someone who sees herself clearly, so that the decision, when it comes, feels like home instead of a coin toss.

If you do feel like sharing anything that comes up in the process—whether poetic, messy, angry, tender, confused, or all of the above—I’ll meet it with care.

With warmth, Anita 🕊️

Dear Davina:

Thank you for sharing something so personal. You wrote with such honesty, and it’s clear you’ve spent time trying to understand not just your relationship—but yourself.

There’s something incredibly brave about asking, “Why do I feel this way when nothing is wrong?” Because what you have sounds beautiful: a partner who’s loving, generous, emotionally available, and willing to grow with you. It makes sense that the doubt feels confusing—even guilt-inducing. But doubt doesn’t always mean something’s broken. Sometimes it’s a sign that you’re listening—not to a problem, but to a question that’s still taking shape inside you.

This duality—wanting the emotional thrill vs. needing deep, steady love—is something both your therapists have touched on. The dilemma, as I see it: the fear of choosing safety and later mourning the absence of passion, or worse—choosing passion and realizing too late that you’ve let go of a truly good man.

You’re not ungrateful or cold-hearted. You may simply still be in the process of rewiring what love feels like. After surviving toxic relationships where love came with drama or instability, it’s natural that something calm—even healthy—might feel unfamiliar. Less “exciting,” maybe. Less known. And that unfamiliarity can feel like something’s missing, even when your partner is doing everything “right.”

What I hear beneath it all is your integrity. The fact that you’re reflecting before acting—the way you’re trying to spare him pain, even as you hold your own confusion—tells me how deeply you care. About him, and about the kind of life you want to live with honesty.

This is what I posted to Elle (the original poster of this thread) back on January 27, 2016: “My advice is for you to explore and get an understanding of what happened and what is going on with you first. It will not be fair for him that you follow your current feelings for him when you don’t understand what is going on.”

And so—nine and a half years later—I offer the same advice to you: take time to gently explore what’s happening within you. I wonder… growing up, was one of your parents—or both—emotionally distant or critical? Did a quiet hope begin in your heart back then, a passion to one day turn an emotionally unavailable person into someone loving?

With warmth and respect, Anita