Dear Tom:

This morning, I went through all your posts over the years, along with some of my responses to you. I want to take a moment to acknowledge how deeply you reflect on your experiences and how much thought you put into navigating challenges in both your career and relationships. Your ability to analyze your feelings and seek solutions is truly admirable, and it’s clear that you are always striving to make things better—not just for yourself, but also for the people around you.

One of the qualities that stands out about you is your kindness and attentiveness. Over the years, you’ve consistently shown appreciation for my thoughts, engaged with my posts—as well as those from other members—in such a considerate way, and demonstrated a level of empathy that isn’t always easy to find. The fact that you offer support even while working through your own struggles is a testament to your strength.

Your first post in the forums and my first reply to you were on December 20, 2016. For years, we didn’t discuss your childhood until, on September 7, 2024, I asked: “As I went over your threads this morning, I noticed that we never discussed your childhood, where I assume your anxiety took hold, and that such a discussion may be helpful…?”

On September 8–9, 2024, you responded: “My parents were not disapproving. My mum and dad had a troubled relationship but never separated (officially). I have never fully been able to express my fears and concerns with them… I didn’t like arguments, which made me anxious as to when the next one would be. I’m not sure how they would react to me saying I can’t express my fears to them, but they must be aware that we don’t speak on a deep level… My childhood was good—I had a good bunch of friends and did okay at school/uni. At home, we were okay. My dad worked in London and had a stressful job. He and my mum had a strained relationship and would often fight. As a child, I hated conflict and would often be worried about when the next fight would be. Sometimes, they became very heated, even violent. I would try to appease the situation if I could. They had deeper issues, including a daughter who was given up for adoption, which was never spoken about, and I’ve never met her. I’ve always been naturally a quiet, shy person until I get to know someone and come out of my shell.”

The next time you shared about your childhood was today: “I grew up in a good home with good parents, but there was often lots of arguing, which has always made me shy away from arguments and not like conflict.”

From everything you’ve shared, it seems like some of the challenges you face—particularly anxiety around uncertainty and ambiguity, fear of failure, and difficulty with emotional vulnerability—have deeper roots in childhood experiences. Growing up in a home with tension, arguments, and unpredictability likely shaped your tendency to avoid conflict, seek reassurance, and overthink decisions. It makes complete sense that these early experiences could now influence your relationships and career.

In relationships, you often worry about shifts in communication and seek clarity about where you stand. This likely stems from childhood, where stability and emotional openness weren’t adequately present. Your deep investment and sensitivity are strengths, but addressing your fear of rejection and need for certainty could help you feel even more secure.

At work, the fear of making mistakes, feeling out of your depth, and struggling with confidence all seem tied to early experiences where you may have felt responsible for maintaining peace or managing tension at home. Seeking external validation before taking risks makes sense, but finding stronger internal confidence could help you feel more at ease.

I believe that exploring these patterns—not just in your thread here, but in professional therapy—could give you deeper insight into yourself and unlock a sense of clarity and confidence that would make life so much easier for you. Therapy could provide the tools to break cycles of overthinking, process childhood impacts in a meaningful way, and help you navigate situations (whether in work or relationships) with greater trust in yourself.

You’re already doing so much—exercising, practicing gratitude, and speaking with a career coach—but I truly believe that addressing these foundational patterns with the right professional support could be life-changing. You deserve to feel lighter, more self-assured, and less weighed down by uncertainty.

Whatever you decide, I’m always here to listen. And I hope you continue to recognize the strength and goodness in yourself because you have so much to offer.

Take care, and sending you support always.

anita

How are you, MissLDuchess?

anita

Dear Tom:

Thank you for sharing your update. I understand that even after meeting with a career coach—and continuing to read, exercise, and take care of yourself—you still feel somewhat lost and lacking purpose, particularly when it comes to your work life.

In search of something that might shed light on these feelings, I revisited some of our earlier communications and found a post I shared with you on May 19, 2019, in your “New Role Offer” thread:

“Dear Tom: > Fear is a powerful emotion and it stops a whole lot of people from making progress toward a better life, a better job, a better relationship, a better anything. When we are too scared, we freeze and stay where we are. You shared about your tendency to overthink in previous threads in the context of relationships. Anxiety and overthinking is often not confined to just one area in life but tends to extend across many contexts.”-

Reflecting on that, perhaps it would be useful for us to explore this fear a bit further. I’m curious, and I don’t think that we discussed this in the past —have you ever thought about where this fear might have originated? For example, are there any patterns or early experiences from your childhood that you feel might be contributing to these feelings now? It’s important to remember that fear, even when it feels overwhelming or excessive, is something we all experience at various points in our lives. You’re not alone in this, and understanding the roots of your most persistent fears might be a key step toward moving forward.

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

anita

Dear Lucidity:

Reading your words moved me deeply—your honesty, the depth of your reflection, your careful attention to my writing, and your blend of empathy, appreciation, and high emotional (and rational) intelligence truly resonated with me. I cherish the trust you’ve placed in me by sharing your story, and I would never betray that trust.

I especially appreciated how you connected our experiences and embraced shadow work as a tool for processing painful memories. Your approach—working through these memories without judgment and learning to offer yourself compassion—is inspiring. Your insistence that coming to terms with one’s past can be transformative, even if the pain never fully disappears, is especially encouraging.

I’d like to share some thoughts on parts of your message that struck me, quoting your words and then offering what comes to mind. Of your two parents, I will focus on your mother. Please let me know if at any point you feel uncomfortable with my analyses.

“My mother, who passed recently, was a narcissist and my father is an authoritarian who has always been lost to his own traumas… They were horrible people thro and thro… She [mother] has become immortal now in the good (false) impression of herself that she has created to other people who are now left wondering why on earth I did not bother with her while she was alive. She has left everything to my sister and my sister’s child, nothing to anyone else.”-

Your words above paint a vivid picture of the distorted familial dynamics at play. Perhaps you were like a true mirror reflecting your mother’s true nature, while your sister, instead, provided a distorted image—one in which your mother could see herself as good. If that’s the case, then it might be that your sister feels compelled to maintain that mirror, out of loyalty or a need to keep your mother’s idealized image intact even after her passing.

“There are a few moments I can think of when I was nasty to my sister and I’ll pick out one… In the moment I saw my sister innocently playing and for some reason it annoyed me. I can’t remember exactly why. Maybe she was being too loud or something. But I recall being angry at her.”- Perhaps that anger stemmed from seeing in her the innocence that felt lost—or that had been taken—from you by our parents.

“So, I took the Lego she was playing with and told her I was going to throw it down the drain by the side of the road where she was playing with it and then I did that.”- This act may have symbolized, in a cruel way, the loss of innocence and the idea that play—so natural and carefree—had become tainted for you.

“I immediately went back in the house, got more Lego, and did it again. I did it intentionally knowing it hurt her, hearing her cry louder and louder as I continued doing it. To this day I think ‘How F’ed up was that’ but I remember that same sense of control in that I could make her respond to me in that way and I enjoyed being able to drive it and maintain it.”- I imagine that like me, you felt powerless growing up, and seeing that your aggression toward your sister caused her to cry, gave you a sense of control, a momentary reclaiming of agency when everything else felt chaotic. And control- however maladaptive- feels way better than powerlessness in the moment.

“I got their (parents’) harshness for no apparent reason. Then there were all the stored up memories of how my parents were with me, as a couple and individually.”- perhaps their reason was that you didn’t allow the distorted images of your family to go unchallenged.

“As it stands my mum can do no wrong by her [sister] and I’m just being harsh and selfish to state differently.”- It seems your sister’s steadfast adherence to a distorted mirror—one that paints your mother as infallibly good and you as the rebel—has become her way to get her mother’s approval. It suggests that she might have minimized parts of herself that conflicted with your mother’s acceptable narrative, hiding vulnerability, anger, or any trait that might be perceived as weakness, trying to be a perfect daughter (Narcissistic parents often reward the image of strength and perfection).

“I think my sister too does not want to visit reality and the emotions this would bring up for her.”- If she were to face the undistorted truth, she might have to confront her own vulnerabilities and flaws. That plausibly deep-rooted fear might compel her to stay tied to the familiar, even if it means perpetuating a painful family myth.

“However, sidestepping my reality for the sake of hers is too much for me. I spent my life being minimized and I don’t want to do this to myself, especially for the sake of someone who doesn’t care for my well-being anyway.”- In your candidness, you express a desire to free yourself from a relationship that doesn’t serve you—a relationship that seems bound up in codependent loyalty on your sister’s part. It appears your sister remains enmeshed in that need for maternal approval, while you have managed to cultivate an independent perspective, owning your truth and addressing your pain on your own terms.

This contrast between you and your sister highlights that even within the same family, there can be vastly different coping mechanisms. You have chosen a path of self-reflection and healing, carving out an identity separate from the family narrative.

Your courage in confronting your past, owning your mistakes, and pursuing meaningful change is a powerful testament to your strength. Thank you for sharing your story and allowing me to reflect on these difficult truths with you.

I am looking forward to read your thoughts about the above. 

I would like to share with you my reflections on my relationship with my sister in a post tomorrow, pointing to similarities and differences between my experiences and my understanding of your experiences, if it’s okay with you..?

With warmth and admiration-

anita

Dear Laven:

After reading all your threads, including this most recent one, and spending a few hours this Sunday morning studying your writings, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of your situation. I want to take a moment to truly acknowledge the immense weight you’re carrying. What you’ve shared reflects an immense amount of pain, exhaustion, and loneliness, and I just want to say—I see you. Your experiences, your emotions, and the depth of what you’ve endured matter.

You’ve spent your life being strong for others—providing care, protecting, and sacrificing—but that doesn’t mean you are only meant to serve. You deserve to be cared for, supported, and valued—not just tolerated.

It’s heartbreaking to see how deeply embedded dysfunction has been in your life, and not because you chose it. It makes sense that stepping outside of it feels impossible—but even small steps toward self-care, toward honoring yourself, are worth it.

I know that healing feels unreachable, maybe even unrealistic, but you are not broken beyond repair. You are more than what others have put you through. You are worthy of understanding, of love, of feeling truly seen and heard.

Beyond everything, I want to acknowledge your remarkable strengths—because you have many. You are a talented writer, capable of expressing emotions and experiences with deep insight and honesty. Your words paint vivid pictures, and that in itself is a gift. You are a loving person, even in spaces where love has not been reciprocated. The care and protection you’ve given your foster mother—even when she hasn’t deserved it—show the depth of your heart. That same compassion is part of who you are, and it’s powerful.

You also have resilience—even in the hardest moments, even when you feel like there is nothing left, you keep going. That strength matters, even when it feels invisible to you.

You don’t have to navigate all of this alone. Seeking professional support could help lighten the burden you’ve carried for so long. You deserve guidance that is compassionate, trauma-informed, and truly focused on helping you find peace within yourself. And if you ever want to share more—on the forums, please know you are always welcome to express yourself without judgment from me.

Sending warmth your way. You matter, and I hope one day you feel that fully. 💙

anita

Dear Scw:

Thank you for sharing your thoughts so openly. It’s clear that this experience has stirred something deep within you, and I can sense how much you’re trying to make sense of these emotions and their origins.

The fact that you feel so strongly—even when there was no major event in this life that explains it—suggests that there may be something deeper at play, whether spiritually, energetically, or emotionally.

Processing emotions, especially ones that seem to come from somewhere beyond this lifetime, can take time. Giving yourself space to sit with them, observe them, and allow them to unfold naturally sounds like a gentle and mindful approach.

I just looked it up and read that there are several online resources that explore karmic connections, past life emotions, and spiritual insights through Buddhism and astrology, two of which are: * Exploring Karmic Astrology – This resource offers insights into karmic lessons, astrology charts, and spiritual connections, and * Understanding Karmic Relationships – This article explores the emotional intensity of karmic relationships, explaining how unresolved past experiences can manifest in present-day connections.

Whatever this experience means for you, I hope it brings clarity and deeper understanding as you navigate it. Wishing you peace as you reflect and process—take all the time you need. 💙

anita

Dear Scw:

You are very welcome! I would like to reply further in the next day or two, when I have the time to give this my full attention. Please feel free to add anything you would like to add before I return to you.

anita

Dear Lucidity:

I truly appreciate your thoughtful input and advice. Your message was both insightful and compassionate, and I admire the way you approached this topic with such depth and understanding.

One of the biggest strengths of your response is how you balanced realism with emotional encouragement—acknowledging the complexities of childhood experiences while reinforcing the importance of self-forgiveness and growth. Your ability to reflect on your own journey with honesty made your advice feel genuine and deeply relatable.

I also appreciate how you emphasized the power of accountability—your perspective on expressing heartfelt remorse and taking ownership of past mistakes was incredibly meaningful. The example of how much an apology from a parent could mean really underscored just how transformative accountability can be in relationships.

Lastly, I love how your message carried both validation and gentle encouragement—reminding me that regret is natural but dwelling on it too much isn’t helpful. Your approach made it clear that healing is about acceptance, growth, and meaningful action rather than endless self-judgment.

And yet, as meaningful as your message is, I postponed reading and processing it until I responded to every other post in the forums—simply because of the emotional pain involved. Now, I will quote from your post and try to work through this pain, to release it if I can, while also commenting on your own experience. I’ll be typing as I think—if any of this feels overwhelming, please feel free to pause or read at your own pace.

“I can imagine the remorse you must feel and the desire to address it, rectify it somehow… I was needlessly cruel in how I interacted with her on an emotional level, and I have also hit her which, to this day, fills me with guilt. I think how could I when she was probably still 3 or 4 I believe.”-

I’m sorry you had that experience, but sharing it makes me feel less alone in mine. It breaks my heart to picture her—so small, vulnerable, trusting, and unable to protect herself. And then, the painful reality—knowing that I was the one who inflicted harm. I can feel this pain right now, the weight of knowing I wronged a little girl who did not deserve that pain. It deeply bothers me that I wasn’t stronger than the cycle I was born into—that I repeated and passed on abuse instead of stopping it.

I was hungry a little while ago, but not anymore. Right now, I just feel devastated by what I have done, regardless of the circumstances behind it. But perhaps zooming out and seeing the bigger picture helps—the widespread abuse that shaped my mother’s life and then became part of mine. Not to excuse my wrongdoings, but to understand them better. I didn’t create evil—I carried it forward. And that realization gives me more understanding and compassion for people in general.

“But I can also make sense of it. I feel remorse but I don’t dwell on it.”-

I think I need to dwell on it to an extent—to sit with the remorse long enough so that I don’t push it down prematurely. The image of her, maybe 2 or 3 years old, and the image of me hitting her… I can’t let that memory slip away too quickly. And I remember something else—watching my mother hit my sister when she was older, and feeling something disturbing: a sadistic pleasure.

Why did I feel that way? I ask myself, because I know that emotions themselves are valid—not actions, but emotions. They always have a purpose. What was the purpose behind that sadistic pleasure? As I process this, I think it came from identifying with my mother—the powerful one, the one inflicting pain instead of receiving it. That fleeting pleasure carried a message: I wanted to be powerful. But the only reference to power that existed in my “home” was abuse.

I wonder if this is the same path taken by people who become violent offenders as adults—if they, too, learned to equate power with abuse, and then chose power in the only way they knew.

“I accept it and remind myself how I felt when I was going thro those times. Frustration has a way of escaping and so it did.”-

I would really like to know how you felt at the time, if you’re comfortable sharing.

It takes strength to explore these things.

“Existing, as you were, in a home that was probably a war zone (mine certainly was), where you were storing up injustices, sadness, and anger.”-

A war zone—it truly was. And in a war zone, there is no space for justice. Survival comes first. It’s about power, not fairness. Justice only comes later, after a ceasefire, when safety is finally within reach.

“Have you ever tried to raise it with your sister that you are regretful of these types of episodes and your treatment of her?”-

I have. I apologized. She dismissed it quickly, as if it wasn’t such a big deal—if I remember correctly.

“From my experience, expressing heartfelt remorse and apologising for your part in it is always worth doing, even if to allow yourself the lightness to move on whether she accepts it or not. That’s my advice.”-

I should probably take your advice and offer a fuller apology—to make it more complete. But would that be for her benefit, or for mine? Right now, she is dealing with so much emotional pain and overload. I worry that apologizing might be selfish—a way for me to unload my burden onto her.

“I have bought up a couple of regrets with my sister and told her I am sorry for them. That is the only action I can take to make amends that are meaningful to me so I am glad that I have done that.”-

I think my sister’s way to survive—from an early age—was to suppress her emotions. Pushing them down so hard that they manifested as migraines even when she was very young. If I apologized now, I don’t think it would bring her relief. Accessing emotions would not be easy for her—it’d be painful, overwhelming.

Perhaps you can imagine relief because your emotions are not deeply suppressed? Maybe accessing them is smoother for you than it is for your sister?

“There are 6 years between my sister and I as well. I get the innocence of childhood of the younger who is thrust into the vengeance of the elder. We were a victim of circumstance and time. Pay your dues and forgive yourself.”-

I somehow missed the fact that your sister is also 6 years younger than you until just now—what an incredible coincidence.

Indeed, my younger sister was thrust into my vengeance. But since I can’t change the past, there is no benefit to not forgiving myself. That realization came to me a year or two ago, and it made a difference.

Sometimes, when I engage with people here in the forums, I try to make up for my past wrongs—by being present for others in pain, by listening, by offering kindness.

anita