I am about posting one of these posts tonight that I’d feel strange about in the morning. Maybe.

I’m listening to nostalgic Hebrew music while Bogart is lying comfortably on my lap and the laptop, the one of the two that survived Bogart, is in front of me. Only 2 sources of light in this Thurs night (computer in front of me and bathroom to my left).

This song I’m listening to is about the passage of years, about childhood- beautiful Israeli music: “got old suddenly”- yes, HOW DID IT HAPPEN?

“The paradise of childhood”- what paradise? Didn’t have that. My childhood totally skipped Paradise.

Thing is- these very days- gone is the Shame and the Guilt that burdened me for 6 decades. I’m having the childhood I never got to have- one free of shame and guilt.

And I mean, Shame and Guilt, big case letters.

Wow- the one who birthed me- so much Shame (she said: “You are a big Zero”)- “YOU ARE A BIG ZERO” was her message. And it registered loud and clear.

And she never retracted it, as in saying “I was wrong”. No, she never relaxed that “You’re a Zero” message.

And so, that is her legacy in my life. That and nothing else. U’re 1 Big Zero: the legacy of a “mother”.

Fast forward 6 decades, and I’m okay. My goodness, almost 10 pm here. Good night.

Anita

Dear Alessa:

As I just looked at the message I sent last night (at 10 pm my time), it landed on me how heavy the message “you are a big zero”, or “one big zero” (Yes, it was the latter. She added “big” to the zero so to make it the.. biggest possible zero).

It registers now, how deeply hurtful that message was. I mean, it cut ✂️ deep, so very deep. Naturally, I dissociated from that depth of injury. So now, it feels almost new.

I remember it like it was yesterday, her saying those words (message repeated, not just one time, far from being one time).

I can’t imagine saying those words/ sending that message to anyone.

No wonder I grew “in” with a terribly low self-esteem and not thinking of myself as anything of any positive value.

Last night, I read about an Iranial missile hitting the town where I lived, where she still lives alone. I wasn’t happy or pleased about the hit, but I wasn’t any more devastated than if it hit elsewhere

I think it’s only last night that I further separated from her emotionally, as in no longer being tied to her in what is called “trauma bonding. When the person you need to protect you (a mother) is also the one who hurts you..

The more she hurt me, the more.. I needed her to protect me, hence the draw/ the continuation of a bond way beyond its normal expiration date (teenage/ early adult).

I didn’t understand this before- not on a lived-experience level: that the more she hurt me, the more I was tied to her for protection.

Thank you for your kind words regarding the bond between me and Bogart. I love it that he feels safe with me, that he expects safety. No trauma bond.

Good to read the update in regard to your cat 🐈 and the adjustments everyone is making.

Yes, unfortunately, your brother may have been a target of projection 😔

Yes, you did your best to protect your brother, every day, day 💙 after day and night after night 🌙 That counts!

You were a good sister, you did your very best 👌

Yes, indeed, this is a wild area. For years, I’ve been walking 🚶‍♀️ the 4.5 km loop around here, knowing (and sometime seeing coyotes and bears from a short distance) that mountain lions 🦁 are to my right or left, closr, but I figured that they have plenty of 🐇 🐇 and 🦌 🦌 to chase after, so they’re not likely to go after me. Now I walk with Bogart and therefore. I have nothing to worry about 😉)

Thank you for your empathy 🙏 🤍 and 😇 kindness. Truly, you’re The TB Empathy Expert (TBEE)!

😇 🤍 🙏 🦌 🐇 🦁 👀 🐕 🐈 🤍 Anita

Strange, I have had this memory for half a decade+, that she told me: “You are one big zero”+. There was a sense of distress in that memory. But I didn’t remember HURT, the raw emotional devastation that her message carried.

It was muted all these years, the memory of hurt (because of self- protective dissociation/ emotional numbing).

But this evening, I remembered how much it really hurt right then and there. I remembered being there.

It was devastating for a lifetime.

I see the little girl that I was, the adolescent, then the teenager and onwards, hearing this message.

I see 👀 now, feel now- just enough of how it felt back then to know that.. I was really there, it really happened.

The dissociation, self-fregmentation, self-doubt, muting 🔇- that was the brain protecting itself.

My goodness.. I feel sorry for her (the younger me), poor 😢 baby, oh..

There’s been this GAP within me because of the ways my brain 🧠 tried to protect me.

I now feel more connected than ever to.. me. The words of a 🎵 come to mind: “It’s me in the corner, it’s me in the…”- don’t remember the words right now, so, I’ll come up with my own:

It’s me in the corner, it’s me forgotten.

It’s me here, now, in the center. Ah.. here I am. Here.

🔇=> 🎵🎵🎵 Anita

Strange (whatever comes to mind this Sat evening, red 🍷 involved):

It is strange how unaware I’ve been for so long. I wasn’t able to understand what I couldn’t: emotional patterns so deeply rooted- that I couldn’t SEE.

Little girl Anita was in deep, deep sh**, in deep trouble early on. Showing up (being born) into deep sh**. (I just don’t have a more accurate imagery).

I was born into a mother that was.. well, crazy 🤪- out of control, 😱 – screaming: “I WILL KILL YOU, I WILL KILL ME- BECAUSE YOU (Anita) MADE ME!”

So, how does a child grow up with this.. familial terrorism?

Notice, terrorism, instilling fear 😨- not a political terrorism you hear about in the news, but personal terrorism such as a mother chooses to inflict on her own little girl.

So, if I am to confront middle- east terrorism (the Iranian regime, it’s proxies), I am first confronted by the terror-ism inflicted on me personally:

Not by the Iranian regime, not by any of its proxies, not by any country in the middle east.. but by just one person, the person who birthed me: my mother= my terrorist. My personal, or private terrorist.

And this is the truth, the reality of my life, my story.

🌙 Anita