when she stops holding the line | musing no. 21

you don’t realize how much she carried—until she lets go.

you thought fixing it was love.
you saw the tension in her face—
and rushed to erase it.

but she didn’t need a solution.
she needed space to feel.
to unravel the thing
she hadn’t even named yet.

you missed it.
not because you didn’t care—
but because you cared too fast.

some women don’t ask for credit.
they just leave—and take the gravity with them. subscribe if you felt that.

you reached for logic
when she needed presence.
you offered answers
when what she wanted
was for you to sit in the dark with her
and not leave.

both of you want to be seen.
both of you want to be heard.
but only one of you was taught to wait.

real strength isn’t in fixing.
it’s in restraint.
in the kind of grounded stillness
that gives her permission
to find her voice
without fearing yours.

and here’s the truth:
when you give her that space—
when she knows you’ll hold her silence
as carefully as you hold her body—
something shifts.

that’s when the real conversations start.
about pleasure.
about trust.
about the things she wants but was too afraid to ask for.

you don’t earn that by performing.
you earn it by listening.

“tell me anyway.”

— author

if you felt this, subscribe to get every musing delivered straight to your inbox. subscribing is free, so stay close.