The Silence That Showed Me Myself

When I stopped waiting for him to reach out and started reaching for me instead.

After five years of celibacy, I started dating this really handsome hospital director. I was really into him, and he told me he was also into me. We were both at the end of our healing journeys and he asked me what I needed from him in a relationship. At first, I was a little hesitant to express my needs, but he insisted. So I was vulnerable and told him I needed daily communication.

Not 24/7. Nothing too overbearing.
Just enough to feel like we were still connected.

And for the first three months, that’s exactly what he gave me.

This man would check in every day like clockwork.
He would either call or text. It was just a little reminder that I mattered and
I didn’t even have to ask because he remembered.

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But once our feelings got involved, something shifted.

He didn’t stop altogether.
But I noticed the space in between.

Longer pauses.
Slower replies.
Subtle changes that said more than silence ever could.

So I did what I always did when love got too close,
I pulled back.

I told myself I’d let him take the lead.
Let the man be the man, right?

But the truth was...
I was scared.

Scared to look too invested.
I was scared to say too much about how I was feeling and ‘run him off’.’
I think I was even a little scared he’d see the real me: the overthinker, the feeler, the soft woman still learning how to feel safe.

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I didn’t know anything about anxious attachment back then.

I didn’t know that my silence wasn’t strength, but was instead fear.

And most importantly, that he was scared, too.

We were both just two healing people, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

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The Phone Works Both Ways

So I picked up the phone and suggested a weekend together. He seemed all for it until the weekend arrived. I realized that weekend, he was in his head the entire time. I felt like an afterthought. Like a stranger in his home. He barely talked to me, but when I left he told me he couldn’t wait to see me again. I was so confused, but I figured I would let him call me and explain what was going on with him if he wanted us to continue.

Someone once told me,
“The phone works both ways.”

At the time, I rolled my eyes.
Like, Excuse me?

But they were right. I could’ve called and reached out but for three days I kept waiting for this man to prove something.
To fight for me.
To be bold where I was scared.

But the truth was...
I wanted him to be brave, so I didn’t have to be.

And maybe...
he was waiting for the same thing.

We both pulled back at the same time.
We both were too proud to go first.
And because of that, we both lost out on each other.

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The Text That Gave Me Closure

When I just couldn’t take it anymore, I sent him the paragraph about how I felt. He responded, telling me he never wanted me to feel that way, BUT he did need his space. Upset, I told him. Take all the space you need, then! And that he did.

The week passed.

And then one day, I got a text:

“Hey to all my contacts. I got a new number.”

No “Hey, been thinking about you.”
No “Sorry for the distance.”
Just a group text with no real energy for us behind it.

That was my answer.

Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Just... impersonal.

I had already sent the paragraph.
I had already reached out once.
And that silence?
It told me everything I needed to know.

I was not going to let him play in my face.

By month four, it was time to be vulnerable.
And that kind of openness?
It was too much for him.

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The Inner Work That Saved Me

After that text, I didn’t spiral.
I went inward.

I reread the paragraph I sent and asked myself:
Why was I trying so hard to explain my worth?

I looked at the missed call he never returned,
and sat with the truth:

I wasn’t seeking connection.
I was seeking validation.

And then, I stopped blaming him.
Because he wasn’t my villain
he was my mirror.

He showed me I still believed I had to earn love.
That if I performed well enough, someone would stay.

But that’s not the kind of love I wanted in my healed season, so I was forced to move on.

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So I started doing the work.

Reading.
Writing.
Grieving what never was.

I asked myself harder questions:

What would it look like to love without performing?
What would it feel like to trust silence without spiraling?
Could I give myself what I kept trying to extract from men?

Turns out, I could.
And I did.

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Next time, I’ll tell you about the first time I showed up differently…
and how everything changed.

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With love,

Nikki

Healing. Healthy. Ready.