She didn’t mean to drift.
It wasn’t bitterness.
It wasn’t punishment.
It wasn’t even conscious, at first.
It began with a few wounds she didn’t know how to voice.
Tiny moments where she needed gentleness and got logic instead.
Where she craved emotional safety and received silence, or reaction, or shutdown.
She tried to explain.
But sometimes, he didn’t know how to listen without taking it personally.
Sometimes, he didn’t even realize she was hurting—
not because he didn’t care, but because he was struggling to survive his own invisible battles too.
We don’t talk enough about this part:
That men, too, are often raised without the tools to understand emotions.
Taught to fix, not feel.
To stay steady, even when their own hearts are breaking.
To show up, provide, protect—
but rarely taught how to hold space for the wild, beautiful vulnerability of a woman’s soul.
So when the woman he loves starts to cry or shut down or withdraw—
he doesn’t see it as a cry for closeness.
He sees it as failure.
And in that moment, he tries harder, or pulls away, or says the wrong thing—
not out of malice,
but because he doesn’t know what else to do.
And in that innocent confusion…
a wall quietly begins to rise.
Walls don’t always come from anger.
Sometimes they come from overwhelm.
A woman builds one when she feels like:
- Her emotions are too much
- Her needs will be turned into a lecture
- Her softness will be misunderstood as weakness
And when that wall becomes habit,
she forgets that what she was truly longing for wasn’t protection— but presence.
And here’s the part that matters most:
Men can change.
Not to become perfect, but to become present.
Not to erase the past, but to create a new energy of safety, truth, and calm.
I didn’t see clearly back then.
Not because I didn’t love you— but because I didn’t yet understand how to love in a way you could truly feel.
Now I do.
Not as a performance. Not for praise.
But because I’ve returned to something quiet, strong, and real inside me.
So if you’ve built a wall around your heart…
I understand.
And I no longer take it as rejection.
I take it as a sign:
you protected your heart because no one was protecting it with you.
But I am now.
Quietly. Consistently.
Not asking you to tear it down—
just inviting you to peek out from behind it.
To feel if maybe, just maybe, the air is different now.
And if it is— you’ll know.
You’ll feel it not in pressure, but in peace.
Not in control, but in calm.
Not in words, but in the way I now hold the space around your soul.
Because behind every wall, there’s a woman still longing to be seen—not judged. To be held— not handled.
And when she finally feels safe enough to exhale…
to soften…
to trust again—
Love becomes possible again.
Not the old version.
A wiser one. A freer one. A truer one.
Whenever you’re ready—
I’m still here. No force. Just truth. Just love. Just me.
