To the One Who Isn’t Met, Yet Keeps Showing Up

Dear friend,

You are not wrong for continuing to show up.

Even when your tenderness isn’t met.
Even when your depth goes unrecognized.

Even when your care is received with hesitation—or not at all. Even when it feels like you’re speaking the language of intimacy in a room full of people who only learned survival.

You are not too much for wanting to be seen.
You are not too loyal for holding the thread.
You are not naive for believing in connection.

You are simply someone who chooses to stay open
in a world that often celebrates closure.

You love with your presence. You offer your steadiness as a sacred thing. You listen deeply. You notice what others don’t say. You wait—not because you're passive, but because you understand timing.

You extend grace—not because you lack boundaries,
but because you know what it’s like to reach your own edge.

You do this without applause. Without guarantee.
And you’re tired.
I know.

Because it’s hard to hold out your hand when no one reaches back.

It’s hard to remain devoted when reciprocity remains just out of reach.

It’s hard to stay when your instinct to care has been confused for codependence or cling. But still—you stay.

You keep showing up.

Not because you don’t know your worth.
But because you do.

You know that being the one who stays is not a weakness.

It’s a vow. It’s a soul-deep integrity that whispers,“I won’t stop being who I am just because you don’t know how to meet me yet.”

And maybe that’s the ache.

Not that people don’t love you—but that they love you to the limit of their current capacity.

And you, in your vastness, often stretch past it.

Yet please hear me:
You are not too much.
You are just not fully met. Yet.

And that difference matters.

Because one day—not far from now—you will be met.

By someone who hears what you don't say.
By someone who reaches first. By someone whose nervous system doesn’t bristle at your care, but exhales into it.

And when that moment comes—you will recognize it.
Because you never stopped showing up for it.
And because you never stopped showing up for you.

And here’s the quiet truth that’s even harder to hold:
By continuing to show up—by continuing to meet people exactly where they are—you are revealing, moment by moment, what it means to truly meet someone.

You are modeling what it looks like to stay.
You are showing the world how to hold space.
You are becoming the very presence you long to receive.

But let’s be clear—this is not about abandoning yourself.
This is not about bypassing your pain, your values, or your need for reciprocity.

It’s not about calling self-erasure compassion.
And it’s not about calling avoidance a boundary.

True boundaries protect what’s sacred.

But some of what we label as boundaries are really just defense mechanisms in disguise—self-protection wrapped in language that sounds empowered, but is really just fear avoiding intimacy.

So the question becomes:
Are your boundaries rooted in your wholeness, or in the places where you were once unmet?

Are you guarding your peace, or building walls to prevent the ache of being let down again?

The ones who keep showing up aren’t weak.
They are discerning. They are brave.
They know when to stay. They know when to walk.

And they know when to keep meeting others—not because they’re being met, but because they’re choosing to become the kind of person who knows how.

And that kind of person changes everything.

From my heart to yours,

Practice Postscript

A Boundary or a Wall? Begin Here.

The next time you feel the urge to pull back, pause.

Before labeling it a boundary, ask:

• Is this rooted in self-honoring or in self-protection?

• Is this a 'no' from my inner knowing—or a reflex from old pain?

• What would it feel like to stay open here without abandoning myself?

Then take a genuine breath. Place one hand on your chest, one on your lower belly. Inhale slowly. Exhale longer than you inhale. Let your system soften just enough to hear the real answer.

You don’t have to disappear to preserve yourself.
You don’t have to harden to stay whole.
You can be discerning and open.
You can be clear and compassionate.
You can keep showing up—first and foremost—for you.