Where you don't have to support yourself

Dear fellow travelers,

Some relationships feel like you have to constantly hold yourself back. Put your best foot forward. Be careful. Think things through. Sense what’s needed. Don’t be too much. Don’t be too emotional. Don’t be too honest. Don’t be too lively.

And at some point, the body realizes: I may be connected—but I'm not really being held.

Maybe you know that feeling. You just go through the motions. You adapt. You carry on.

And at the same time, you start to feel more and more tired inside.

I used to think that love meant putting up with as much as possible. Today, it feels different. Calmer. Warmer. More honest. More like a space where my nervous system doesn't have to be constantly on edge.

Maybe that's what true closeness is: not holding onto someone—but creating enough security so that no one has to hide.

I think many of us have learned to confuse connection with effort. With overactivity. With emotional responsibility. With vigilance.

But the body knows the difference. It knows when something is constricting. And it also knows when space opens up again—for breathing, honesty, softness, humor, and one’s own pace.

Perhaps healing doesn't always begin by working even harder on yourself. Instead, it begins by no longer living in a way that goes against your own body.

I'm realizing more and more: The most beautiful connections aren't the loudest ones. They're the ones where you slowly start to be yourself again. Without putting on a show. Without playing a role. Without constantly holding back.

Maybe we don't need more relationships. Maybe we need relationships in which our nervous system remembers what it feels like to be safe.

With love and in silent connection,
Jeannette