I knew she had been observing me from afar for a few weeks.

Watching how I talk to others.
Whether I keep secrets and promises.
Whether I listen with understanding or lecture when children tell me what’s on their minds.

Once she had gathered enough information, she decided I was worth the risk. She came to me and asked if we could talk alone.

What followed was a heavy, one-hour conversation. You know the kind when someone has been holding everything together for so long, and once they finally feel listened to, everything spills out without filter.

There were a lot of tears.
Asking for a hug.
More tears this time from relief.

That same day, parents called me asking if I take private clients, because this was the first time their daughter had felt truly understood.

And then the next day… nothing …absolutely nothing … I saw her in the hallway and she pretended she didnt know me. Not even a look, leave alone a hello. She looked past me as if I didn’t exist. Complete silence.

You might think this is ungrateful or strange.

But it’s not.
It’s overwhelm.

Sometimes when people meet someone who is truly present, and they finally allow themselves to open up, fear comes after the conversation.

What just happened? Maybe I talked too much.
She must think I’m crazy.
Why did I say all of that?
She was probably just being polite … it’s her job.
She doesn’t really care. What does all this mean?
When she sees the real me, she’ll leave like everyone else.

So they pull back. Not out of coldness, but to understand, make sense and recalibrate.
Some people need more time and space than others.

Silence does not mean loss of connection.
It can mean the opposite … the deepening of meaning.

Unfortunately, many people don’t have the patience to stay long enough to see that unfold.

To avoid adding to her overwhelm, I mirrored her distance. I was not cold, but steady. I smiled when we crossed paths, but I didn’t push closeness.

I gave her space.
She knew where to find me.

Two days later, I got a smile and a quiet hello. I smiled back, said “Hey, how’s it going?” while walking past, and we went our separate ways again.

A few days later, she asked to talk again. And pulled back again.

Then she wanted to talk together with a friend. We spoke for 2.5 hours.
And …  she pulled back again.

And then a couple of days later, she was looking for me all over the school, asking everyone if they had seen me. When she finally found me, she just took my hand without words,  led me into an empty room and handed me her phone.

She said “Read”
and showed me her diary notes …  two months of her deepest thoughts, her deepest fears, her deepest screw ups that you don’t want anyone to know about…

She didn’t say a word. She just watched me anxiously to scan for any reaction, which I didn’t give her. Her hands tucked into her sleeves, fingers fidgeting.

When I finished, I put the phone aside, walked around the table, asked her to stand up, and took her into my arms without speaking.
She squeezed me very tight and buried her face in my shoulder and didn’t want to let go.

We stood there for I don’t know how long. I didn’t care about time.
No talking. Just holding.

When she calmed down, she sat back down and asked:
“Why are you still here? Why do you care?”

I told her:

You don’t owe performance for care.
You don’t have to be useful or perfect.
Care is not something you pay for by being the perfect person.

You are allowed to make mistakes, we all made them …  big ones too. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying. We’re human. Some are just better at hiding it.

I personally prefer people who don’t hide. It makes them real, honest, and trustworthy.

Come as you are. You’ll always find me there.

You don’t have to be finished to belong here.
You don’t have to get it right for me to stay.

Just because you’re unfinished doesn’t mean I’ll abandon you. I actually don’t believe we are ever finished in life. There is always something new to integrate. Finished means dead.

You’re allowed to be in process.
You don’t have to prove anything.

Strength includes pauses … to recalibrate, redefine, and let the new reality settle.

Being unsure doesn’t make you weak. It makes you reflective, so that when you do decide, it’s steady.

Healing is never linear.
One step forward. Two steps back. Three steps forward. One step back.
But we keep going. And with time, things become more natural.

You see, I didn’t stay to be needed. I stayed because I wanted her to learn what a healthy relationship gives:

Permission to pause.
Permission to not be ready yet.
Permission to make mistakes.
Permission to stay connected even when things feel hard.

Permission to feel free while being connected. One does not exclude the other. On the contrary.

… to learn that presence doesn’t disappear.

And that all this is not something you have to earn. It just exists.

Because when a presence disappears, it was never yours in the first place.

The ones who matter stay … either way.

I wish more people understood this and passed it on,
so those who really need this kind of presence could receive it in their lives.