Sis, let me describe something you’ve been doing so long it doesn’t even register as a choice anymore. You make yourself smaller. Not physically although maybe that too. Emotionally. Energetically. You walk into rooms and compress. You enter relationships and contract. You show up to your own life and immediately begin the process of reduction
Sis, let me say the thing you’ve been swallowing for as long as you can remember. You never feel like the first choice. Not the backup. Not the afterthought. Not the woman someone settles for when the woman they actually wanted didn’t work out. But the first choice. The one someone looked at out of
Sis, let me say something about the fear you carry that you probably haven’t said out loud. You feel replaceable. Not in the way people talk about casually “oh, everyone feels insecure sometimes.” Deeper than that. In the bone-level, stomach-dropping, can’t-fully-exhale way that lives underneath everything you do in relationships. The quiet belief that the
Sis, let me ask you something and I need you to sit with the answer before you move past it. Have you ever been loved without performing for it? Not loved because you were useful. Not loved because you were easy. Not loved because you showed up perfectly, asked for nothing, caused no inconvenience, and
Sis, let me describe the pattern that’s been driving you to the edge and then punishing you for arriving there. There’s a problem. You both know it exists. It’s been sitting between you visible, growing, taking up more space every day. You’ve mentioned it. Maybe once, maybe five times. Calmly. Clearly. With the kind of
Sis, let me describe something most people don’t have language for. You don’t feel safe. Not physically he doesn’t hit you. Not verbally he doesn’t scream. Not in the ways that other people would recognize if you described it. There’s no dramatic scene to point to. No bruise. No recording of raised voices. No evidence
Sis, let me name the frustration that’s been wearing you down to the bone. You’ve tried everything. You’ve been calm. You’ve been direct. You’ve been gentle. You’ve been firm. You’ve written letters when speaking didn’t work. You’ve texted when letters went unread. You’ve tried therapy suggestions, communication frameworks, conflict resolution techniques you found at two
Sis, let me name the word that’s been used to silence you more effectively than any argument ever could. Drama. Not a description of what’s happening. A dismissal of it. A single word that takes whatever you just raised — your concern, your observation, your pain, your legitimate frustration — and reduces it to something
Sis, let me describe the loneliest kind of conversation you can have. It’s the one where only your voice is in the room. You’re talking. Sharing something important. Saying something that’s been sitting on your chest long enough that it needs to come out not because you enjoy difficult conversations, but because this one matters.
Sis, let me describe a specific kind of cold that nobody prepares you for. Not the cold of a man who was never warm. You could handle that you’d know what you signed up for. This is different. This is the cold of a man who was warm and then chose to stop being warm.