empty wells

Some people cannot meet you where they have never gone themselves.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

There was a season when I kept drafting long messages to someone I cared about. They were thoughtful messages. Honest ones. I explained my feelings carefully, choosing words the way one chooses fragile glass, hoping clarity would finally unlock connection. I kept thinking that if I said it better, slower, softer, they would understand.

They never did.

Initially, I thought they never understood because they were cruel. But, with time, I understood better. They didn’t get me because they were unavailable in ways no explanation could cure.

Thing is, you cannot talk someone into emotional presence. If they do not, personally, see the need to be emotionally available for you, there’s nothing your words and actions can do to change that. You cannot reason a person into depth they have never cultivated.

You cannot explain your hunger to someone who has never learned how to feed themselves.

Sometime last year, my lady said something quite painful. She spoke about her friends; how they almost never checked in. How concern only flowed in one direction. How she was always the one asking, listening, remembering birthdays, noticing silences, and carrying the emotional weather for everyone else.

She said it felt like knocking on doors that were never opened; like she’s pouring herself into rooms that echoed back empty. It was exhausting. And lonely. It hurt in a slow, untheatrical way that drains you rather than breaks you.

I sympathised with her then. Also, I didn’t hesitate to advice her to stop pouring water on cocoyam leaves. “Those friends aren’t worth it,” I said. In fact, I thought them to be villains. Lol. But, thinking about it now, I think emotionally unavailable people are not villains. They are simply limited—they do not withhold because they are calculating; they withhold because they are empty in places you are asking them to pour from. No amount of paragraphs, voice notes, or carefully worded confessions can change that reality.

Each time you over explain yourself to such people, something subtle happens. Like a cycle, an excruciatingly painful one, you shrink your own needs, start negotiating for basics, and eventually, begin to believe that wanting to be heard, understood, or held emotionally is asking for too much.

Note: IT IS NOT.

You are simply asking the wrong source.

An empty well is not wicked; just dry. And if you keep returning to it with your bucket, you will keep going home thirsty and blaming yourself for it.

There are people who will recognise your emotional language immediately without having to literally squeeze it out of them.

There are people who will not need footnotes or explanations to understand your heart. They simply respond, almost instantly and consistently… telepathically, even. They’re simply always present.

Those are your springs.

Yesterday, a Facebook post resonated so much with me, I had to share. Here:

Sometimes, you try to give someone the love they never had, and they show you exactly why they never had it. - A. Victor

Protect that part of you that longs to be seen. Do not keep exposing it to spaces that keep mishandling it. Sensitivity is not weakness. Depth is not neediness. Wanting connection is not a flaw. It is simply a signal pointing you toward the right environment.

Stop sending essays to people who only know how to skim life. Go where your words are welcomed. Go where your feelings are not treated as a burden. Go where your vulnerability is met with care.

Your heart deserves to be received, not merely tolerated. Choose ye this day to be chalant with people who also choose to be chalant like you.

— Jaachịmmá Anyatọnwụ
The Bard Influencer

PS: How many “simply” did you count in this read?