Dear Tessa,
I keep going back and forth in my head, and I don’t know which voice to trust anymore. One part of me feels tired, worn down, and quietly done. The other part keeps reminding me of history, effort, and everything that would be lost if I walked away. I don’t know if staying makes me loyal or if leaving makes me selfish. I just know I’m stuck in the middle, and it’s exhausting.
Nothing is bad enough to justify an obvious exit. There’s no single moment I can point to and say, this is why I left. It’s more like a collection of small disappointments that never quite heal. Conversations that don’t go anywhere. Needs that stay unmet even after they’re clearly expressed. A constant feeling of being halfway seen, halfway chosen, halfway understood.
I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to look at the bigger picture and remind myself that no situation is perfect. I’ve told myself that commitment means staying through discomfort, that walking away too soon is a failure of character. And sometimes I believe that. Sometimes I convince myself that wanting peace doesn’t mean I should give up.
But other times, I feel this deep pull telling me I’m forcing something that no longer fits. I feel myself growing quieter, more careful, less honest about what I really want. I notice how often I minimize my feelings just to keep things steady. And that scares me, because I don’t want to lose myself trying to hold onto something that might already be slipping.
What I’m afraid of most isn’t leaving. It’s leaving and realizing I was wrong. It’s walking away and wondering if I gave up too soon, if I should have tried harder, waited longer, loved better. I don’t want to confuse fear with intuition, or discomfort with a sign to quit. I just want to make the right choice and not regret it later.
So how do you know? How do you tell the difference between a season that requires endurance and one that’s asking you to let go? How do you walk away without feeling like you failed, or stay without feeling like you’re betraying yourself?
Signed:
A woman afraid of choosing wrong
Tessa’s Thoughts on the Subject
This question usually shows up when you’ve already done more than your share of staying. People who leave impulsively don’t spend this much time questioning themselves. The fact that you’re weighing this so carefully tells me you’re not looking for an easy out. You’re looking for peace, clarity, and honesty with yourself.
Walking away doesn’t always come after something explodes. Sometimes it comes after something slowly fades. A lack of effort that becomes normal. Conversations that repeat without change. A quiet realization that you’re doing most of the emotional labor while calling it compromise. When staying requires you to consistently silence your needs, that’s not endurance. That’s erosion.
It’s important to separate discomfort from misalignment. Growth can feel uncomfortable because it stretches you, but it still feels alive. Misalignment feels draining, heavy, and stagnant. One asks more of you in a way that expands you. The other slowly asks you to become less of yourself to maintain the connection. Paying attention to how you feel after repeated attempts to repair is often more telling than focusing on how much time you’ve already invested.
Fear can make staying feel safer simply because it’s familiar. Leaving introduces uncertainty, and uncertainty can feel threatening even when it’s healthier. But staying out of fear doesn’t protect you from pain. It just trades one kind of pain for another, quieter one that lingers longer. The kind that shows up later as resentment, regret, or self-blame.
You are not obligated to stay simply because you’ve stayed before. Time invested does not mean something is meant to last forever. Effort only matters when it’s mutual. If you’re the only one consistently adjusting, explaining, and holding things together, that’s not partnership. That’s responsibility without reciprocity.
Tessa’s Straight-Up Perspective
Here’s the truth most people avoid. Walking away isn’t a failure when staying requires you to abandon yourself. You don’t need a dramatic ending or undeniable proof to honor what feels wrong. Sometimes clarity comes from noticing who you’re becoming in the process of staying. If you’re growing smaller, quieter, or less honest just to keep something intact, that’s information. Trust it. Choosing yourself isn’t giving up. It’s choosing a life that doesn’t require you to disappear to be kept.
Disclaimer:
Dear Tessa is written woman-to-woman — honest, imperfect, and human. It’s meant to offer comfort, clarity, and perspective, not professional guidance. You know your life best.
