Dear Tessa,
I don’t know why I’m still waiting, and that’s what’s starting to bother me the most. Waiting has become so familiar that I barely question it anymore. I wait for clarity, for consistency, for effort, for things to feel different. I tell myself that patience is a virtue and that rushing decisions only leads to regret. But lately, waiting feels less like wisdom and more like avoidance.
I keep convincing myself there’s a reason to hold on. That timing matters. That circumstances will change. That people need space to grow. I replay the good moments and use them as proof that waiting is worth it. But the truth is, the waiting hasn’t brought much movement. It’s mostly brought more waiting.
What makes this harder is that no one is asking me to wait explicitly. There’s no promise, no timeline, no clear direction. The waiting is something I’ve taken on quietly, almost automatically. I’ve adjusted my expectations, slowed my pace, and put parts of myself on hold without ever being asked to do so.
I’m starting to notice how much of my energy is tied up in anticipation. I think about what might happen instead of responding to what is happening. I stay emotionally available without knowing if that availability is being met. And while I tell myself I’m being understanding, I can feel the cost of staying suspended in this in-between space.
I don’t want to confuse waiting with hope or patience with self-sacrifice. I don’t want to keep standing still just because movement feels scary. But I also don’t want to walk away prematurely if waiting truly has purpose. I just don’t know how to tell the difference anymore.
So how do you know when waiting is intentional and when it’s just habit? How do you stop waiting without feeling like you’re giving up on something that still matters to you?
Signed:
A woman tired of standing still
Tessa’s Thoughts on the Subject
Waiting often feels safer than choosing. As long as you’re waiting, you don’t have to fully face the possibility that something may not change. Waiting keeps hope alive, but it can also keep you suspended in uncertainty. Over time, that suspension becomes its own form of discomfort.
Healthy waiting usually comes with communication, direction, and mutual understanding. You know what you’re waiting for, and you know why. When waiting has no clear purpose, no shared agreement, and no movement, it stops being patience and starts becoming self-abandonment.
Many women wait because they’ve been taught that wanting clarity or commitment too soon is unreasonable. So instead of asking direct questions, they wait quietly, hoping consistency will appear on its own. But clarity rarely arrives through silence. It arrives through honesty, even when that honesty feels uncomfortable.
It’s also important to notice how waiting affects your sense of self. Does it give you peace, or does it keep you anxious and unsure? Does it feel intentional, or does it feel like you’re putting your life on hold for something that may never fully arrive?
You’re allowed to stop waiting simply because waiting no longer feels right. You don’t need a dramatic reason or undeniable proof. Sometimes the absence of forward movement is the information.
Tessa’s Straight-Up Perspective
Here’s the truth. Waiting without clarity slowly teaches you to accept uncertainty as normal. You don’t need permission to stop standing still. If waiting has no direction, no reciprocity, and no timeline, it’s okay to choose yourself instead. You’re not giving up by stopping the wait. You’re responding to what’s real instead of what you’re hoping might happen.
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.