Dear Tessa,
I feel like I’m waiting on nothing, and admitting that feels unsettling. I keep telling myself there’s still something here to wait for. A conversation. A shift. A moment where things finally make sense. But when I really look at it, I can’t name what I’m actually waiting on anymore.
There’s no clear next step. No plan. No direction. Just time passing and me staying in place. I tell myself that patience is a virtue, that not everything needs to move quickly. But patience usually has purpose. This feels more like stalling.
I think part of me is afraid to name what’s missing. Because once I do, I have to face the possibility that nothing is coming. That the clarity I’ve been expecting isn’t delayed, it’s absent. Waiting keeps the door open without requiring me to decide whether I should walk through it or close it myself.
I also notice how much energy waiting takes. I’m constantly checking in emotionally. Wondering if today will be different. Reading meaning into small moments because there’s nothing else to hold onto. It’s exhausting to stay hopeful without anything concrete to anchor that hope.
What’s hardest is that waiting feels safer than choosing. As long as I’m waiting, I don’t have to accept loss or finality. I don’t have to admit that this might be over, or that it never really began in the way I wanted it to. Waiting lets me avoid that truth.
But lately, the waiting feels empty. Like I’m standing still while life continues around me. I don’t feel grounded or excited. I just feel suspended.
I don’t want to keep waiting if there’s nothing on the other side of it. I just don’t know how to tell the difference between patience and avoidance anymore.
So how do you know when waiting has run its course? And how do you stop waiting on nothing without feeling like you gave up too soon?
Signed:
A guy tired of standing still
Tessa’s Thoughts on the Subject
Waiting becomes hollow when it’s no longer connected to action or intention. Patience has direction. It’s grounded in something that’s actively unfolding. When nothing is moving and no clarity is forming, waiting often turns into avoidance disguised as hope.
Many people wait because it feels less painful than deciding. As long as you’re waiting, the ending hasn’t happened yet. But that suspension comes at a cost. It keeps you from fully engaging with what’s available now.
If you can’t articulate what you’re waiting for, that’s information. Waiting without a clear reason often means you’re holding space for something that hasn’t shown up and may not be coming. Hope without movement eventually becomes self-abandonment.
Letting go of waiting doesn’t mean you were wrong to hope. It means you’re responding to reality as it is now, not as you wish it would be. Choosing to stop waiting is often the first step toward forward momentum.
You’re allowed to choose movement over limbo. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.
Tessa’s Straight-Up Perspective
Here’s the truth. Waiting only makes sense when something is actually meeting you halfway. If you’re waiting without direction, without effort, and without clarity, you’re not being patient. You’re being paused. And you don’t need permission to press play on your own life.
Disclaimer:
Dear Tessa: Letters From Men is written advice-style to explore emotional dynamics and common blind spots from a male perspective. It’s meant to offer clarity and reflection, not professional guidance or justification. You know your situation best.
