In the past, I made the mistake of holding people accountable to expectations I never communicated.

I thought love meant knowing without asking. Anticipating. Reading between the lines. I tried to be that person for everyone—bringing smiles, giving presence, solving problems before they were named—and I unconsciously expected others to do the same for me.

The truth? I didn’t know how to express what I needed. So when someone asked, I felt frustrated. Was I mad they asked… or oblivious to the fact that I couldn’t answer?

Now, as I consciously slow down and observe myself—learning who and why I am—I’ve realized that my reactions weren’t just about others. They were about the discomfort of not knowing myself.

I see now how much I relied on others to give me solutions I hadn’t defined. How I offered no preference, no background, no context—and then felt disappointed when their effort didn’t land. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t love.

Communication is foundational. And I’ve had to admit I’ve been pretty awful at it.

I used to brag about how easy it was for me to cut people off. But the truth is, that “strength” just masked a deeper issue: I lacked grace. The very grace I so desperately needed from others was the one I hadn’t yet learned to offer.

As a result, my tribe is small. New. Grown from fresh, more honest soil. Not a flex—just a fact. A flaw I’ve been blessed to correct.

But I wonder:

• How many people are grieving relationships that dissolved because of expectations never spoken or fully understood?
• How many were punished for not knowing something they were never told—or never forgiven for forgetting?
• How often do we say, “You know how I feel,” when in truth, we’ve never made that clear?

To those I dismissed without clarity or kindness: I pray you’ve found peace. I pray I’m forgiven.

These days, I’m learning to practice new rhythms—ones that give space for reflection, grace, and actual communication. I’m grateful for those who understand me, but I am asking questions so I operate with the same clarity. I’m expressing preferences. I’m taking the time to respond, not react.

And I’m finally giving people what I’ve always wanted in return: the chance to get it right.

Intentional connection takes time.
Intentional connection requires open and consistent dialogue.
Intentional connection takes me—present and willing, not perfect and protected.

This is the rhythm of my bloom.