Dear Brothers out here on these streets with me,
I think we’re all beginning to tell ourselves the truth—and it’s quietly reshaping everything.
The truth that love, as many of us have known it, may have been more of a transaction than we cared to admit.
That many men don’t always choose women because they’ve been deeply seen—but because something about her works. She’s a life plan. A soft place to land. A way to prove, “I’ve made it.”
And yet, not always someone to know.
Not always someone to sit with, slowly, curiously, reverently.
Not always someone to grow beside—because that kind of growth is uncomfortable.
I don’t think this is all wickedness. I really don’t.
Sometimes it’s exhaustion.
Sometimes it’s a longing for peace in a world that’s taken too much already.
Sometimes it’s survival.
But it still makes it hard to breathe.
Because a woman can be deeply partnered—yet still feel like she’s carrying the weight of the intimacy alone.
Especially the woman who has done the inner work.
The one who has faced herself in the mirror and refused to look away.
The one who has read the books, dug through her childhood, cried through therapy, asked God hard questions, and softened anyway.
She’s not waiting to be rescued.
But she is hoping to be met.
Not worshipped.
Not idolised.
Met.
On ground that is tender. Real. Uncurated.
But sometimes she’s met with something else: A man who wants love—but hasn’t figured out who he is without applause.
A man who is tired—but won’t say it out loud.
A man who is yearning, yearning to be seen—but only knows how to perform.
And so, he “chooses” her.
Because she makes him feel better.
Not because he’s ready to see her.
It sounds like a compliment. But it isn’t.
Because when the fog lifts, and the performance dies down,
She may realise she’s entered a love where her soul is unknown.
Where her mind is unstudied.
Where her vulnerability is either too much—or goes unnoticed entirely.
And brothers, that’s not partnership.
That’s not love.
That’s branding. That’s optics.
That’s a narrative looking for a pretty co-star.
I don’t say this to shame you.
I say it because I’ve been that woman.
And I know too many others who have worn the same ache.
So, if you’re reading this and you feel seen—or stung—pause there.
Ask yourself:
Who am I without the role I’m performing?
What do I really want from love?
What do I actually have to offer another soul?
To the ones doing the inner work—quietly, consistently, even when no one claps—this is not your indictment.
It’s okay if you don’t have all the answers yet.
But please—don’t reach for someone to complete a picture you haven’t taken time to develop.
Love her, not the role she fits.
Learn her, not just what she provides.
See her, not just what she softens in you.
And if you’re not ready—be honest.
Don’t pick her because she makes you look less lonely.
Pick her because you want to walk with her—and keep walking.
With care,
Meestique
The Empathic Social Observer
The Empathic Social Observer 