Grace and Space
There’s a quiet kind of survival going on.
It’s happening behind closed doors and unread messages. In the cancelled plans, the softly-spoken ‘no, thank yous’, in the long silences. In the people who’ve quietly stepped back - not because they don’t care, but because they’re just… full.
Full of living.
Full of noise.
Full of shifting seasons and quiet priorities.
Full of things that don’t need to be explained, just honoured.
We’re told, in a thousand subtle ways, that to be present is to be on. To show up. To reply. To meet. To keep moving. And if you don’t? It must mean something’s wrong. That you’re distant. Disconnected. Maybe even selfish.
But what if we rewrote that story?
What if not being “on” all the time was actually a kind of deep self-respect?
What if the people who’ve gone a bit quiet haven’t disappeared - they’re just trying to stay intact? What if presence looked like stillness, and love looked like space?
We talk a lot about giving people grace when they’re struggling. But I wonder if we really mean it? I wonder if we know how to give space without needing something back. Without the expectation of a quick return to “normal.”
Because sometimes, when someone’s quiet, or slower than they used to be, it’s not a phase. It’s a recalibration. A survival strategy. A new way of being in the world that demands more peace than performance.
Not everyone wants to be busy. Or reachable. Or available all the fucking time.
And yet, we’ve built a culture where our phones have become a kind of proof of life.
Where being silent is treated as suspicious. Where “Did you get my message?” feels more like surveillance than connection.
Maybe I saw it. Maybe I didn’t.
Maybe I’m just not “on” today. Maybe I won’t be tomorrow either.
It’s a strange kind of claustrophobia – being here, but expected to be responsive, decisive, endlessly available.
Some of us crave slowness like oxygen. Need stillness like medicine.
And maybe that doesn’t make us antisocial or avoidant. Maybe it just makes us honest. Maybe it means we’re finally listening to what we need.
This isn’t about withdrawing love. It’s about finding new, quieter ways to express it.
A kind of love that says: You don’t have to be anything but what you are today.
A kind of friendship that understands: It’s okay if we don’t meet for a while—I know you love me.
A kind of connection that allows for space, not expectation.
Grace and space. That’s what I keep coming back to.
Not just for myself, but for everyone who’s craving a little less noise. Whether they’re moving through something big or simply moving differently.
We don’t always need answers. Some of us don’t thrive on productivity or plans.
We just need the room to be a little bit messy. A little bit quiet. A little bit more human.
So if this is you, I see you. I honour your need for peace.
You don’t owe anyone anything right now – not even an explanation.
Let it be enough to simply just be.
Ciara x