Man, caring for a Pisces, huh? Let me tell you, when I first got into it with my partner, who’s a full-blown Pisces, I thought I knew what “deep” meant. Boy, was I wrong. I mean, I love ’em to bits, but for a long time, it felt like I was constantly missing something, stepping on emotional landmines without even knowing they were there.
I remember this one time, early on. We were just hanging out, watching some dumb movie, and suddenly, they got super quiet. Like, shut down quiet. I asked what was up, gave ’em a nudge, you know, the usual. “Nothing,” they’d mumble, or just shrug. But their eyes, man, their eyes would tell a whole different story. They’d get this distant, cloudy look. Me, being the logical type, I’d push, try to fix it, try to figure out the problem. I’d run through everything we just talked about, everything we just did. Was it the movie? Did I say something wrong? Did I look at them funny? I’d just keep pestering, asking, trying to drag it out of them. And every time, they’d just retreat further, make it harder to get to. It was like trying to scoop water with a sieve. Frustrating as hell, honestly.
I’d walk away thinking, “What the heck just happened?” and they’d be left feeling even more misunderstood. This happened over and over again. Arguments would start from nowhere, or rather, from somewhere I couldn’t even see. I thought they were just being moody, or overly sensitive, or just trying to be difficult. I’d get defensive, thinking they were making a mountain out of a molehill, because to me, there was no molehill. It was just a flat, clear field!
It took me a solid year, maybe even more, of these repetitive cycles before I finally threw my hands up. I was sitting there one night, after another one of these silent shutdowns, and I just felt completely drained. I realized what I was doing wasn’t working. My usual tactics of “solving the problem” or “talking it out logically” were just making things worse. It was like I was speaking a completely different language when it came to their feelings.
So, I started to really watch and listen. Not just to their words, but to everything else. I began to pick up on the subtle shifts in their voice, the way their shoulders might slump a little, the slight change in their expression even when they said “I’m fine.” It wasn’t about the big, dramatic outbursts, it was about the tiny, almost invisible ripples beneath the surface. I started paying attention to patterns. What kind of movies or music made them feel a certain way? What conversations seemed to trigger that distant look? I wasn’t just observing them, I was also observing myself and my reactions.
I kept a mental note, almost like a little log in my head: “Okay, when X happens, they tend to get quiet.” “When I say Y, they often withdraw.” It felt a bit like being a detective at first, trying to piece together a puzzle where half the pieces were invisible. I also tried something completely different: instead of prying or questioning, I’d just offer comfort without words. Sometimes, it was just sitting closer, putting an arm around them, or making their favorite tea. No questions, no demands for an explanation. Just presence.
And you know what? Slowly, very slowly, things started to change. I noticed that when I didn’t push, when I just let them be in their feelings, whatever those feelings were, they’d eventually, on their own time, open up a little. Maybe not right away, maybe an hour later, maybe the next day. But they’d start to share bits and pieces. Not always a full, coherent story, sometimes just fragments, feelings, impressions. And I learned to just accept those fragments. Not try to make sense of them logically, not try to dissect them, just accept them as their truth.
Another big thing I started doing was validating their feelings, even if I didn’t fully grasp the ‘why.’ Instead of saying, “Why are you upset about that?”, I started saying things like, “That sounds really tough,” or “I can see why you’d feel that way.” Even if it felt completely alien to my own experience, I just acknowledged their experience. That simple shift, man, it was a game-changer. It let them know they weren’t crazy for feeling what they were feeling, even if I didn’t get it. It created this safe space where their deep emotions weren’t judged or dismissed.
What I eventually understood is that for a Pisces, their emotions are like a vast, deep ocean. Sometimes it’s calm, sometimes there are currents, sometimes a storm is brewing way down deep, and you can only see the ripples on the surface. You can’t just dive in and expect to understand all the depths in one go. You gotta respect the ocean. You gotta respect their waves. You can’t just tell the ocean to stop being wavy. You gotta ride with it, or just stand by the shore and watch.
My partner now, years later, will sometimes just come to me and say, “I’m feeling weird today,” or “My brain’s just heavy.” And instead of launching into an interrogation, I just offer a hug or a quiet presence. I’ve learned that sometimes, all they need is to feel seen and accepted in their emotional state, not fixed. It’s still a journey, always learning, always adjusting. But figuring out how to navigate those deep waters, man, it’s made our connection so much stronger, so much more real. It’s less about understanding the logic of the emotion and more about understanding the feeling of the emotion itself. And that’s been my biggest lesson.
