You know, it’s funny how you get into these situations. I’ve always been one to observe folks, try to figure out what makes them tick. But there was this one guy, a Pisces, who really threw me for a loop. We were good, for a while, really connected. Then, little by little, I just felt him pulling back, you know? Like he was still there, but his mind, his heart, they were somewhere else. It wasn’t a fight, no big blow-up, just this slow, quiet drift. He started caring less, plain and simple.
I started noticing it in small things. He’d forget stuff we talked about, little plans we’d made. Not maliciously, just… gone from his head. He’d be looking at me, but his eyes would have this faraway look, like he was solving some grand cosmic puzzle instead of listening to me vent about my day. Or I’d catch him just zoning out, lost in his thoughts, and when I’d ask what was up, he’d just shrug and say “nothing,” but it was clearly something. I just couldn’t put my finger on it, and frankly, it started to sting.
At first, my gut reaction was to chase. Of course, right? I started asking more questions, trying to pull him back in. “What are you thinking?” “Are you okay?” “Did I do something?” I’d try to plan more things, hoping to spark that old connection. I’d try to surprise him, bring up old memories, really put in the effort. But it was like trying to catch mist. The more I reached, the more he seemed to slip through my fingers. He wasn’t overtly pushing me away, but he wasn’t really engaging either. It was frustrating, felt like I was running on a treadmill and getting nowhere.
I remember one evening, just sitting there after he’d cancelled our dinner plans last minute with a vague excuse about “needing some quiet time,” and I just felt this wave of exhaustion wash over me. I wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. That’s when it hit me. All my trying, all my pushing, it wasn’t making him care more. It was making him care less, or at least retreat more. My actions, though well-intentioned, were actually adding to the pressure, and for someone like him, that was a recipe for more withdrawal.
Here’s what I started to do differently:
- I stopped chasing. This was probably the hardest part. I decided to pull back my energy. If he didn’t respond immediately, I didn’t send another message. If he seemed quiet, I let the quiet be. I learned to be comfortable in the silence, to let him come to me.
- I focused on my own stuff. Seriously, I dove headfirst into my hobbies, my friends, my work. I started painting again, something I’d neglected. I planned outings with my buddies. I made my life vibrant and full, independent of him. This wasn’t about making him jealous; it was about truly being happy on my own again.
- I changed my communication. When we did talk, I stopped making it about “us” or “our issues.” I started sharing my own interests, my discoveries, my excitement about my day. I made it about shared joy, not shared problems. I started listening differently too, really trying to hear the underlying feelings rather than just the words.
- I created space for him, without expectation. Instead of planning elaborate dates, I’d suggest simple, low-pressure activities. A walk in the park, watching a movie at home, just being in the same room doing our own thing. I didn’t push for deep conversations; I let them happen naturally, if they happened at all.
- I made him feel appreciated for the little things. When he did something kind, even something small, I made sure to genuinely acknowledge it. Not over-the-top praise, but a sincere “Thank you, that really helped,” or “I appreciate you remembering that.” I tried to notice his efforts, however minor, and let him know they weren’t invisible.
It wasn’t an overnight fix, not at all. It was slow, like turning a massive ship. There were days I wanted to revert to my old habits, to just scream “Why are you doing this?!” But I held my ground. I just kept showing up for myself, living my life fully, and being consistently kind and open when he was around, without demanding anything in return. I showed him that my happiness wasn’t contingent on his attention, but that his presence was something I valued, not something I needed to complete me.
And you know what? Slowly, but surely, things started to shift. He started reaching out more, initiating plans. He’d tell me about his thoughts, his dreams, the stuff he’d been mulling over. He started showing up, really showing up, to things we did. The faraway look in his eyes became less frequent, replaced by genuine engagement. It was like I gave him the space to breathe, to be himself, and in doing so, he chose to lean back in. He started caring again, not because I forced him, but because he felt safe and seen, and not suffocated by my needs or expectations.
