I messed up a ton of my relationships before I figured this out. I mean, a real cluster of confusing arguments and feelings that just didn’t stick. I spent years trying to force things, thinking if I just put in enough grinding effort, it would eventually click. It felt like I was trying to build a bridge with mismatched wooden planks every single time.
I dated a couple of fire signs, man. Talk about drama. It was exciting for a minute, you know? Fast, hot, arguments that turned into makeup sessions that were just too much work. Then I tried an air sign—totally different flavor of chaos. Intellectual sparring, feeling like I was always ten steps behind trying to figure out what they were actually feeling. It was exhausting. I was ready to throw my hands up and just adopt five cats and call it a day. My practice log at the time was literally just a series of angry bullet points followed by the word “DONE” in all caps.
Then I ran into my current partner. She’s a Cancer. I’m a Pisces. I didn’t know it at first, and honestly, I always thought that whole astrology thing was a bunch of new age crap anyway. I was just looking for a decent person who didn’t cause unnecessary drama. What I found was total, immediate calm. It was weirdly quiet.
I remember sitting across from her on our third date, and she just knew I was having a terrible week at work before I even opened my mouth. She didn’t ask “what’s wrong?” She just slid a glass of water to me and changed the subject to something totally benign and funny. It was like she was filtering all the noise out of my head without me asking. I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to put on a show. I just existed.
The Practice of Letting Go
My previous “practice” in dating was always about analyzing the situation. Always trying to predict the fight or preempt the breakup. With her, the process shifted entirely. My journal entries went from pages of decoding text messages to maybe a paragraph a week marveling at how little we had to talk about certain big things because we already felt them.
I started documenting the small, subtle connections. I wasn’t just observing her; I was observing us—the strange, silent way we moved together. It’s not about being lovey-dovey all the time. It’s about being deeply, fundamentally understood. I realized that the whole strength of this pairing isn’t visible from the outside. You have to be in it to document it.
- I reached for the remote to pause the show, and she already had her finger hovering over the button. It happened at the exact same millisecond.
- We were driving home from a trip, and I was about to say I was craving a specific type of taco, and she took the exit for that exact place without me saying a thing. She just knew.
- I had a terrible nightmare one time, the kind that makes you physically shake. I woke up, and she was already awake, holding my hand, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t ask about the dream. She just squeezed my hand and went back to sleep, confirming I was real and safe.
This is the water sign thing, I realized later. It’s not just “feelings.” It’s an emotional network connection that’s always on. Cancer gives the stability, the home base, the protective shell. Pisces gives the depth, the acceptance, the limitless understanding. She builds the perfectly comfortable living room, and I spend all my time chilling on the couch without worrying if the walls are going to fall down.
Look, I know this works because of a giant crisis we went through. I hit a massive wall in my career. I messed up a huge project, costing my old company a ton of money. I was certain I was getting fired, certain I was going to lose everything, and I basically shut down. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even look at a job board.
I sat on the couch for three days. My previous partners would have either launched into a motivational speech or freaked out about the finances. Not her. She just started making sure I ate. Every morning, she put coffee right next to me, just out of my reach, forcing me to shift slightly. Every night, she covered me with a blanket and watched some terrible reality TV next to me, just giving me presence. She didn’t try to fix it. She didn’t demand I snap out of it. She provided a safe zone until I was ready to float back up. She was the absolute anchor I needed, totally sturdy, yet completely non-judgmental about my deep-sea dive of despair. That’s the power. The complete emotional scaffolding. If you have to ask why it’s strong, you haven’t experienced being perfectly supported by another water sign
