> “There’s so much intimacy in understanding. Someone who doesn’t understand you is not going to know how to love you because they don’t know who you are.” — @americanizdafricana
I wasn’t even planning to write today.
I was supposed to hang out with a friend, but she got caught up with work. You know how it goes—one minute you’re confirming lunch plans, the next you’re sitting in your car dressed and halfway ready, wondering what to do with the time you’ve carved out.
So, I decided to treat myself.
I drove to my favorite little coffee shop—nothing fancy, just the usual corner spot that always smells like fresh espresso and calm. I grabbed a cappuccino and a croissant (because what is life without croissant?), found a cozy seat by the window, pulled out my iPad, and started thinking.
As I was driving over here, this thought kept circling in my head. It came from a sermon clip I stumbled across a few days ago. It talked about the beauty—and the difficulty—of letting people fall.
And I knew, right then, I wanted to write about it.
Because I’ve been that person. The helper. The fixer. The friend who always has a solution, a warning, a “just trust me on this” moment ready to go.
But they didn’t listen.
And for a long time, that felt like rejection.
But the truth is—they weren’t rejecting me. They just weren’t ready. And they didn’t need saving.
Sometimes, people need to fall.
Not because they’re foolish or stubborn or blind. But because some lessons are only fully learned through experience.
It’s painful to watch. But I’m learning—painfully, slowly—that love isn’t about control. It’s not about rescuing people before they’re ready to be saved. Sometimes, love is just waiting at the bottom with open arms.
> “There’s so much intimacy in understanding…”
Understanding isn’t about being right. It’s about seeing who they are—the full, complex, messy version—and choosing to be there anyway.
So yeah—if you’ve ever felt frustrated because someone you care about didn’t take your advice… breathe. Let them walk their path. Trust that they’ll find their way. And be there, not with “I told you so,” but with “I’ve got you.”
Anyway, the coffee was warm, the croissant was soft and perfect. I’m packing up now, heading home. This impromptu writing session turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Thanks for sitting with me in this moment.
Until next time.
