Have you seen the film He’s Just Not That Into You? It focusses on how we can spend a great deal of time interpreting excuses, mixed signals and inconsistent behaviour as evidence of hidden affection, when sometimes the explanation is that the other person is simply not interested. Whilst the film focusses on romantic relationships, I feel it can shape how we approach friendships, professional relationships and other connections too. As someone who prides themselves on nurturing relationships and seeing the best in people, I have often thought that if I am willing to put in the effort, the other person will eventually do the same. If their behaviour is inconsistent, I might explain it away with them being busy or having other things on their mind. It hasn’t always crossed my mind that perhaps the connection is not right for them (or me). I try to live by my values and whilst bringing this to my relationships is a good quality, I have learnt that it takes two to tango. There needs to be a mutual level of interest, responsiveness and commitment and if this is not there, letting go can be done in a respectful way that is still true to my values. I’ve struggled with the balance of putting in the effort versus letting go. I don’t want to lose my positive outlook on the world, but the challenge comes when that optimism prevents us from seeing what is really happening. There is a difference between giving someone the benefit of the doubt and repeatedly disregarding a pattern of behaviour. One missed message or cancelled meeting may mean very little but ongoing inconsistency or a lack of reciprocal effort may be communicating something important. We can acknowledge those signals without turning them into a judgment about our own worth. Someone’s lack of interest does not necessarily mean that we are uninteresting or unworthy. It might just mean that the connection is not right for them—or that they are not able to invest in it. I know I’ve been guilty of taking these things personally but over the years I’ve become more philosophical about it. I can enjoy interacting with a stranger without trying to turn it into a lifelong friendship. When someone is not putting in the effort, I have a choice. I can continue making excuses for them, I can ask directly whether something has changed or I can decide that I no longer want to pursue the connection. It might feel awkward to ask for clarity but if it’s an important connection, an honest conversation could be just what is needed. Of course, people go through difficult periods. Circumstances change, and there will be times when one person temporarily has less capacity than the other. Letting go does not mean abandoning people at the first sign of difficulty. It means paying attention to patterns, communicating honestly and recognising when the relationship no longer has enough mutuality to continue in a healthy way. When considering connections, we can ask: Is this connection reciprocal? Am I responding to the person’s actual behaviour or to the potential I see in them? Have I communicated what I need clearly? Am I continuing because the relationship is nourishing, or because I am hoping it will eventually become so? What advice would I give a friend in the same situation? Walking away from a connection that is consistently one-sided can be an act of self-respect. It creates space for relationships in which interest, care and effort are shared rather than negotiated. Seeing the possibility of a rewarding friendship is not enough; a connection cannot be built on one person’s vision of what it could become. It has to be based on what both people are prepared to contribute now.  So, if you find yourself doing all the nurturing, perhaps it is time to accept what the behaviour is telling you. Not with resentment or self-blame, but with the understanding that your energy is precious—and better directed towards connections where it is genuinely reciprocated.

July has felt like a month of reset for me. In the past few weeks, I’ve done two big swims: a solo 9-mile swim in Dover and a 6-person relay swim to France. On paper, the Dover swim was the harder one. But what surprised me most was how much more stressful I find team events. They seem to stir up an older version of me: the girl back at school, waiting to be chosen, afraid of being the weak link, terrified of letting people down. And in those moments, that old voice can become so loud that I lose sight of who I am now. I’ve also been getting clearer about how I speak about myself and my life. I am learning to talk openly about all the parts of me, including the ones that don’t earn me money but bring me joy, meaning, and a deeper sense of who I am. For a long time, I felt I should lead with the more polished, high-profile, income-generating parts of myself. But I’m beginning to understand that the quieter, less visible parts matter just as much, if not more. I’ve had my garden redone this month too, and something about the planting of new seeds (admittedly not by me!!) felt symbolic. A quiet reminder that this is a season of sowing, of waiting, of not quite knowing what will grow, and trusting that some things may surprise and delight me in time. As I slow down and reset, I can feel myself becoming aware of where I am a little out of kilter. In swimming, I seem to have found a rhythm, especially when I have a goal to train for. But elsewhere, I’ve drifted from the structure of habit tracking into something looser, more open, more serendipitous. There is freedom in that, but also a kind of drifting. And the list of all the things I want to be, do, and hold can feel heavy: swim, volunteer, work, see friends, read, learn, …the list keeps going! So what am I carrying forward from this reset? Two ideas have stayed with me. The first is common humanity — the reminder that we are not alone in what we feel, and that others are often walking something similar. Maureen Evans talked about this in a recent workshop referencing the work of Dr. Kristin Neff. This has been especially helpful in swimming, where I so often assume I am the slowest, the least capable, the one who will hold everyone back. But the more I speak those fears aloud, the more I see how universal they are. It’s also a reminder that I don’t have to be a lone wolf. I am a connector, but when I’m struggling or scared, I can retreat into myself. What I know now is that these things are better shared. The second is the quiet relief of not needing everything to be resolved. Oliver Burkeman wrote about living without the hope of resolution, something in that is strangely freeing. It has softened my relationship with the endless list in my head and helped me ask a gentler question: what actually matters today? More than anything, I am remembering that connection to myself is the foundation of a more intentional life. When I pause long enough to breathe, to listen, to notice where I can be fully present and of real value, life feels fuller, more aligned and more me.  Whilst the habit trackers of my past may be too rigid for the person I am today, I don’t think I need less intention — just a different kind. One that is softer, wiser, and more spacious. One that asks me to be more conscious with my time and energy, more willing to ask for support, and less afraid to celebrate myself. To speak a little louder. To shine a little brighter. To trust that I, too, am part of what is blooming.