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A client of mine recently said, “If he doesn’t ask me out in the first three messages, I’m done.”
It sounded like confidence—but underneath? Fear. A desire to be pursued, chosen, and known—without having to risk vulnerability.
We talk about wanting “traditional values.” How she doesn’t want to initiate. How she doesn’t want to name what she needs. How she doesn’t want to be misunderstood either.
So we wait for someone to “just know.” We hope to skip the ache and awkwardness of building real intimacy.
Many of us want someone who is intentional and present in dating. But sometimes clarity gets tangled up with the belief that intentionality means someone must arrive already fluent in who we are. If they don’t, the relationship feels doomed before it begins.
But this fantasy—that someone will instinctively know how to love us without ever being shown—isn’t connection.
It’s a craving for recognition, not of our present selves, but of a wound we carry.
We want someone to intuit the parts of us we’ve long kept hidden, to soothe the pain we never had words for, to prove we’re lovable without us having to risk asking for love. This kind of recognition often isn’t about being met where we actually are—it’s about being mirrored in the most flattering, comforting way.
We’re not seeking to be understood as much as we are hoping to be healed through someone else’s gaze. It feels good, even intoxicating at first.
But it rarely lasts.
For many of us, especially those who have spent years being the caretaker, the one who anticipates, who leads, who repairs, this longing isn’t shallow or needy. It comes from a soul-deep desire to finally rest. To not always be the one who has to explain.
And that makes so much sense. Of course we want to be met with presence, initiative, and understanding.
But this is also where the line between recognition and connection can get blurry—because what we long for isn’t just ease, it’s to be deeply felt.
And when that feeling doesn’t arrive in the exact way we imagined, we might start reaching for control instead of curiosity.
Recognition Versus Connection: The Tree Metaphor
Recognition feels like someone already knowing. Knowing our wounds, our preferences, our way of communicating without needing context or conversation. It can feel intoxicating. Familiar, even. But recognition is often rooted in a kind of projection. It’s about being seen in a moment, often filtered through someone else’s lens, not necessarily through deep understanding.
Connection, on the other hand, takes time. Like a tree putting down roots, it doesn’t happen all at once. True connection grows through curiosity, communication, and care. It requires mutual effort. The willingness to be seen as we are not just in the curated version of ourselves, but in our complexity. Our contradictions. Our needs.
Of course, there are moments when someone does “just get us,” when we feel an instant sense of being mirrored or known. Sometimes that happens because we share lived experiences, values, or emotional language. And yes, over time, in partnership, there will be moments where our partner surprises us with how deeply they’ve come to know us. Those moments are beautiful. They matter.
But expecting that kind of attunement from the very beginning—demanding it as proof of someone’s worth or compatibility or their expression of interest—can be harmful. It bypasses the natural (and often awkward) process of building intimacy. It can set us up to dismiss people who would have shown up with great care, had we let them.
The Pitfall of Testing Versus the Invitation to Connect
When we expect someone to “just know,” we’re often hoping to bypass vulnerability. It’s easier, in some ways, to hope someone will intuitively meet us than it is to say, “This is what I need to feel safe.” But that bypass can lead us into a subtle form of testing. A dynamic where we’re silently waiting to see if the other person passes without ever letting them in on the test.
Testing might look like withholding affection to see if they pursue. Watching how long it takes them to text back. Seeing if they guess the right thing to say or do in a moment of tension. It’s protective, yes. But it’s not connective.
And more importantly, it doesn’t actually give us what we want.
Because what most of us want is not perfection. We want presence. Not someone who gets it right every time, but someone who cares enough to learn us. Who shows up with patience and openness. Who says, “Teach me how to love you,” and then listens with their whole self.
That kind of connection can’t be tested into existence. It can only be co-created.
The Difference Between “I Don’t Want to Educate Them” and Mindful Connection
Saying “I don’t want to educate them” often comes from a place of exhaustion and past hurt. It’s a boundary, a refusal to carry the emotional labor of teaching someone how to meet our needs, especially when it feels like we’ve been doing that forever without much reciprocity. This feeling is valid and important because emotional labor can be draining, and no one wants to feel like a project or a burden.
However, when held too rigidly, this belief can unintentionally become a barrier to real connection. Expecting a partner to just know everything without communication or vulnerability asks them to be mind readers—something no one can reliably do. It sets up unrealistic standards that often lead to frustration and disconnection.
Mindful connection, by contrast, invites mutual learning and curiosity, not one-sided education. It’s not about endlessly explaining or fixing someone else’s emotional literacy. It’s about sharing what’s essential, allowing space for questions, and inviting someone who truly cares to respond and grow alongside us.
This means:
>> Not signing up to educate endlessly or carry all the emotional labor alone.
>> Inviting authentic communication where both people bring openness, effort, and willingness to understand.
>> Creating a partnership where vulnerability is safe and emotional labor is shared.
>> Using feelings of overwhelm about teaching as signals to reassess boundaries or compatibility rather than reasons to withhold all communication.
If we avoid sharing any part of ourselves because we don’t want to educate, we risk staying stuck in loneliness or disconnect. Connection requires openness and willingness to show our needs. This does not mean endless explanations or justifying ourselves. It means clear, kind communication that invites mutual response.
It is about balancing protecting our energy and allowing a real relationship to form through shared understanding, not fantasy mind reading.
Recognition Versus True Connection
Recognition often feels like a rush, an adrenaline spike. It is intense and jolting. It demands effort to maintain, like constantly proving ourselves. It is usually one-sided where one person performs and waits for the other’s reaction. Recognition can be noisy, filled with anxious thoughts about how we are perceived, leaving us uncertain and wondering if we did enough. It swings between highs and lows and hinges on external validation. Recognition feels like chasing a spotlight that can shift or disappear without warning.
In contrast, true connection feels steady and nurturing, like a slow, comforting breath. It invites naturalness and ease. We don’t have to perform or put on a show. It is mutual presence, where both people actively listen and respond. Connection allows quiet moments that deepen intimacy rather than create discomfort. It encourages honesty and vulnerability without fear of rejection. It leaves us feeling secure, grounded, and more ourselves. True connection builds over time, growing stronger with each shared experience. It feels like two rhythms harmonizing, each balancing and supporting the other.
Emotional Attunement and Building Intimacy Over Time
Somewhere deep within, there’s a longing to be known without having to explain ourselves. To be met without having to reach out. It feels romantic, a shortcut to safety. But what we’re really asking for is emotional attunement—the experience of being understood, felt, and responded to without having to over-explain. We want a partner who notices subtle shifts in mood, who senses when something’s off, who learns our inner language the way we have learned others’.
Attunement isn’t magic. It’s not mind reading. It’s built over time through mutual curiosity, repeated moments of honest sharing, and the willingness to repair when we miss each other. It grows when we say, “That didn’t feel good,” and the other leans in—not away.
Many of us hesitate to trust connection because we’ve only known the high of being noticed and the crash of being forgotten. When something calm and present arrives, we sometimes dismiss it as boring or too easy. That is our nervous system detoxing from the drama of recognition.
Teaching, Co-Creation, and Mutual Responsibility
Before we can welcome true connection, we need to pause and ask ourselves: where have we mistaken emotional safety for the expectation that someone should simply “just know”?
This expectation is understandable because attachment is wired into us as a survival mechanism. As infants, not being bonded to a caregiver meant danger. Now, when a partner seems emotionally unavailable or doesn’t soothe us, it triggers that primal alarm, not just disappointment but existential fear.
But we are no longer infants. We can safely teach someone how to love us. We can name what we need and guide those who care enough to learn. We don’t need to wait silently to be rescued or prove our worth through unspoken tests.
True partnership is not mind reading or outsourcing emotional regulation to someone else. It is shared presence and mutual responsibility. It’s not a test for someone else to pass but a journey of co-regulation and vulnerability. The courage to reveal ourselves fully, even when it feels awkward or imperfect, is what creates real intimacy.
What if intentional dating instead meant finding someone who is curious, responsive, and willing to learn our personal map of connection?
We can recognize someone who is responsive by how they treat our needs: they don’t see requests as inconveniences, they adjust based on feedback, ask thoughtful questions, and consistently help us feel safer rather than more confused.
This responsiveness is the foundation of moving from testing to connecting.
Testing looks like withholding, expecting the other to guess or anticipate without guidance. It creates power struggles and anxiety by placing all the emotional labor on one person’s ability to mind-read.
Connecting, however, invites clarity and co-creation. It is sharing what’s true and seeing how the other responds.
Growing the Tree of Connection Together
Many of us want to sit under a tree of love—lush with shade, comforting and secure. But we forget that trees don’t spring up overnight. That kind of connection is grown, not given.
Still, it is common to wait for someone to show up with the tree already blooming: “He should just know what I need. He should anticipate it. If I have to ask, it doesn’t count.”
But we don’t get to harvest emotional safety we didn’t help cultivate. We don’t get to rest under a tree whose roots we were unwilling to tend.
True connection isn’t built through guessing games. It’s built through truth-telling. Through the mutual offering of our inner world: “Here’s what I need. What about you?”
We say we want this outstanding, fulfilling relationship but often hesitate or resist the work of building intimacy through consistent communication, openness, and emotional presence. The truth is, we can’t have the shade of a mature tree without tending to its roots together.
And I get it—that longing to be chosen clearly, confidently, without having to guide someone, is so real. Especially if we’ve spent a lifetime being the ones to hold things together or anticipate other people’s needs. But here’s the thing: most people don’t “just know” how we want to be approached. They know what they know about themselves—their patterns, their comfort zones, their way of connecting.
It doesn’t mean they’re not into us. It might just mean they haven’t learned us yet.
And that’s not a red flag. It’s a crossroads. A moment where we get to decide: Do we test them? Or do we connect with them?
Testing says, “Figure me out.” Connecting says, “Let me show you how to love me and let’s see what you do with that.”
But here’s the truth: most people don’t just know. Not because they don’t care but because they haven’t learned us. They don’t know our lived experiences, what turns us on, or what signals safety to our nervous systems. That’s not failure. That’s humanity.
There’s no shame in wanting a partner who is clear and direct. That’s a beautiful standard. But it’s important to notice—can we hold that standard without needing to control how it looks?
Sometimes, in our longing for safety and certainty, we start to micromanage how love is allowed to show up. We create rigid ideas of what clarity or confidence should look like—and we miss what’s actually in front of us. Maybe he doesn’t speak in sweeping romantic language, but he’s consistent, present, and eager to learn. Maybe his version of “clear” isn’t our version—yet.
Holding a standard means knowing what we value. Controlling how it looks often means we’re still in protective mode.
There’s a quiet strength in letting ourselves be surprised sometimes. The right partner might not get it perfect—but they will want to. They will ask. They will listen. They will respond to our clarity with commitment and curiosity. They will lean in with a sense of connection. That’s part of connection, too—being open to love that grows in real time, not just in fantasy.
In essence, connection is co-created and cultivated, not something someone arrives with fully formed or magically “just knows.” It takes time, vulnerability, and shared effort to build something enduring and nourishing.
When we tend the roots together, the shade becomes ours to share.
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