I used to give people space they hadn’t earned.

Let them talk.
Let them avoid eye contact with the dog, or worse — use the dog to open up space they never really intended to share.

I’d stand there in silence, listening to stories I didn’t ask for, because I thought that was kindness.
Because I felt the loneliness behind it.

But now, I see it clearly:
If someone can’t ask even one question about me, that silence is saying something.
And I’m allowed to listen to that.

I don’t owe anyone space just because they’re lonely.
I’ve been lonely too.
But I didn’t speak at people — I tried to meet them.

There’s a difference.

So now, when someone avoids the dog — or uses the walk as a monologue — I don’t overstay.

I nod.
Say, “You’re right.”
And keep walking.

Because I’m not here to be the audience for someone else’s avoidance.
And every time I give my energy to a one-sided connection, I lose the capacity to hold space for those who genuinely want to connect — including myself.

This isn’t about being harsh.
It’s about being clear.

Clear that my energy matters.
That connection is a two-way street.
And that I’m done letting people treat me like a mirror with no reflection.

I wish them well.
I really do.

But I walk on now.