Let Them Walk Away... After You Speak Your Truth

Category: Emotional Contradictions / Relationships & Boundaries
By Spencer Hales — Stone & Tides
Soft thoughts. Hard truths.

When you hold the door open for a conversation…
and they walk out instead of walking in.

There’s a certain relief in the Let Them Theory.
Let them drift. Let them ghost. Let them misread the whole damn script.
Sometimes it feels like mercy — for you, for them, for the energy it takes to hold a crumbling connection together.

But what no one talks about is when you let them… and they take it.
When they take the out.
When they choose the silence.
When you were holding space for a conversation —
and they just walk out instead of walking in.

When “Let Them” Becomes a Cop-Out

Silence isn’t noble if it’s built on fear.
Boundaries aren’t brave when they’re just a shield you hide behind.
And distance? That doesn’t always mean clarity.

Sometimes, letting them is just quitting — in a language that sounds like growth.

That’s what I tried to tell myself at first. Back in January, when I reached out after months of not hearing from him.
I said what I felt — directly.
That something had changed. That I was starting to feel invisible. That every attempt to connect fell flat.

What I got back were calendar conflicts. “Sorry you feel that way.”
Plans he forgot about. Friendly tones that didn’t match the growing gap between us.

It wasn’t conflict.
It was emotional triage — polite, distant, bloodless.
And I let him.
But I didn’t expect him to take it. Not like that. Not without saying anything real.

Why Silence Doesn’t Work for Me

People talk about letting go like it’s this quiet, graceful thing.
But here’s the truth:
Silence doesn’t work for me.

You can’t fix what wasn’t said.
You can’t let something go if you never actually held it in your hands.

Use your words.
If something’s wrong — say it.
If you’re done — say that too.

I don’t need a perfect resolution. I need honesty.
I can walk away. I can accept an ending.
But I won’t do it while still wondering what happened.

Stay and speak.
Then let me go — or stay. But say it.

Because when silence is all that’s offered, I’m not the one walking away.
I’m the one left standing in an empty room, waiting on a conversation that never comes.

The “Stay and Speak” Theory

Let them walk — but not before you hand them the truth.
Not the curated version. Not the one that makes you look strong.
The honest one. The one that keeps you from wondering later.

Call it the Stay and Speak Theory.

Because clarity is not the same as conflict.
And closure isn’t always handed to you in some graceful, cinematic moment.

Sometimes it’s messy. A sentence you stammer out. A truth you spit through shaking teeth.
But it’s yours. And that’s what makes it enough.
You let them walk. But you spoke first.

What I Said — And Why

The email came in February. Short. Friendly. Final.
He never called. Never asked if I was okay.
Never invited a real conversation.

It felt like being written out of a story I’d spent twenty years helping tell.

And maybe that’s what made it so hard to accept.

Because everyone has that dynamic duo. The one you think you're unstoppable with. The one who makes you feel like you can take on the world.

The one you go to Sundance with, and next thing you know you're tipping the piano guy to play Nicki Minaj while someone randomly sends over a bottle of champagne.

So, in March, I said what I needed to say:

“Losing our friendship like that — so abruptly and without conversation — shook me more than I expected… I thought our friendship was more than how it’s being treated right now.”

I wasn’t asking for anything. I wasn’t trying to restart the fire.
I just didn’t want to keep holding it in.
Because if I let him go, I needed to know I had done my part.

What He Said Back

He responded kindly.
Said he didn’t mean to hurt me.
Said I’d always be a friend.

But when I pressed for clarity — “What does that friendship actually look like now?” —
he told me we were just different people.
That we operated differently.
That our trip the year before had proven that.
That going separate ways was best.

And in that moment, I realized:
I had let him go.
And he had taken it.
No questions. No resistance. Just a soft, grateful exit.

What I Did After That

I liked the message. That’s all.
Not because I agreed.
But because I was done being the only one speaking in full sentences.

I still sent a birthday message in May — a dumb video and a sincere line about hoping life was treating him well.
He responded with one word:
“Thanks.”

And in that moment, I understood:
Some doors don’t slam. They just never open again.

That was the answer I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for.

The Message That Set Me Free

A few days later, I sent one final message. Not for him. For me.

“Turns out, rock bottom has a basement — and I found it… I think I’m finally understanding that you don’t care, and I’m coming to terms with that. This isn’t about guilt or asking for anything — it’s just something I needed to say so I can stop carrying the weight of unspoken hurt and move forward.”

He replied one more time. Said he planned to talk in person. Said we were on different paths. Said this wasn’t about me not being enough. Said it was positive.

And that was that.
I let him go.
And he took it.

What Letting Go Actually Looks Like

Letting go isn’t some dramatic exit.
It’s a one-word reply to a birthday text.
It’s the absence after effort.
It’s the answer that arrives in how little someone has left to say.

Letting them doesn’t mean you didn’t care.
It means you cared enough to say it out loud —
and then stopped asking the echo to answer back.

But that’s the part no one warns you about:
When you let them, and they actually go.
Not because they’re cruel.
Just because silence is easier than honesty.

Because Integrity > Outcome

Not all stories get a bow.
Sometimes they just end.
Not because you wanted them to.
But because continuing would’ve meant betraying yourself.

So you tell the truth.
You stand in it.
And when there’s nothing left to fix or prove —
you walk away.

You don’t always get closure from the other person.
But you can still close the chapter yourself.

And that’s what this was —
Not an ending.
A release.
I let him walk away.
But only after I spoke my truth.

Author’s Note

This piece was inspired in part by the cultural buzz around the viral Let Them book and its guiding philosophy.
While the concept can be freeing, I wanted to offer a counterbalance:
Let them — but not before you speak.