A client came to me a few months ago with her phone in her hand, screen facing up on the table between us. Three words on the screen. I miss you. Sent at 11:47 on a Sunday night, from the man she’d been seeing — the one she could never quite get a read on….
She had fourteen drafts saved in her notes app. Not fourteen versions of the same message — fourteen completely different texts. Some were casual. Some were funny. One was three sentences long and started with hey, just wanted to check in. Another was just a single line: I guess you’re busy. She’d written them over…
A client came to me a few months ago completely frustrated. She was funny, confident, genuinely beautiful — the kind of woman who had no trouble making friends or commanding a room. But when it came to the man she liked, something kept going wrong. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she told me. “Every…