Walking into a Buffet and Coming Out with an Empty Plate

 

Walking into a buffet and leaving with an empty plate is not a weakness. It is not indecision. It is the ultimate act of maturity. Self-awareness and, at best, self-love.  For many women, it is the courage to look at everything laid out before them, sample with their eyes, discern with their spirit, and still walk away saying, “None of this will feed me.”

Life offers a buffet. Each dish looks different, smells different, promises something different. But not everything on the table is worth a woman’s appetite, body, or soul.

Think of life and relationships like a buffet table. There’s everything—sweet, spicy, bitter, rich, and sometimes downright unpalatable. Each dish resembles a different kind of man or relationship experience:

The Buffet Table 

• The Fried Foods (greasy, enticing, but unhealthy long-term):
  These come with a thrill, with charm, passion, and fireworks. You might feel alive for a minute or a week, but the aftermath is worse than a hangover.  The results are drained, guilty, or some malaise in the heart and the body.

• The Sugary Desserts (sweet, addictive, but empty calories)
  Welcome to Flattery Central_you will be adored and confused with promises of pleasure. They taste good for a while, but they do not nourish.  Keeping women coming back for a sugar high, yet they never fill the deep hunger inside.

• The Overcooked Vegetables (soft, bland, no flavour)
  Tastes as it sounds-bland- safe, predictable, and available — but uninspiring. There is no challenge, stimulation, or motivation; there is no growth.  It is like eating food without seasoning.

• The Exotic Dishes -beautiful, mysterious, but unfamiliar to the body
  Dazzle City- be-dazzled with mystery and in/difference. They intrigue, but often women discover they don’t truly digest them well. Not everything beautiful on the plate is meant for the system.

• The Stale Bread
   Who lingers this long! Perhaps from the ingredients, stale as the yeast or sourdough — exes, old flames, or “situationships.” They are easy to grab when one is hungry, but they offer no nourishment and never satisfy.

• The Balanced Meal -rare but real
  Whole Meal- protein, greens, and spice — nourishing, steady, and fulfilling. You rarely get these meals anywhere/ You can barely make them in your house!! Takes work, right?  seen, valued, and properly fed -both body and spirit. But he is not always on the buffet table, and that’s okay.

The Maturity of an Empty Plate

The buffet will always be full. There will always be fried, sweet, stale, or overcooked options calling women’s names. But the greatest maturity is to say: “I am hungry, but I will not settle. I will not fill myself with what will harm me.”

For women everywhere, walking away with an empty plate is not a loss. It is wisdom. It is knowing that hunger deserves better than temporary fillers. And it is the quiet, steady faith that what truly nourishes will not be found in a careless buffet — it will be prepared, chosen, and served with love.

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What If I Pull This One Thread

There are days when I sit with the weight of my emotions pressing against my chest, heavy and relentless. It feels like I am standing in front of a tapestry—my life, my choices, my love stories woven into patterns both beautiful and broken. And in that tapestry, there is one loose thread. I know that if I pull it, everything I’ve held together so tightly might unravel.

But maybe unraveling is exactly what I need.

The Fear of the Thread

I am afraid to pull it because I already know what lies beneath. Pain. Disappointment. Anger. The truth of how many times I have given my heart only to be handed the raw end of love. And countless hours, days, years even of chasing people.  The truth of how often I stood in front of selfish people who would never choose me, who knew the art of underhanded ways—evasions, distractions, clever words that always left me holding the weight of silence. Like the woman I hugged for years, and I could feel the grin of her mouth in my back. 

Pulling the thread means admitting I saw the signs and chose to stay. That I stood close to the line, waiting for something more, when all they gave me were speeches and baseless conversations that went nowhere.

The Anger and the Blame

There is anger in me—not just at them, but at myself. For listening. For believing. For thinking that “nothingness” could somehow turn into something real. For allowing my heart to be weak, my mind to be persuaded, my time to be wasted.

If I pull this thread, I will have to face the mirror and see my own reflection—not as a victim, but as someone who betrayed herself by not walking away sooner. And maybe that’s the hardest part.

The Drain of Almost-Love

Being entangled with people who refuse to stand in truth is exhausting. Some days I doubt If I am a believer in truth or someone hanging in an illusion. They drain not only my energy, but my will, my focus, and the values I hold dear. I find myself negotiating with shadows, forcing clarity from people who prefer to live in smoke. And every time I try to hold the line, I lose a piece of myself.

It is not love—It is not friendship_it is distraction disguised as connection. And it keeps me from living fully in my own light.

The Loneliness That Waits

What scares me most is not their absence—it is the silence that comes after. If I pull the thread, I will be left alone. Alone to sit in stillness, with no messages, no calls, no illusions to keep me company. Alone with nothing but my thoughts echoing back at me.

And maybe that silence won’t last just a day. Maybe it will stretch into weeks, into an eternity where I learn to live without anyone to hold my hand or whisper my worth.

But perhaps that is the training I need. To sit in stillness. To learn aloneness not as punishment, but as a new kind of strength.

The Possibility of Freedom

So what if I do pull it? What if the whole tapestry comes undone? Maybe then, for the first time, I will no longer be bound to the weight of illusions. Maybe I will find freedom in the unraveling.

Because pulling the thread might leave me alone, but it will also return me to myself. It will remind me that I am more than the speeches, more than the almost-loves, more than the wasted time.

And maybe—just maybe—that thread is not the end of the fabric. Maybe it is the beginning of a new design. One I weave with honesty, clarity, and love that starts with me.

At this point, silence is better the questions. Like a quiet storm.