The Door Sleeps Open

A Brazilian client once taught me this phrase that, translated literally, doesn’t mean what it sounds like in English: “The door sleeps open.”

Regardless of what it really means, I loved the sound of it anyway. To me, it carries a quiet kind of wisdom: the idea that a door can stay open, but asleep. Resting. Dormant. Not forced, not watched, not guarded. Just there—open, but calm.

That image feels like the heart of how we sometimes hold relationships.

We’ve all heard the big theories:

• “Let them.”

• “If they wanted to, they would.”

• “Radical acceptance.”

These phrases float through self-help books, podcasts, and social media posts. And sometimes, they’re useful. They remind us not to cling, not to chase, not to fight reality.

But what happens when they don’t help?

When “let them” doesn’t soothe the loneliness?

When “if they wanted to, they would” only deepens the resentment?

When “acceptance” feels more like heaviness than peace?

That’s where the emotions come in—the resentment, the confusion, the loneliness, the anxiety. The very real ache of a relationship that has shifted, or gone quiet, but that still feels too meaningful to close the door on completely.

And so the door sleeps open.

We leave space in case the person returns, but we let it be dormant, so it doesn’t consume us. We grieve what was, knowing that if the relationship comes back, it will return changed—and so will we. We soothe the loneliness in the meantime by finding connection in other places, and by building ourselves up with the things we long to receive.

Because the theories can give us language. But only we can give ourselves the scaffolding to stand steady when those theories don’t hold us.

So maybe the work is this:

To let the door stay open, but let it rest.

To let ourselves feel the ache, without being ruled by it.

To walk forward, not waiting, but not shutting out hope either.

The door sleeps open.

And in that space, we heal.

Always with love,

~ La Fille d'Ennui

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