Where the Real Strength Lives…

There’s this quote I came across by Case Kenny that landed so hard, I just sat there in silence and let it hit every corner of me:

“If you chose the ache of walking away over the emptiness of staying, you should be ridiculously proud of yourself.”

Now, I wasn’t in a hammock when I read it. I was in Louisiana, in a quiet space after what felt like a decade-long walk through Texas. (Seriously—Texas is the only place where you can walk 773 miles and somehow still be in Texas.)

But that quote? It cracked something open. Because this walk—starting in Los Angeles and heading home to New York City—hasn’t just been about miles. It’s been about releasing things. People. Patterns. Expectations. And realizing that sometimes, walking away is the most loving thing you can do—for yourself and for someone else.

Walking away gets a bad rap. People think it means giving up. But sometimes it just means honoring the truth that something isn’t working anymore. And that truth hurts. It aches. But that ache means you listened to yourself. It means you didn’t settle for staying somewhere just because it was familiar or easy to explain.

I’ve walked away from conversations that looped in circles, from trying to resolve things with people who weren’t ready—or willing—to meet me there.

And here’s something I’ve had to learn (usually the hard way): sometimes people can’t talk it out right away. Sometimes your loved one or your colleague or your friend just isn’t ready to unpack what they’re going through. And no amount of pushing for a quick resolution is going to help—it might even make it worse.

It’s taken me years to understand this, and I still mess it up sometimes. We think we’re helping by saying “Let’s just talk about it now.” But for some people, the now is too soon. The now is still raw.

So you have to be willing to step back. To say, “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” and then actually give them the time and space to become ready. Let them figure out what they’re feeling, what their triggers are, what they need to work through—without trying to rush them toward a tidy ending.

And yes, sometimes they circle back. They come around with clarity and connection, and the relationship deepens. But sometimes… they don’t. And you know what? That’s okay too. If they don’t come back, it wasn’t meant to hold. And your peace doesn’t have to be tethered to their return.

This walk across America has been a physical journey, sure—but it’s also been an emotional one. It’s taught me that space is not silence, and distance isn’t always disconnection. Sometimes it’s the most respectful, compassionate, human thing we can offer each other.

So if you’ve chosen the ache of stepping back, of walking away, of allowing someone space instead of demanding closure—be ridiculously proud of yourself. That kind of love, that kind of patience, that kind of courage—it matters.

And trust me, there’s strength in every single step.