Consider this a slightly humorous field note on one of the more sophisticated forms of waiting: the kind we don’t even call waiting anymore. We call it patience, understanding, healing, acceptance, holding space, trusting the process, or, when things become particularly advanced, divine timing. Somewhere underneath all these beautiful words, however, a woman may still be waiting for something remarkably simple: for potential to become reality, for feelings to become choices, for “not now” to eventually become “yes.” And because simply admitting that we are waiting can feel terribly unsophisticated, we sometimes create an entire philosophy around it.

I recently discovered that this philosophy has all the characteristics of a spiritual practice, and I am honestly surprised nobody is selling a certification in it yet: waiting for a man to mature. This practice is definitely not recommended for beginners. It requires a solid understanding of psychology, trauma, attachment theory, family systems, shadow work, inner children, nervous system regulation, radical acceptance, and preferably several years of meditation. A vivid imagination is also extremely helpful. Because simply waiting for a man would be ridiculous. The advanced practitioner must be able to explain to herself why waiting is actually growth.

The first requirement is choosing the right man. Someone who obviously wants nothing to do with you offers very little material for spiritual development. What you need is a man with potential. This is essential. You have seen him: the real him, the one underneath the fear, conditioning, responsibilities, defense mechanisms, childhood wounds, loyalty patterns, and approximately seventeen other layers currently preventing him from doing anything about it. He has probably seen this version of himself too, maybe briefly, during a particularly vulnerable conversation decades ago. This is enough. The practice may now begin.

The most important thing is to never confuse lack of action with lack of movement. Externally, nothing may happen for several years, but internally tectonic plates could be shifting. He may be processing, integrating, questioning, accepting, resisting, healing, retreating, returning, processing the returning, and eventually integrating the processing. This is exhausting work, mostly for you. Your responsibility is to respect his timing. You must not rush him, pressure him, or ask too many direct questions. Eventually, with enough practice, you can become so spiritually evolved that you are capable of asking a question without revealing that you would actually like an answer. This is commonly known as holding space.

Interpretation is an important part of the practice. If he comes closer, he is connecting with his feelings. If he pulls away, the feelings have become too intense. If he goes silent, he is processing. If he says he cannot give you what you want, he is honestly acknowledging his current capacity. If he explicitly tells you not to wait for him, however, you have reached an advanced level. Now you must somehow respect his truth while remaining open to the possibility that there is another, deeper truth underneath the truth he just clearly communicated. At this stage, Tarot may become useful... Or another psychic. 

Eventually, you must also eliminate all visible signs of wanting anything. Wanting creates pressure, and pressure interferes with maturation. Therefore, you may love him, but ideally without wanting anything from him. You may desire him, but without expectations. You may imagine a future, but without attachment to outcomes. You may hope, but very quietly, preferably in another room, otherwise you will create unsafe space. With enough practice, your desire becomes so subtle that even you are no longer entirely sure whether you have needs. Congratulations! Your nervous system is now extremely spiritual.

Psychology is especially valuable here because it allows you to transform almost any observable reality into evidence of an invisible process. Distance becomes avoidant attachment. Indecision becomes trauma. Contradiction becomes internal conflict. Silence becomes nervous-system regulation. Years become timing aka "you can't hurry a seed to give roots!" And lack of change becomes “he is going through something very deep.” Never underestimate the usefulness of depth. The deeper something is, the longer you can reasonably expect not to see it.

Sooner or later, however, psychology alone becomes insufficient, and this is where spirituality comes to the rescue. You can introduce divine timing, soul contracts, karmic lessons, mirroring, sacred union, surrender, radical acceptance, and my personal favorite: everyone has their own path...  This sentence is extraordinarily powerful. It can keep almost any relationship alive indefinitely. Technically, after a certain point, you do not even need a relationship anymore. You just need a path. Preferably two separate ones. and oh! Twin Flame too! That would be a cherry on top. 

The practice becomes truly sophisticated when you learn to turn every uncomfortable piece of reality back onto yourself. Instead of asking “Is this actually enough for me?” you begin asking much more interesting questions. What is this teaching me? What shadow is being activated? Why do I need certainty? Why am I attached to an outcome? Can I surrender more deeply? Can I love without possessing? Can I stop trying to control life? These are genuinely beautiful questions. I have asked many of them myself, and they have changed me. But recently I discovered something slightly disturbing: a profound question can still be used to avoid a very simple answer.

It turns out that you can spend years exploring why you need clarity without ever asking whether the situation itself is actually unclear. You can investigate your attachment to outcomes while remaining deeply attached to one particular outcome. You can practice radical acceptance while quietly hoping that accepting reality correctly will eventually cause reality to change. You can even become exceptionally skilled at releasing expectations while maintaining one tiny, exquisitely preserved expectation somewhere in the basement of your consciousness. This is an elegant trap. I recommend it only to professionals.

There is, however, one spiritual technique nobody seems to talk about enough: occasionally looking at the clock. Somehow, I missed this one for a long time. While I am generously allowing another person all the time in the world to become whoever he needs to become, my time is moving too. My body changes. My desires change. My standards change. My life keeps becoming something. What was enough for me five years ago may no longer be enough now, and what once felt possible may eventually begin asking for another form.

The hardest realization is that none of this requires me to make the other person wrong. I do not have to declare the entire story an illusion in order to stop waiting for its continuation. I do not have to deny what I felt, what he felt, what existed between us, or even what may still exist. I do not have to rewrite the past simply because the future did not arrive. Something can be completely real and still never become a life. There is a particular kind of grief in recognizing this, but there is also an extraordinary freedom.

Potential is strange that way. You can build a relationship from potential, or a business, a book, a house, an entirely different future. But you can also stand beside an empty field for twenty years saying “You have no idea what could grow here.” And you may be absolutely right. The soil may be magnificent. The conditions may be extraordinary. You may have studied the climate, examined the roots, understood exactly why nothing has grown yet, and become exceptionally knowledgeable about botany in the process. The field can still remain empty.

This is where the actual spiritual practice begins. I can see someone’s potential without making it my future. I can understand their wounds without turning them into my assignment. I can recognize the distance between what someone feels and what someone chooses, because feelings and choices are not always the same thing. I can respect another person’s pace without adopting it as the pace of my own life. I can love without demanding, controlling, possessing, or forcing something into existence before it is ready. And apparently, this one took me considerably longer to discover, I can also love without waiting.

Most importantly, I no longer need to solve the great mystery of whether another person will ever be ready. Maybe they will. Most likely they won’t. Maybe next month. Maybe after another breakthrough. Maybe after another round of processing the breakthrough they had while processing the previous breakthrough. Maybe life will surprise everyone. I genuinely do not know. And admitting that I do not know is far more honest than turning either hope or disappointment into prophecy.

That part of the story belongs to them. There is only one maturation timeline I am actually responsible for, and it is mine. So the final stage of waiting for someone else to mature is surprisingly simple. At some point, I turn my attention away from the fascinating mystery of another human being and look at my own life. And then I ask the only question that somehow never appeared in all those books about attachment, surrender, divine timing, shadows, healing, and unconditional love:

While I was so lovingly giving him time to ripen, did I accidentally become overripe?