We talk so much about relationships in general, and our own specifically, mostly the broken ones, but most of us never question why they are what they are, good, bad, or indifferent, and I’d like to talk about it.
You have to understand that from the moment we’re born, we’re handed boxes that hold the idea of what love should look like, how partnerships should function, what roles we are expected to play. These boxes come from culture, religion, media, tradition, and people who meant well but were following their own inherited scripts.
We’re told what a wife and mother should be, what a man should provide, what a marriage should endure, what loyalty looks like, and we’re trying to check off those boxes even when there’s little space for you within them; even while they’re slowly suffocating you. We’re trying to force ourselves into shapes that were never designed for us and then wonder why it hurts, why we’re feeling a lack, why things fall apart.
The truth is, a relationship, any kind of “ship" really, be it a partnership, friendship, kinship, or even a situationship, doesn’t live inside either person individually, it lives in the space between the two, and that space is sacred. That space is the void of creation, and it should be intentionally built, not borrowed. A real, lasting relationship can only be crafted by the two souls who inhabit that space together, intentionally, and without assumption.
And, no one outside of it gets a say. Not your friends, not your parents, not tradition, and not even the church. Only you and the other person in that boat with you have the right to shape what happens between you, and when two people meet in that space, face to face, truthfully, and build something that fits them—not society, not expectation, that’s the space where “magic” happens.
But most don’t realize this so when those pre-built boxes break apart, they blame themselves, while also pointing fingers at the other party involved. They call themselves unlucky in love, and all of a sudden one of us is a “victim”. They wonder if they’re too much or not enough. and they carry shame, thinking they failed. That's not necessarily true.
It doesn’t mean you’re broken, It simply means you were in the wrong ship—or rowing alone while the other person drifted, and there is no shame in that. There is no shame in jumping ship when the vessel you’re in no longer supports your soul. That’s not giving up; that’s clarity. That’s honoring yourself and your shipmate. The real shame is staying where you don’t belong for so long it begins to feel like home.
Here’s something even deeper: staying in the wrong ship isn’t just a betrayal of yourself, it’s a disservice to the other person, too. Maybe only one of you knows it, but that doesn’t make it less real. You’re holding someone in a space that no longer serves either of you, and whether they feel it yet or not, at this point you're both living a lie.
Staying in a ship that no longer aligns with your truth traps both of you, and it prevents both of you from stepping into the space where real, aligned creation can happen. You can care about someone deeply and still know it’s time to reframe the ship you both co-created. You can care for them, respect them, and wish them well, even share the same body of water together in a new way.
You can re-create the space between you, if you so choose, one that allows you both to expand upon what you built together. You just agree to build a new, different "ship", especially if the one you're in no longer carries what you need. That doesn’t make you disloyal. It makes you honest.
Staying in a ship that’s sinking just because someone helped you build it is not “relationship”, it’s survival, and we weren’t born to survive each other. We were born to co-create something that supports the becoming of wholeness for both. If we can’t mutually grow in the shared space between, we can’t build anything that lasts.
So maybe it’s time we stop labeling ourselves and other people as failures when a ship begins to sink, and start recognizing that some vessels were never made to cross the ocean. Some were only meant to help us refine the blueprint we need for intentional ship-building, particularly those that we choose to set sail in.
So, no more shame. No more scripts. No more pre-fab blueprints. If we’re going to set sail, let it be in a ship built on truth, carried by presence, and shaped by the two souls who agreed to build it together. You can’t truly be you by cramming yourself into someone else’s canoe—and you’re not supposed to.
The canoe is only so the two of you can sit face to face, looking together into the sacred space between you. That is the sacred space of creation. That’s where you begin to build your big, beautiful ship together, and if the final design doesn’t come together, take what you’ve learned, and go sit back down in your own canoe. That’s how we grow.
But here’s the quiet part we need to say out loud: you must fiercely protect that sacred space of creation from outside forces. From the “work wife” who’s just a little too involved. From the mother who’s just a little too intrusive. From the friend who sees what you’re building and tries to sabotage it out of jealousy. From the enemy who wants to blow it up out of spite.
That space between you is not a public square. It's a private sanctuary for two. If you're not protecting it, and both of you inhabiting it, you're neglecting it. What you build will only be as strong as the boundaries you defend.
Here’s the hardest truth of all: your ships are not built so you can settle into your limitations, or to confine your reality; they’re meant to expand your possibilities. The right ship magnifies the best in both people. It’s not built with the individual in mind; it’s built to hold the vastness, the boundless potential, the divine spark that lives in both souls who choose to inhabit it.
Your ships are designed to amplify you. To magnify what you’re capable of. To multiply your capacity to love, to grow, and to create. The ships that crack reveal the places you need to reinforce for yourself. The sinking is meant to allow the parts of you that you’re trying to deny to rise to the surface.
The ones that sail smoothly are the ones that can carry the weight of the full embodiment of both builders. That’s co-creation. That’s you, finally sailing as your whole self. That’s the “two shall become one” part. The “both of us are Captain of our ship” part.
So when you say, "My ships are coming in," what you’re really saying is: I’m ready. I’ve done the work. I know who I am, and I know what I’m building. And what’s arriving now—is now “mine”. We were never meant to live inside boxes. We were meant to set sail in ships we build together.
You have to understand that from the moment we’re born, we’re handed boxes that hold the idea of what love should look like, how partnerships should function, what roles we are expected to play. These boxes come from culture, religion, media, tradition, and people who meant well but were following their own inherited scripts.
We’re told what a wife and mother should be, what a man should provide, what a marriage should endure, what loyalty looks like, and we’re trying to check off those boxes even when there’s little space for you within them; even while they’re slowly suffocating you. We’re trying to force ourselves into shapes that were never designed for us and then wonder why it hurts, why we’re feeling a lack, why things fall apart.
The truth is, a relationship, any kind of “ship" really, be it a partnership, friendship, kinship, or even a situationship, doesn’t live inside either person individually, it lives in the space between the two, and that space is sacred. That space is the void of creation, and it should be intentionally built, not borrowed. A real, lasting relationship can only be crafted by the two souls who inhabit that space together, intentionally, and without assumption.
And, no one outside of it gets a say. Not your friends, not your parents, not tradition, and not even the church. Only you and the other person in that boat with you have the right to shape what happens between you, and when two people meet in that space, face to face, truthfully, and build something that fits them—not society, not expectation, that’s the space where “magic” happens.
But most don’t realize this so when those pre-built boxes break apart, they blame themselves, while also pointing fingers at the other party involved. They call themselves unlucky in love, and all of a sudden one of us is a “victim”. They wonder if they’re too much or not enough. and they carry shame, thinking they failed. That's not necessarily true.
It doesn’t mean you’re broken, It simply means you were in the wrong ship—or rowing alone while the other person drifted, and there is no shame in that. There is no shame in jumping ship when the vessel you’re in no longer supports your soul. That’s not giving up; that’s clarity. That’s honoring yourself and your shipmate. The real shame is staying where you don’t belong for so long it begins to feel like home.
Here’s something even deeper: staying in the wrong ship isn’t just a betrayal of yourself, it’s a disservice to the other person, too. Maybe only one of you knows it, but that doesn’t make it less real. You’re holding someone in a space that no longer serves either of you, and whether they feel it yet or not, at this point you're both living a lie.
Staying in a ship that no longer aligns with your truth traps both of you, and it prevents both of you from stepping into the space where real, aligned creation can happen. You can care about someone deeply and still know it’s time to reframe the ship you both co-created. You can care for them, respect them, and wish them well, even share the same body of water together in a new way.
You can re-create the space between you, if you so choose, one that allows you both to expand upon what you built together. You just agree to build a new, different "ship", especially if the one you're in no longer carries what you need. That doesn’t make you disloyal. It makes you honest.
Staying in a ship that’s sinking just because someone helped you build it is not “relationship”, it’s survival, and we weren’t born to survive each other. We were born to co-create something that supports the becoming of wholeness for both. If we can’t mutually grow in the shared space between, we can’t build anything that lasts.
So maybe it’s time we stop labeling ourselves and other people as failures when a ship begins to sink, and start recognizing that some vessels were never made to cross the ocean. Some were only meant to help us refine the blueprint we need for intentional ship-building, particularly those that we choose to set sail in.
So, no more shame. No more scripts. No more pre-fab blueprints. If we’re going to set sail, let it be in a ship built on truth, carried by presence, and shaped by the two souls who agreed to build it together. You can’t truly be you by cramming yourself into someone else’s canoe—and you’re not supposed to.
The canoe is only so the two of you can sit face to face, looking together into the sacred space between you. That is the sacred space of creation. That’s where you begin to build your big, beautiful ship together, and if the final design doesn’t come together, take what you’ve learned, and go sit back down in your own canoe. That’s how we grow.
But here’s the quiet part we need to say out loud: you must fiercely protect that sacred space of creation from outside forces. From the “work wife” who’s just a little too involved. From the mother who’s just a little too intrusive. From the friend who sees what you’re building and tries to sabotage it out of jealousy. From the enemy who wants to blow it up out of spite.
That space between you is not a public square. It's a private sanctuary for two. If you're not protecting it, and both of you inhabiting it, you're neglecting it. What you build will only be as strong as the boundaries you defend.
Here’s the hardest truth of all: your ships are not built so you can settle into your limitations, or to confine your reality; they’re meant to expand your possibilities. The right ship magnifies the best in both people. It’s not built with the individual in mind; it’s built to hold the vastness, the boundless potential, the divine spark that lives in both souls who choose to inhabit it.
Your ships are designed to amplify you. To magnify what you’re capable of. To multiply your capacity to love, to grow, and to create. The ships that crack reveal the places you need to reinforce for yourself. The sinking is meant to allow the parts of you that you’re trying to deny to rise to the surface.
The ones that sail smoothly are the ones that can carry the weight of the full embodiment of both builders. That’s co-creation. That’s you, finally sailing as your whole self. That’s the “two shall become one” part. The “both of us are Captain of our ship” part.
So when you say, "My ships are coming in," what you’re really saying is: I’m ready. I’ve done the work. I know who I am, and I know what I’m building. And what’s arriving now—is now “mine”. We were never meant to live inside boxes. We were meant to set sail in ships we build together.
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