Tired of Walking

By LEANN
August 9, 2026 · Letter No. 1

Dear LeAnn — signed, “Tired of Walking” · August 9, 2026

Before you read

Married nineteen years. Her kids still need her daily. Her mother leans on her too.

LeAnn gives her honest advice. What you choose to do with it remains yours.

Dear LeAnn, I have been married nineteen years and lately I feel like a piece of the furniture. He is not cruel. He is just... done noticing. My kids need me, my mother needs me, everybody gets a piece and there is nothing left on the plate for me. I am not asking permission to leave. I think I am asking permission to matter. — Tired of Walking

LeAnn answers

Sit down with me a minute, because I am going to tell you something nobody has said to you in a long time: you never needed permission to matter. You have been handing out pieces of yourself like a casserole at a church potluck and wondering why the dish came home empty.

Now, I am not going to tell you to leave that man, and I am not going to tell you to stay. That is not my chair to sit in. What I will tell you is this — being done noticing is a choice he is making every single morning, and being done disappearing is a choice you get to make every single morning too. Start small if you have to. But start where it is yours.

You signed your letter Tired of Walking. No. You have not been walking. You have been carrying. Set some of it down — and watch who picks it up.

Today’s column stands in The Letter and The Meeting Room →

If it named something you’ve been carrying, set it down. It can stay on this porch.

The Landing

If this letter was yours too, set it down here — a line, an alias, nothing else. The landing is read with the morning letters.

Sample letter — written as a placeholder. LeAnn’s real letters replace this before launch.