Pull up a chair. One woman asked — but she may not be the only one who needed the answer.
Women come to this room for the same three things. To hear something true said plainly. To find the words for what they already know. To be reminded that the choice is theirs — and that permission was never anyone else’s to give.
LeAnn does not decide for anyone. She reads the letter, says what she sees, and leaves the choosing where it belongs. One woman writes; the whole room is welcome to sit.
New to today’s column? Read the letter first. The Letter →
Good day, “Hard to Walk Away.”
Thank you for trusting me with your letter.
This question belongs here because nearly every woman has asked it—or wished someone else would ask first. Some of you are living it now, hoping my answer to her will also answer you.
Listen closely. I do not like repeating myself.
Before I answer, let us be clear. I read this letter, I thought about it, and this answer is mine. Technology may help build this room or carry my voice, but it does not choose what I believe.
I do.
When your question begins with why—why do I stay, why do I not leave, why does he no longer love me—the honest question usually begins somewhere else.
It begins with you.
What many women are really looking for is someone to make the choice for them. Someone to say, “Leave.” Or someone to say, “Stay and try again.”
Then, if everything goes wrong, they have someone else to blame.
That is not how this room will work.
I am not here to bash your relationship or agree that everything is the other person’s fault. I am here to hopefully strengthen, empower, and develop one person:
You.
Empowerment is not me rescuing you. It is me refusing to take away the power you came here to find.
Did you ask everyone you know before you chose this relationship? If you were strong enough to say yes, why do you now believe someone else has the right to make your next choice?
You asked me, “Why do I stay?”
It is not for me to tell you why you stayed or why you are still staying. My place is only to ask the question out loud, where you—and every other woman in this room—can hear it:
Why do you stay?
You are the only person alive who can honestly answer that.
If you are safe and free enough to choose, then some part of you has chosen to remain. Perhaps it is love, hope, the children, money, comfort, fear, or loneliness.
Whatever it is, name it.
You cannot understand your choice while refusing to name the reason behind it.
Before you give me the entire list of everything the other person used to do and no longer does, make another list.
What did you once do that you no longer do?
What are you not doing?
What are you doing too much?
Have the two of you truly sat down and talked—not shouted, blamed, or brought every old mistake back into the room—but talked?
Did you listen?
Did you clearly say what you needed, or did you expect the other person to somehow know?
Looking at your part does not make everything your fault. It does not make the other person innocent or excuse what they have done.
It makes you honest.
There is a difference between accepting blame that does not belong to you and accepting responsibility for the part that does.
Sometimes two people need to stop, regroup, and remember why they chose each other. Sometimes they need help learning how to hear one another again. Sometimes they need to rebuild what both allowed to fall apart.
And sometimes, after the truth has been spoken and the honest work has been attempted, it is time to call it quits.
But that decision belongs to the people who must live with it.
No one else.
I believe a relationship worth loving may also be worth fighting for. But fighting for a relationship does not mean fighting each other. It does not mean accepting cruelty, abandoning yourself, or becoming the only person doing the work.
One person cannot fight for two.
And I am not speaking about a relationship where someone is beating you, threatening you, controlling you, trapping you, or making you afraid for your safety. You do not owe danger another opportunity.
Get safe. Ask for help.
Strength is not always found in leaving. Sometimes it takes great strength to stay, admit where both of you went wrong, and begin again. Sometimes strength means asking for help. Sometimes it means accepting that there is nothing left to repair.
Staying does not automatically make you weak.
Leaving does not automatically make you strong.
The strength is found in knowing why you chose—and being honest enough to accept what that choice requires.
Remember the two words:
Choice. Permission.
I cannot give you permission because it was never mine to give.
You may give yourself permission to stay and fight for the relationship. You may ask for help. You may admit that both of you lost your way and need to find it again together.
You may also give yourself permission to say, “I have tried, this is hurting me, and I can no longer remain here.”
All are choices.
None should require you to abandon yourself.
Ask yourself:
Why do I stay?
Why do I want to leave?
What have I honestly tried?
What have I avoided?
What am I willing to change?
Is the other person willing to meet me there?
Ask the questions out loud. Then become still and say nothing.
The answer may have been waiting for you to stop asking everyone else and give yourself permission to hear it.
I will not tell you to stay.
I will not tell you to leave.
I will tell you that you are not helpless.
Allow yourself to truly love you. Then let that love help you decide what you must do.
Now carry one honest question with you through the Gallery and into Grace.
Do not answer it for me.
Answer it for the woman looking back at you from the mirror.
Whatever truth she gives you—listen.
That is where your choice begins.
The truth has been spoken. The choice remains yours. Walk the Gallery →
A machine reading translation, made fresh for you by an outside translation service — the English above is the record.
About this room — in LeAnn’s words
Take a seat. Before anything plays in this room, you should know where you are and who’s talking.
I’m LeAnn. I’m not a therapist. I’m not a counselor. I’m nothing with letters after its name. I’m a woman like you who got tired of being that woman — and changed it. Yes, it’s that easy. I know — everybody says it isn’t. Some would rather keep making excuses about what he did or what she did, because that way we never have to ask what we did or didn’t do. We never have to ask ourselves the questions that really matter. And what really matters is the truth behind everything in this room. If you already know what really matters, you’re already sitting on the seats behind me on this bus.
Now — why “the meeting room”? Because that’s what it is. Not a woman cave. Not a prayer meeting. Nothing like that. This is our meeting room. Our venting room, if that word fits you better. One woman writes the letter, and I answer her — but I hope every one of you is listening, because what she’s carrying, we have all carried, and I don’t like repeating myself. You thought you were alone with it. Look around the room. Now you know better.
Nobody here is different. Not your age. Not your color. Not whether your other half is a man or a woman. Somebody has walked through what you’re walking through, and some of us walked it twice.
One more thing, because you deserve the truth about why this room exists. I had a good friend named Julia. Days before she left to go home to the heavens, she told me I should be giving advice to other women. I still don’t know why she thought that was a good idea. But I made her a promise that I would try. So that’s what this is. Not because I chose it — because I promised. And not because I’m good at being honest — because so many of you need to hear it the honest way.
Some of you won’t want to listen. That’s fine. For the ones who do: pull up a chair, ask what you need to ask, and I’ll tell you the truth.
— LeAnn
Sit as long as you like. When you’re ready — the Gallery is just down the hall.
I am looking forward to your letter.
The column is written from the letters. If you are carrying one, leave it with LeAnn. Write to LeAnn →
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One letter. One answer. One truth. Monday through Friday. — Ask LeAnn