I didn’t mean to fall off the radar. I’d just been tired, the kind of tired that settles deep in your chest and makes even the smallest decisions feel heavier than they should.

I read Taylor’s texts in between sips of lukewarm coffee and back-to-back conference calls. My inbox pinged every few minutes while the office printer hummed behind me. Somewhere down the hall, a coworker laughed at something I couldn’t quite make out. One foot was planted in the middle of a busy workday, the other trying to piece together what came next: How long would my hair appointment take? Would I have enough time to make my husband’s birthday dinner before he left for his night shift?

I was doing what I always do: spinning too many plates, showing up for everyone, and ignoring the quiet ache building beneath it all.

She had messaged me after I’d brushed her off again, apologizing for being a terrible friend. It wasn’t the first time I’d said it. I kept repeating that phrase like a shield, a way to soften the guilt of not being fully present. Maybe if I named it first, it wouldn’t hurt so much when someone else did.

“I just saw your snap message,” her text began.

“I say this lovingly…Please stop telling me you’re a terrible friend.”

The words stopped me in my tracks. I let them settle while the low hum of the office carried on around me.

“The ‘rut’ you’re in is likely a sprinkle of depressie-stressie. We all handle it differently. Staying in bed when you need to can be self-care, and I would be the bad friend if I didn’t understand that.”

I blinked a few times, staring down at the screen. Her message felt like a warm hand on my shoulder. My coffee had gone cold, but her words poured into the part of me that was parched.

“I don’t know who made you feel like you need to apologize for taking care of yourself, but they’re crap. And what they put in your head is crap too. I love you.”

Then came the gentle nudge, her signature mix of grace and humor:

“I’m just going to keep reminding you I’m here when you feel up to some girl time, and you’re going to stop feeling bad for telling me when you don’t.”

I laughed quietly, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. Of course she saw it. Of course she knew.

Taylor has always had a way of cutting through the noise and getting right to the heart of it. She’s the kind of friend who doesn’t let me hide behind excuses or guilt. She doesn’t flinch when I’m distant or overwhelmed. She just stays.

Even your strong friends, the ones who advocate for self-care and preach balance, need reminders now and then that being human is okay.

She reminds me that I don’t have to apologize for being tired, or stretched too thin, or simply not okay. That it’s perfectly fine to step back and care for myself. That rest isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom. And more than anything, it’s allowed.

I’m woman enough to admit I need that reminder more often than I’d like to confess.

I say all the right things to others. I tell them to protect their peace, to set boundaries, to rest when they need to. I say, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” But when it comes to my own peace, I put it last on the list and then wonder why I’m always running dry.

That’s why we need people like Taylor. The ones who see through the masks. The ones who hold space in the in-between. The ones who say, “You don’t have to be everything to everyone,” and follow it with, “I’m still here.”

Thank God for friends who don’t believe us when we try to shrink ourselves.

Thank God for the ones who stay, not in spite of the silence, but because of it.

Sometimes, what we need most isn’t advice or solutions. It’s a soft place to land, a gentle voice that says, “I see you,” and stays anyway.

And sometimes, that voice shows up right between a conference call and a cup of lukewarm coffee.