You know the drill. You send a text—something thoughtful, maybe a little flirty, like, “Hey, just saw a cute dog and thought of you 🐶”—and then it begins. The waiting game.
You check your phone. You refresh your messages. You wonder if they’ve been recruited by a no-phone cult or if their phone spontaneously combusted. Maybe they’re stranded on a desert island with no signal? you think, half-joking but also half-spiraling.
Hours go by…nothing. The spiral becomes existential.
And yes, I know people are busy. Life happens. Sometimes you see a text, think, I’ll reply in a minute, and then BAM—it’s three days later and you’ve officially ghosted someone by accident. But here’s my reality: I work five jobs. I juggle deadlines, meetings and trying to remember what sleep feels like. My calendar looks like a crime scene. And yet, I still find time to reply to the people I care about.
And then, the advice rolls in: “Just leave them on delivered. If they’re not putting in the effort, why should you?” It’s the dating mantra of our generation. But here’s my question: Why do I have to show less love to be loved?
I’ve heard it all before. “Don’t text first.” “Don’t double-text.” “Play it cool.” As if love is some kind of game where the winner is the person who cares the least. But that’s not who I am. I like showing love. I like texting first and sending memes and letting people know I’m thinking about them. Why should I hold back to make someone else step up?
If I can text back while I’m mid-commute or even mid-climb on a rock wall (yes, that happened), then someone who’s binge-watching Netflix on their couch can probably find the time too.
But what really gets me is when this waiting game happens with partners. Because when things are good in person—when they’re funny, kind and make me feel like the most important person in the room—I start to believe in the connection. And then… they leave me delivered for hours over something as small as, “Hey, how’s your day?”
It’s confusing. One minute, they’re looking at you like you hung the moon. And the next, they’re acting like texting you back is equivalent to solving world hunger. And look, I’m not saying I need constant communication. I don’t need hourly updates or essays about how much they adore me. But I do need effort. A quick, “Hey, swamped but thinking of you!” takes five seconds and goes a long way.
Because when they don’t reply, it’s hard not to spiral. I start asking myself ridiculous questions like, “Am I being clingy?”, “Did I say something wrong?” or “Did they suddenly decide they don’t like me anymore?” All because of a delayed text.
And this isn’t just about romantic partners. My parents and friends do this too, and let me tell you—getting ghosted by your mom hurts. I’ll send her something heartfelt like, “Hey, thinking of you! Hope you’re doing okay ❤️” and get nothing. I know she saw it—she’s always liking Facebook posts. Meanwhile, I’m left wondering if I rank somewhere below a meme about cats in her priorities.
Effort matters. It’s not about perfection or immediate replies. It’s about showing that you care enough to make someone feel seen, even in small ways. When my partner replies, it makes me feel valued, like our connection matters to them just as much as it does to me.
So, to the person who hasn’t replied yet: maybe you’re busy, maybe you forgot or maybe texting just isn’t your thing. That’s fine—life happens. But if I’m pouring my energy into us, I want to know that you’re willing to meet me halfway. I want to feel like the care we share in person doesn’t disappear the moment we’re apart.
Because love—whether it’s romantic, platonic or familial—isn’t about playing it cool. It’s about showing up, even in the little ways. A quick text, a thoughtful message, an emoji—these things add up. They’re the breadcrumbs that say, “Hey, I see you, and I care.”
Here’s to the people who show up, who text back and who remind us that we’re worth the effort. Life’s too short for the waiting game, especially when we all deserve a love that doesn’t leave us hanging—both in person and in the quiet moments in between.
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Confessions of a Hot Mess is the personal work of Emily Hess. The opinions expressed in this column, as well as those published in The Nevada Sagebrush, are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sagebrush or its staff. Hess is a student at the University of Nevada studying journalism. She can be reached at em*******@***********nr.edu and on Twitter @emilyghess3.
