What You Don't Do - Sunday Soul Session
Volume: 15 "I know you love me, I don't need proof."
Inspired by “What You Don’t Do” by Lianne La Havas
There’s a lyric that’s been sitting with me all week: “I know you love me. I don’t need proof.” —Lianne La Havas
It connects so deeply to what I shared in this week’s episode about the kind of care that crosses a line, not out of malice, but out of care and fear.
In the episode, I talked about how some people project onto their loved ones, not because they don’t care but because they’re afraid. Afraid we’ll get hurt. Afraid we won’t make the right decision. Ultimately afraid of what they can’t control.
And since recording that, I’ve been sitting with another layer of fear, one I didn’t name in the episode, but feel is worth exploring: What if some of that overbearingness also comes from a fear of feeling useless in a friendship? What if all the hovering, the unsolicited advice, the managing energy…is really someone trying to prove they matter?
And I get that. Especially as Black women, we’ve been taught to perform our way into love. To prove our worth by staying useful. To equate “being needed” with “being valued.”
But here’s what I know: friendship doesn’t require constant proof.
I have a friend I adore. We live 30 minutes apart, and we see each other maybe once a year. And every year, we say, “This is the year we’re gonna be better at staying in touch.” And every year, it kind of has become a running joke. Still, whenever she reaches out, it’s with a wave of guilt: “I feel so bad for not calling. I should’ve checked in.”
And every time, I say: “I know you love me. And I love you.”
That kind of love, the kind that doesn’t need to hover, that doesn’t keep score, that just exists, is sacred.
It reminds me of my best friend who passed away.
I mentioned her in this week’s episode—how she could be kind of hovery. She had a habit of trying to tell me what to do, trying to parent me. It felt weird. Overbearing. And definitely rooted in her own fears.
But here’s the thing. She also gave me one of the deepest examples of non-performative love I’ve ever experienced in friendship.
There were these random moments—no planning, no buildup—where we’d be in the car together… Driving. No music. No talking. Just silence. But not a cold or awkward silence. A rich one. A present one.
We wouldn’t say a word, but I’d feel like we were so close in those moments. It taught me something I’ve been circling back to ever since: That sometimes, being with someone—really being with them—is louder than all the advice in the world.
That was her gift to me. And I’m holding it close as I unlearn what it means to “show up.” Because sometimes, just being there is enough.
Leave a comment or join us in the TMBW chat to share your favorite songs, scenes, or real-life moments that remind you what love without pressure looks like.
xoxo,
Goddess Thea
