Choose. Every. Fucking. Day

 She’s not ugly.

She’s tired of your fucking bullshit.

Let me say something most men don’t want to hear:

If your woman has lost her spark,

if she looks exhausted all the time,

if she’s gained weight or stopped dressing up,

if she walks around like her soul’s been evicted—

It’s not always menopause.

It’s not always age.

It’s not laziness.

Sometimes, it’s you.

Yes, you.

Her body is screaming what she’s too afraid or too drained to say:

“I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel chosen. I don’t feel seen.”

You wanna know how well a man loves his woman?

Look at her.

Look at her face. Her eyes. Her posture.

How does she walk into a room?

Does she radiate confidence? Does she own the space?

Or does she shrink?

Carry heaviness in her hips and shoulders?

Walk around like her nervous system is bracing for impact?

Don’t lie to yourself.

If you treat her like your maid, your therapist, your emotional punching bag,

don’t be shocked when the light in her eyes disappears.

She didn’t “let herself go.”

She got tired.

Tired of being last on your list.

Tired of asking for crumbs.

Tired of being touched only when you’re horny, not when she’s hurting.

Tired of carrying your weight and hers, then being called “too much” when she dares to ask for help.

You can’t feed a woman neglect and expect her to glow.

You can’t starve her emotionally and wonder why she shut down sexually.

You can’t give more energy to your group chat than to her and expect her to bloom.

Let’s get real:

You’re either pouring love into her… or draining the life out of her.

You’re either nurturing her soul… or leaving it to dry out and crack.

You’re either making her feel chosen… or watching her vanish in slow motion.

You don’t have to be rich. You don’t have to be a poet.

You just have to give a fuck.

Put down your pride. Put down your phone. Put down your excuses. Show the fuck up.

Rub her shoulders without being asked. Hold her when she’s distant instead of punishing her for protecting herself. Tell her she’s beautiful when she’s bloated and in sweatpants.

Show up with presence—or slowly make her invisible.

Because here’s the brutal truth:

If you keep treating her like an afterthought, don’t act surprised when she stops being your fantasy. And doesn’t give a single shit about trying to be.

She’s not ugly.

She’s unloved.

And the world can see it, even if you’re too checked out to notice.

So ask yourself:

Are you giving her something to rise with… or making her rot while calling it “just a phase”?

She’s not fading for no reason.

She’s not “too sensitive” or “too much.”

She’s surviving you.

And if you keep confusing neglect with normal, don’t act surprised when one day—she’s gone.

Not in anger. Not in a scream. Just gone. Quietly.

And the ghost you’ll be left with?

That’s the version of her you created.

So ask yourself:

“Am I loving her into radiance… or dimming her light until she disappears?”

Because one gives you the woman of your dreams.

The other leaves you sleeping next to the ghost you made.

Choose. Every. Fucking. Day.