Still nodding

There’s a moment when repeating yourself makes things worse.

Same words. More clarity. Less effect.

You think the problem is volume. Or timing. Or tone.

It’s not.

You explain why something didn’t work last time. They nod and try it anyway.

You warn someone about a shortcut. They take it, just to see.

You offer the answer. They ask a different question.

What’s fading isn’t the message. It’s the permission.

Listening would mean skipping a chapter. Agreement would mean inheriting a life.

So they nod. They comply. They detach.

Not because they disagree. Because they’re busy authoring something of their own.

The move isn’t to explain better. It’s to step aside long enough for discovery to happen.

Influence doesn’t travel down. It travels sideways.

And the moment you notice it slipping is usually the moment you’re trying too hard to hold it.