SCAR Letter #9: The Appetite She’ll Never Show You


Playing Safe Keeps You Blind


Picture this.

You’re sitting across from her.
She laughs, she leans in—

and then the disclaimers come:

“Not on the first date.”
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“That’s for my future husband.”

And you?
You nod.
You smile.
You swallow it, hook, line, and sinker.
You think she means it.

But understand this:

those aren’t truths.
Those are lines from her mask.
Smoke screens she throws—
to see if you’ll wilt and go away.

I’ve lived it.

Once, I asked a girlfriend for something I craved.
Blunt. Awkward.
Like a boy, not a man.

She told me she’d done it before—
but not with me.

And now I see—

it wasn’t because I wasn’t good enough.
It was because I hadn’t sparked her fire first.
I hadn’t touched her shadow.

I asked.
I explained.
I begged.

And all of it reeked of weakness.

She didn’t want words.
She wanted center.
She wanted a man steady enough
to look her shadow in the eye
and not flinch.

That’s the scar.

Safe men choke on disclaimers.
They die at the mask.
They fade into invisibility.

But centered men—
they don’t blink at the disclaimers.
They hear the shadow peeking around the corner.
They awaken the fire she swore she’d never show.

SCAR Principle #9

A woman will never open to a safe man
the way she opens to a centered man.

If you stay at the mask,
you’ll never know her real fire.

But if you touch her shadow,
you’ll be remembered.

That’s the scar.
Carved deep,
so you don’t repeat it.

—Uncle Woo

👉 This is Version 2. If you want the version Blogger won’t let me show you, subscribe to the Underground Journal of Initiation.


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