Why I Don't Chase: The Psychology of Disappearing Acts

You vanish.
No explanation. No courtesy. No acknowledgement of the time I carved from my existence to craft something sacred just for you.
And then—weeks, sometimes months later—you reappear. As if nothing happened. As if I'm a light switch you can flick on and off at your convenience.

But I see you.

Let me show you what your disappearing act really reveals. You think ghosting is about circumstances—work got busy, life got complicated, something came up. But I know better. Your silence isn't about logistics. It's about cowardice.

You wanted the fantasy of submission without the reality of accountability. You craved the rush of power exchange but couldn't handle the weight of actual responsibility—to me, to yourself, to the dynamic you begged me to create. When you ghost, you're not protecting anyone. You're revealing that beneath all your talk of devotion and surrender, you're still that frightened child who runs when things feel too real.

You can't submit to what you won't even acknowledge.

Your behaviour requires correction. When you prepared to session with Me, I prepared for you. Hours of consideration—reviewing your fantasies, selecting implements, arranging space, clearing time from a schedule that others would pay handsomely to access. This preparation is not free. My time is not renewable. My attention is not your birthright.

You will learn this lesson, one way or another.

The easy way: You communicate like the adult you claim to be. "I need to reschedule." "Something has changed." "I'm not ready." Simple words that honour the dynamic we've built together. The hard way: You discover that disrespect has consequences. That doors, once closed by your own neglect, don't automatically reopen because you've decided you're ready again.

I don't accept apologies. I accept changed behaviour.

Oh, sweet thing, you think you can resist Me by simply... disappearing? How utterly naïve. When you ghost Me, you're not escaping. You're feeding Me information. You're showing Me exactly how deep your shame runs, how powerful your desire is, how desperately you need what I offer—and how terrified you are of that need.

Your silence screams louder than your words ever could. I become the fantasy you can't quite reach. The dream that slips through your fingers the moment you try to grasp it. And late at night, when you're alone with your thoughts, you'll remember what you walked away from. What you were too afraid to claim.

I don't chase. I haunt.

Your ghosting costs more than you realise. My preparation time—hours spent curating your experience, reviewing your limits, selecting tools and techniques specifically for your session. The other devoted souls I turned away to make space for someone who couldn't honour that gift. The mental energy spent wondering if you're safe, if something terrible happened, if I somehow misread the connection. Following up, adjusting schedules, managing the practical chaos your disappearance creates.

But more than that, you cost yourself the growth that comes from staying present when things feel intense. You cost yourself the trust that builds when you honour your commitments. You cost yourself the transformation that only happens when you stop running from what you most deeply need.

Some doors, once closed, can be reopened. But reopening requires more than want. It requires understanding. The unblock fee isn't punishment—it's proof. Proof that you've learnt the value of what you so carelessly discarded. Proof that this time, you're serious about honouring the exchange. Unblocking is never guaranteed. It is always earned.

When you return after ghosting, you tell Me several things. You've been thinking about Me—about us—this entire time. You've likely tried to find what we had elsewhere and failed. You've finally admitted to yourself that running didn't solve anything. You want back in. But wanting isn't enough. Not anymore.

You can keep disappearing. Keep running. Keep treating the people who offer you transformation like they're disposable. But understand this: Every time you ghost, you train yourself to abandon what you need most. You practise disconnection instead of devotion. You choose familiar fear over unfamiliar growth.

The doors that close because of your neglect don't all reopen. Some opportunities, once lost, are lost forever. So choose wisely.

Because the next time you feel the urge to vanish, remember: I'm not just watching what you do. I'm watching who you choose to become. And so are you.