What if it’s all bullshit?

The self-love trope that’s

shoved down our throats ad nauseam.

That we are enough by ourselves.

That we are whole beings.

That if we can’t achieve that—

above all else—

we’ve somehow failed.

But hear me out.

What if we weren’t meant to be whole alone?

What if other people were meant to give us pieces,

and receive pieces of us in return?

What if that’s why we’re wired—

for community,

for a shared meal and a quiet evening,

for laughter that fills a room,

for the simple miracle

of being seen and understood?

Because I’ve never felt more alive,

more loved,

more whole,

than when I’m laughing with my best friends,

or being held while I cry,

or rambling endlessly about the same problem

for the hundredth time—

and they still listen,

still care enough to stay.

Not because they have to,

but because they adore me.

Because they want to hear me

yap about life for hours.

What if we’ve been sold a lie?

A story spun by someone too weary to try again—

someone who’d been broken too many times,

who mistook their bitterness for enlightenment.

They couldn’t bear one more fall,

so they built a temple of solitude

and called it peace.

They worshiped self-containment,

preached it like salvation,

and we believed them.

But if there’s one thing I can assure you of,

it’s that I have never felt complete alone.

I ache for friendship.

I ache for romantic love.

I ache to feel life inside of me

and bring it into this world.

I ache for parts of me I’ve never met,

and people who have yet to love me.

Maybe the will to do better

was never meant to live inside us alone.

Maybe it was always something shared—

a spark passed back and forth

in moments when we can’t find it ourselves.

Maybe we just need someone

to believe in us one more time.

To see our light when we can’t.

To reach for us through the gravity

of the black hole that pulls us under—

and hold our flame steady

until we remember how to burn again.

Maybe that’s not weakness.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe wholeness was never meant

to be a solitary thing.

So what if it’s all just bullshit—

and love, not solitude,

was always the real enlightenment.