Community is the New Self-Care
We’ve all heard the advice from those somehow adorable, almost-centenarians—people whose wrinkled faces are maps of a life well-lived (well, lived, in any case). Their biggest joys and deepest regrets seem to revolve around one simple truth: relationships matter most.
“I wish I’d worked less,” they confess. “I should’ve told my kids I loved them more often.”
Then there are the familiar tropes about the power of connection:
Happiness is only real when shared.
No man is an island.
Love doubles joy and halves sorrow.
I’ll admit, I didn’t fully grasp the weight of these truths until two major life implosions—a breakup and a financial disaster—forced me to confront them. It was my toxic relationship, in a foreign country no less, that pushed me to seek out community, starving for connection like a sailor lost at sea. After only a couple years of building that community, life intervened, and I was forced to move back to my home country, leaving behind the sense of security and belonging I’d worked so hard to create.
The difference between the two lives I lived was stark. In Croatia, even amidst heartbreak and chaos, I felt held—buoyed by the strength of new but solid friendships with people who truly accepted me. Back in the United States, surrounded by my family’s love and the comfort of my childhood home, I felt crushing loneliness. My old friends had moved on, my new connections were shallow, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I no longer belonged.
Suddenly, my mental health became a full-time job. Meditation, journaling, self-help books, exercise, and perfect sleep hygiene became my survival toolkit. A friend gently suggested medication, but I knew the problem wasn’t just inside me—it was around me. I wasn’t ashamed of my struggle; I just knew I needed to rebuild my environment.
Some of these differences were cultural. In Croatia, social life is central. People are blunt—so much so that at first, it feels rude—but over time, their honesty becomes comforting. You don’t waste time wondering if someone likes you; they’ll tell you if they don’t! In contrast, on the West Coast of the United States, politeness reigns supreme. We prioritize work, family, and individual space, often at the expense of deeper friendships. We smile to show no harm, hold our tongues to avoid offense, and read between the lines instead of speaking plainly. These cultural norms shaped my experience, but culture wasn’t the whole story.
The real difference was my effort. While in Croatia, I was determined to build a community because I needed to. My boyfriend had his own social life, so I set out to create mine. I said yes to every invitation. I attended events and meetups (heck, I even started one myself). My job teaching English online freed me from career pressures, allowing me to pour my energy into relationships. And because my romantic relationship was unstable, I leaned heavily on my friends from the start—and it shocked me when they continually showed up for me.
I learned that when you prioritize your social life and make it the center of your world, you quickly find your people. When you open up and share your vulnerable underbelly, even when it feels scary or premature, others rise to meet you. People want to help. Lending an empathetic ear or a warm hug makes them feel good, too.
The most profound lesson was this: even life’s hardest moments—leaving a man I loved, moving out of our home, sleeping on a friend’s couch, and finally building a life alone in a foreign country—were all manageable because of the strength of my friendships. Back in my mother’s house, surrounded by safety and care, I realized that even the boundless love of one person—even my mom—couldn’t replace the security of a supportive network. No one person can be your everything. That’s the point.
So here’s my challenge to you: Take an audit of your priorities today. Are you investing in your relationships with the same focus you give to your career or personal goals? Decide now how you want to live, so that when you’re old and wrinkly, ready to offer your final pearls of wisdom to the next generations, you’ll speak from a place of gratitude and fulfillment, not regret.