Thou shalt love thyself as thy neighbour

It was amidst exam season, and once again, my ability to focus had scurried off into the ether. Normally, I'd combat this latest bout of ADHD by reaching for my second daily dose of Adderall, but having already done so an hour earlier to no avail, I decided instead to reach out to my two dearest friends. After a brief consultation of our calendars, we found a sliver of common free time and agreed to meet for lunch in town (I bribed one of the two with the promise of flowers). Eager to share one of my favourite dining spots, I promised them an experience they'd cherish as much as I had over the years. Once we were comfortably seated in my favoured café, our conversation meandered from trivial chit-chat, about partners and gossip we’d intercepted as of late, to matters of substantial weight.

(Pictured above; me and my friends at lunch)

Halfway through listening to each other and giving one another unsolicited advice my friend—let's call her Lex—chose to unveil a piece of her heart, laying it bare with a vulnerability that demanded attention. "I'm never going to find anyone else," she confessed, her voice a soft echo of defeat, "so I guess I'll just stay with this shitty person." The starkness of her revelation hung in the air, a poignant note amidst the clatter of dishes and the murmur of other patrons. Here was Lex, might I add a person of wonderful depth and vibrancy, resigned to the shadows of a relationship that dimmed her light rather than amplifying it. It was a predicament that resonated. While my other friend (we’ll call her Amber) sat there in silence for a moment, the statement struck a particular chord, prompting a reflection on the essence of love and self-completion. I bit my tongue considering the appropriate approach to such a statement. Seeing as I am quite socially inept, and come off much harsher than I want to most of the time, I was relieved Amber handled the response first. “You are only 19!?”  While this reply satisfied to imply our disagreement with the previous statement, it failed to indicate the depth we all knew it held. 

Lex’s dilemma wasn't just about the struggle to find love; it was about the quest for personal wholeness. The heart of the matter seemed to ask: Is it preferable to be with someone who leaves you feeling less than, or to navigate the world alone, yet whole? My first innate reaction would be to side with the solitude option since this implied self-evaluation and preservation. Yet none of us at that table could deny that that sometimes is easier said than done. Amber and I were no saints either when it came to that same self-preservation. Both of our previous relationships were absolute messes too. Neither of us had it easy to pick the option of self-preservation/ wholeness in the past. Don’t be mistaken, we did eventually, but it is hardly fair to pretend we were saints. I was left in a dubious state pondering if I had any right to lecture my friend when I never followed the advice I was about to give.

This problem led me to consider the broader implications of Lex’s situation. In a world that often equates being in a relationship with being complete, the pressure to pair up is pervasive. Socially this is the case, when you’re meeting someone with a partner it will be mentioned in the conversation at least once. However, we cannot forget even in our societal structuring this is the case.  I don’t want to get too much into the economics of it all but I am sure most of you have read articles about or come across posts about how (in Belgium) it is insanely expensive to live alone as a single person. Anyway, I am derailing from my original topic. Lex’s current compromise highlighted a fundamental truth—that being with someone who isn't right for you is akin to wearing a shoe that doesn't fit. It might serve the basic function, but at what cost to your comfort and, ultimately, your happiness? Lex’s resignation from her less-than-ideal relationship mirrored a common fear: the dread of loneliness. Yet, this fear, while natural, often clouds the realization that solitude and loneliness are not synonymous. Solitude can be beneficial for your self-discovery and personal growth, besides in this case, it protects your self-respect. It can nurture a wholeness that is not reliant on another's presence to validate its existence .

As our lunch drew to a close, I found myself wanting to impart a piece of wisdom to Lex, something to light her way forward. "Perhaps," I ventured, "it's not about waiting for someone who makes you feel whole. Maybe it's about realising—that you are already complete, and anyone who joins your journey should enrich your life, not be the missing piece of your puzzle. Perhaps being alone right now is the best thing you can do for yourself?" We stepped back into the day, the ordinary bustle of the town a stark contrast to the depth of our conversation. The realization of having to go back to our books to continue studying loomed over us. As we went our separate ways, I hoped that Lex would find the courage to seek happiness on her terms, to realize that her worth was not contingent on her relationship status.