Because love should expand you, not consume you.
About two months ago, I filmed a video called Why I Don’t Want to Be Someone’s Whole World. It was one of the first times I ever sat in front of a camera and just spoke my mind; just me, sitting with my thoughts, trying to find language for the changes that were happening inside me. When I watch it back now, I can still feel that nervous energy, the uncertainty that comes with finally living what I’ve always known to be true: the relationship we have with ourselves quietly shapes every connection we build with anyone else. That video wasn’t a revelation as much as it was a reminder.
A few days before filming, I had gone out after a night at the club. I never went out in my twenties, but this year I promised myself I’d say yes to more experiences. Over wings at a late-night spot, I ended up in conversation with a man who, at first, seemed interesting. It felt like a vibe; good energy, easy conversation, until it shifted. Somewhere between the jokes and the small talk, he told me, flat out, that he has nothing for himself. I tried to dig deeper, the way I naturally do. I asked about his interests, what he likes to do, what drives him. But he said there wasn’t really anything. No hobbies. No passions. Nothing that made him light up. He boasted about his business, his house, and all his cars. He said he was looking for a woman who was “locked in,” someone ready to step into that world he’d already built.
It hit me how many people move through life like that, waiting for someone else to give them meaning, to make them whole. That conversation reminded me that if you don’t have something of your own to pour into, you’ll end up trying to pour yourself into someone else. And that never ends well. We talk a lot about “finding your other half,” but real love is about two whole people sparking inspiration in each other to grow together. Wholeness doesn’t mean perfection; it means self-awareness, accountability, and the willingness to keep growing.
Every relationship we have thrives or suffers based on the one we have with ourselves. Every person we meet is a mirror. The way we treat ourselves teaches other people how to treat us. When I worked at Starbucks, I used to see this all the time. People would come in angry because they were late for a meeting, frustrated that their drink wasn’t ready fast enough. But it was never about the coffee. They were projecting the frustration they already carried inside. That’s what we all do, consciously or not. We hand people the blueprint for how to engage with us based on how we engage with ourselves. If someone can’t enjoy their own company, they end up depending on others for their peace, their self-worth, their joy. When your sense of fulfillment lives outside of you, it means someone else can take it away.
I know this because I’ve been there. I’ve been in relationships — romantic, familial, and platonic — where I lost myself trying to meet everyone else’s needs. I was always the one who remembered birthdays, checked in, made sure no one felt forgotten. I gave endlessly because I knew what it felt like to be overlooked. But when it was my turn to need something, the silence was loud. It took time to realize that the problem wasn’t the people I was giving to. It was that I hadn’t learned to give to myself first. And the truth was, I didn’t even know what I needed to give myself. I didn’t know what I truly wanted; not from others, but from life.
That’s the danger of living from borrowed beliefs. When you don’t know your own desires, it’s easy to let other people’s values shape what you think you want. You start chasing images of success, love, and happiness that don’t belong to you. For a long time, I believed that if there wasn’t conflict, there wasn’t anything wrong. I thought peace alone meant alignment. But stillness can sometimes be complacency in disguise.
Leaving my marriage wasn’t about things being toxic or bad. I had built a version of myself based on values to meet a timeline, to start a family, to check the boxes of a good life, without realizing that building a family is about resonance, not readiness. I didn’t stop to ask if the foundation reflected who I truly was becoming. When I finally did, what I heard was quiet but certain. I was living a life that looked right but didn’t feel right. I had done everything “on time”: marriage, motherhood, stability. But I had built it from beliefs that weren’t mine, beliefs shaped by expectation, by wanting to make my family proud, especially my mom. It wasn’t that I stopped loving him. It was that I had outgrown the version of myself that our marriage was built around.
Leaving meant facing judgment, disappointment, and the fear that I was ruining something perfectly good. But it also meant returning to myself: to my passion, my creativity, my drive to lead and build and express. It meant trusting my intuition, even when it didn’t seem to make logical sense. Choosing myself wasn’t easy. It rarely is. But it was necessary. Because I realized that if I couldn’t trust myself to make the hardest decisions for my own growth, I’d never be able to trust myself to lead the life I was meant to build.
Nine months ago, I started a self-confidence journey. I decided to work on everything about myself that didn’t feel in alignment, not from a place of criticism, but from love. The more I poured into myself, the more I realized how much I’d relied on external validation to feel worthy. I had been codependent, dimming my own light so others could shine. And when I stopped doing that, everything changed. The decision to choose myself was painful, but it also re-ignited me. It reminded me that I am allowed to take up space, to lead, to be seen.
Every connection, romantic or otherwise, should be reciprocal. Sometimes one person gives more because the other is in a difficult season, but over time, the flow balances. It has to. When you abandon yourself, everyone around you feels it. Energy moves both ways. You either give life or you take it. Sometimes living authentically means losing people, the ones who can’t meet you at the level of your growth. But letting go of what’s misaligned makes room for what is.
If someone tells you you’re their whole world, take that as a red flag. You deserve someone who has a world of their own and wants to share it with you, not someone who needs you to complete it. The truth is, the more you build your relationship with yourself, the more you realize that love isn’t about filling a void. It’s about sharing the overflow. Love yourself enough to build a life that feels full on its own, and only share it with someone who has done the same.
That’s the kind of connection that lasts.
Check out the original video.
