Everyone Wants a Village, But No One Wants to Be a Villager

We all say we want a “village.” A support system. A community. A circle that gets it.

But here’s the hard truth: Everyone wants the village… until it’s time to be a villager.

The Idea of Community Feels Romantic, Until It Requires You

It’s easy to crave connection when you’re lonely.

It’s harder to maintain a connection when you’re busy, insecure, or healing.

Being part of a village means more than being seen.

It means showing up. Checking in. Listening when it’s inconvenient. It means being willing to be needed, and not just noticed.

We love the idea of mutual support until we realize it also asks for accountability, consistency, and self-awareness.

Because being a villager means you don’t just take from the community, you contribute to it.

Why We Struggle to Be Villagers

There’s psychology behind this.

We live in a culture that glorifies independence but craves connection.

We want belonging without the risk of being disappointed again.

We want to feel close, but still in control.

And so, our nervous systems are confused, wanting to trust, but afraid to depend.

Being a villager requires emotional labor: empathy, patience, vulnerability.

It asks you to say, “I’m here,” even when life is messy.

To show up for people who might not be able to repay you right now.

That’s uncomfortable for a generation taught to protect their peace by isolating.

The Myth of the “Effortless” Community

We scroll past people laughing together, traveling together, thriving together, and we assume that’s what a healthy village looks like.

But real community isn’t aesthetic. It’s active.

It’s the group chat that remembers your bad day. The friend who drops off soup instead of just saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”

The people who tell you the truth with love, not performative support.

A real village doesn’t just make you feel good, it makes you grow.

The Responsibility of Belonging

The reason many of us don’t have the community we crave is because we haven’t learned to take responsibility for the space we occupy in others’ lives.

To be a villager means asking:

• Do I reach out without being prompted?

• Do I listen as much as I talk?

• Do I hold space without needing to fix?

• Do I offer grace when someone else drops the ball, the same way I hope they’ll offer it to me?

Villages thrive on mutual effort, not perfect balance.

You give more in some seasons, and you need more in others.

But everyone has to keep showing up.

Why It Feels So Hard

Most of us grew up in emotional survival mode. We learned to self-soothe, self-manage, self-everything because depending on others didn’t always feel safe.

So even when we say we want community, our protective instincts whisper:

Don’t rely on anyone. Don’t get too close. Don’t need too much.

But real belonging requires risk. You have to let people matter enough to disappoint you and still choose to stay.

That’s the unglamorous, sacred part of being a villager.

The Reframe

You don’t find a village. You build it.

Through consistency. Through presence. Through being as available as you wish others were for you.

It’s not about perfection, it’s about participation.

And when enough villagers commit to showing up imperfectly, something beautiful happens:

The village becomes real.

Your Turn

If you’ve been craving a stronger community, start small. Check in on someone without needing a reason. Ask for help when it feels awkward. Offer help without making it transactional.

Because the truth is, your village isn’t missing. It’s waiting for you to start acting like a villager. 🤍