AUTHOR + ONLINE EDUCATOR

I used to be the girl with the suitcase.

That was the self-proclaimed title I gave to myself in my early twenties.

While everyone around me was finding love, settling down, and having babies, I was always looking for the next opportunity to pack up my suitcase— yet again— and hop on a plane to the next destination.

Now there’s nothing wrong with adventure. I look back and I’m thankful for the ways I claimed adventure, especially as a single girl. I never allowed my relationship status to stop me from heading out into the world and experiencing it for myself.

But when I moved to Atlanta, to a place that would require me to unpack my suitcase to plant some roots and make a home, I didn’t know how. 

I was flighty.

I was distant from others.

I wanted to be impressive and flashy, not rooted and real.

I wanted deep, lasting relationships without any of the work.

It wasn’t until I found myself fighting through a life-changing depression that I realized my priorities needed to shift. I couldn’t go through life alone. I needed people. And when it came to the people who had stood with me the whole time, I needed to let them in. 

I needed a village. 

I still need a village. 

We all need a village.

So, I began to make some necessary shifts right where I stood.

 

I Started Being Honest

This was step one. The hardest step. The best step.

I remember exactly where I was when the honesty broke through. I was at my friend Anna’s house, sitting on her couch after watching the latest episode of The Bachelor. 

I was surrounded by girls from my new friend group here in Atlanta. They were kind and ambitious women who were killing it in all areas of life, but I was giving them the surface-level of me. I wasn’t opening up or going deeper.

As the conversations around the room began to break off in different directions, I knew I had to open my mouth. This was my chance.

“I don’t want to be here right now,” I blurted out. “I actually want to run as far away from here as possible.”

What spilled out of me in that moment was honesty. Honesty, I was afraid to plant down roots. Honesty, I didn’t know how to let new people in. Honesty, I was scared I would never feel settled in this new place.

What followed was one of the most life-giving conversations we’ve ever had. We all became honest. Girls encouraged me. Other girls stepped in to hold me accountable to opening up through regular coffee dates. It felt so good to be known— to be seen—for one of the first times since moving to Atlanta. And to think, that kind of feeling had been waiting for me the whole time, just waiting for me to get honest.

Building a village starts with getting honest about where you are on the map. What you need. What you’re afraid of. 

Wherever you are on that map– in the murky unknown or the plainest of plains–  it’s okay. But you can’t expect people to know where you are automatically. Just like GPS can’t calculate your destination without knowing your starting point, others can’t meet you and embrace you if you refuse to tell them where you are.

Deep intimacy begins with opening up the map and pointing bravely as you show someone, “Here. Here is where I am on the map right now.”

 

I Started Making Coffee Dates

And when I say dates, I don’t mean romantic Tinder dates. I tried those too, but it’s important to bring it up because, for a while, in my resistance to roots, I dated more than I tried to forge real friendships. I thought finding love would rescue me from that uncomfortable season of staying where you have to make friends. I wanted to skip friendship and go right on to what I wanted: a life partner.

Here’s why that doesn’t work: when you date someone, it’s not a guarantee that they’re staying in your life. It’s a short-term stay until circumstances and maturity move you towards the long-term. But, before that, they might be there for a week or a month, three months or even a year. But when that relationship ends, they don’t stick around. They don’t bring you soup when you get sick. They don’t celebrate you with flowers or show up on your lowest days. They’re out, and so are you.

What we need, more than love, is people who will surround you in the seasons to come. People who stay. People who hold you after that ugly breakup or commiserate with you after he ghosts. Sometimes you need the people who will walk with you down the aisle before you find the one who’s standing at the end of it.

After I became honest, I decided to step back a bit from dating on the apps (and dating in general) to focus on building my village.

This was the very last thing I wanted to do. I’ll admit that. As an introvert who sometimes uses that personality trait as an excuse for not making many plans, I tried to claim I didn’t need these one-on-one relationships.

However, I still started putting myself out there more.

I showed up in coffee shops. 

I got to know others. 

I texted back.

I learned other people’s fears and their victories. 

I opened myself again and again. 

It would have been easier to have one-off dates where we met, swapped inspirational stories, and then never saw one another again. Vulnerability is always easier when you know the person across the table likely won’t be there for the long haul.

Just because it feels uncomfortable to form new relationships this way, don’t let it stop you. Say yes to coffee. Say yes to sharing your story with someone new. Say yes to “let’s do this again next week.” This is how you start to get people in your corner.

 

I Started Serving

There is a time to be served and a time to serve. To plant my roots down further, I made myself available to others. Availability, I’ve learned, is different than accessibility. Where accessibility might look like being on the other side of the phone at all times, ready to respond, availability goes a step further. It seeks out opportunities to serve and love others. It goes out of its way, even when it’s inconvenient. I learned in that season that availability is the stuff of lifelong friendships. It’s sometimes uncomfortable but there is real fruit that comes from opening yourself up to deep availability.

Through my flighty behaviors, I’d become far more comfortable with relying on the trusty but sure “I’m too busy” excuse. Nothing will send people away faster than being unapproachable with a full calendar.

Yet, on the other side of that full calendar, I knew I wanted to be someone who was dependable. Someone who showed up. Someone who said “yes” even when “no” would be easier. So I started showing up.

I babysat for friends so they could have a date night. 

I started a workout group in my community for any woman who wanted to join. At 7 am, three mornings a week, we’d meet in my friend’s driveway and lift, squat, and train together. I loved building muscle, and so I used that passion to serve girls in my community.

You have some of those same gifts, too. You have the gift of service in your bones. It doesn’t mean it’s natural or always easy to practice – in many ways, it’s a spiritual discipline that begins with looking around and asking yourself, ‘What need can I meet?‘ How can I bless others?

There are people everywhere who are praying for things. We forget that we get to be the answer to some of those prayers. For some people, it’s a meal. For others, it’s a friend who stays. By showing up to serve, you might be the answer to someone else’s prayers in their darkest or loneliest seasons. 

 

I Started Saying “Yes” to Help

This is hard advice to give to the girl who never wants to take off her cape. It’s easy to be the hero in the story; it’s humbling to be the one who needs help. And I’m stubborn, so I would much rather claim that I’m holding it all together. No thanks, I’m good.

But people want to help.

People desire to serve, just like you do.

I awkwardly asked people to help me move instead of doing it all by myself. I awkwardly allowed a friend to start up a meal train when Novalee was born. I say “awkwardly” because it didn’t feel natural to me, but I said “yes” anyway.

I’ve learned through many hard seasons that it’s okay to accept help. It’s okay to ask for help. This doesn’t make you weak; it makes you wise.

And here’s the really beautiful thing about letting other people help you: you get a front-row seat to how you want to show up for others when they need it the most. I often say that I didn’t know how to show up for someone going through depression until I went through it myself and carefully observed the people standing with me, showing up at the door, making the tea, refusing to leave me alone in my pain.

The same happened when I walked through a miscarriage. Before that, I admit that I didn’t really know how to show up for others in that same storm. But, through witnessing how others loved me in that pain, I found mirrors to how I wanted to be in the future.

I’m convinced that when we help one another, that’s how the village gets its street cred.

I Started Matching What I Loved In Others

My best friend Dawn is a pro at making plans. She’s consistent. She’s on top of it. She follows up. Every time we would hang out, she’d reach out to set up another date. I love this about her. And so I decided to start doing the same thing. I became more consistent with one of my friends. I began to do with her what Dawn did with me. 

I followed up. 

I stayed on top of things. 

Every time we would hang out, I’d reach out to set up another date right after. 

And one day, she commented on and commended my consistency. I smiled to myself. I was just modeling something I loved in someone else.

It’s wild to think those small, steady steps allowed our relationship to grow that much stronger. It didn’t take much. It took the willingness to keep reaching out. It took deep intentionality.

If you look at one of your friends and think, “I love the way you show up,” then please know you can be that kind of person too. You can be the glue for the village. You can coordinate hangouts. You can bring people together. You can grow in this area. We all can.

Think about your most reliable friends. What do they do that sets them apart? How do they show up for others? How can you duplicate that consistency with someone you love?

These days, you can find me following the lead of the people I love. 

I try to share space at the table for whoever arrives because of my friend Tory.

I check in more because of my friend Kami.

I pray bolder prayers because of my friend Jane.

I show up at the door to bless others because of my friend Cara.

I am the product of my village, and I would not change it for the world.

I’ve learned that all of the steps listed above are most effective when you put them on repeat. You keep being honest. You keep accepting help. You keep reaching out. You keep being consistent. You keep holding umbrellas for others in their storms. 

But there’s beauty in the cycles of life… Through the rinse and repeat motions of a small group of people, the village forms. The circle widens. The village gets stronger, and bolder, and brighter. It’s the best kind of community to witness and be a part of.

Yes, the work can be challenging, but we were never designed for a two-dimensional, on-the-surface community.

You need a village. I need a village. We all need a village.

And it’s never too late to start building one.