you’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community

the “put yourself first” epidemic is making us worse

There’s a new kind of selfishness that masquerades as healing. It wears skincare and cancellations like armor. It calls everything a boundary and nothing a bridge. You know the type: they won’t come to your dinner because they’re “listening to their body,” but they’ll watch three hours of TikToks alone and call it self-care. They believe they’re owed the fruits of community without ever touching the soil. No potlucks. No awkward small talk. No showing up early or staying late. Just vibes.

They think putting themselves first is some kind of moral high ground but what they don’t realize is that when everyone chooses themselves, no one chooses each other. And that’s how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a thousand unopened invitations.

They’re the worst kind of person. The kind who thinks they’re healing. The kind who’s probably reading this. The kind who’s… you.

You think “putting yourself first” is noble, even when it becomes a habit of leaving everyone else last. You want the rewards of connection with none of the inconvenience of participation. You flake and call it self-preservation. You ghost and call it peace. You don’t go to the birthday, don’t reply to the message, don’t leave your house, and then you cry about how no one checks in anymore. You’ve mistaken isolation for empowerment. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

You don’t show up. You cancel the day of. You don’t invite people in, not to your home, not to your plans, not to your mess. You call it a perimeter. You call it prioritizing your tranquility. But the truth is, you don’t know how to live among people. Not really. You want to be understood, but you refuse to be witnessed. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

You’re not protecting your energy. You’re hoarding it. You’re not setting boundaries. You’re building a fortress and expecting people to thank you for the locked door and to not lock their own.

You don’t want to feel alone, but you don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s need. You want warmth without effort, closeness without cost. You want connection that doesn’t ask you to change your schedule, your plans, or your mood. In other words: you don’t want community. You want comfort. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

You cancel by text and then put your phone on Do Not Disturb because it “mAkEs yOu aNxIoUs” to hear or read the other person’s disappointment, as if you weren’t in the wrong to begin with. You never sacrifice your time for anyone and go on a tangent when they ask you to. You refuse to inconvenience yourself for the sake of others and then complain about the world as a society. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

You’re the person who answers your phone on speaker in public, as if everyone around you is supposed to bear witness to the importance of your call. Your time is more valuable than anyone else’s, your convenience more important than anyone else’s comfort. You’re the person who scrolls on TikTok without earbuds even if someone is sleeping in the same room because your entertainment comes first. Because you deserve the world on your own terms, even if it’s at the expense of others. You’re the one who never gives in to anything in order to not inconvenience others. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

You’re the one who cancels plans because it’s “too much effort” to get ready or leave the house, but somehow, magically, your energy is fine enough to watch through an entire season of a show you’ve seen before. You’re the one who will ghost when someone’s reaching out, but will post vague quotes about “being there for those who matter.” You’ll take all the comfort, all the care, all the attention, but you won’t give a damn when it’s time to show up. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

Still, you talk about community like it’s some magical thing that just...appears. As if connection isn’t made of small, tiring, unglamorous acts. You don’t water anything, and then wonder why nothing grows. You’re a bitch, and that’s why we lack community.

And maybe that’s the quiet grief of our time: not that people are cold or cruel, but that they’re too obsessed with being well to be warm.

These people are selfish. They’re the worst. They’re you. They’re me. They’re us.

We keep saying the world is lonelier than ever, as if that’s a mystery. As if we didn’t all collectively decide that “putting ourselves first” was the highest form of enlightenment. As if self-prioritization hasn’t slowly become the most socially acceptable way to disappear. As if we didn’t all become the reason why we lack community.

We’ve built a culture where being slightly inconvenienced by another human being is framed as betrayal. Where saying no is considered sacred, but saying yes too often means you are a pushover. Where ghosting isn’t rude anymore, it’s healing. Where people will post a carousel of friendship quotes but won’t text back. It’s all optics. All theater.

Community isn’t just about showing up for the people who we love. It’s showing up for strangers, for the people who annoy us, who might not always have their life together, who don’t always return the favor. But when they do, even in small, unexpected ways, it’s enough to remind you why it’s worth it.

We complain about how life is so hard, about how no one sticks their neck out for others, about how disconnected the world feels. But that’s not a mystery. We made this. We created this distance by treating everyone else like they were an afterthought. By making sure our needs, our comfort, our peace were always the priority. By refusing to be present, to participate, to actually show up.

We’re the ones who keeps choosing ourselves, and we never really wonder why no one’s choosing us back. We don’t want community. We want convenience. And that’s why we are bitches, and that’s why we lack community.

I’ve been told multiple times that I’m only one person, that I do too much, and that I need to stop trying to be there for everyone at the same time. But I never will. Because I don’t want to be a bitch. Because I don’t mind putting others first. Because I believe in community. And I’m not talking about being a pushover.

I’ll tell you why that’s different: It’s showing up when you don’t feel like it. It’s making room for people when you’re already tired. It’s doing the small, inconvenient things that connect you, even when it’s not easy. That’s what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself. That’s what it means to be human. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’ve mistaken your absence for peace and your solitude for self-care. You’re a bitch waiting for the world to make you feel better. And that’s why we lack community. But maybe, just maybe, it’s also why we still have the chance to build it.

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