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A quiet conflict lives beneath almost every interaction in our world today. It’s the kind of conflict that shapes the way we enter rooms, speak to people, and decide who we become. It’s the conflict between individuality and belonging, a tension so familiar that most of us stop noticing it. We move through life trying to be ourselves while also trying not to risk too much of ourselves. We want to belong, but we also want to stay whole. And the worst part is when we think we belong and at the same time believe we are whole. Somewhere between those two desires, we begin to negotiate with our identity.
There are many currencies in the world, and even if we don’t need a new one, I have to admit that belonging has become a kind of currency, too. People change the way they talk depending on who they’re with. They soften opinions, exaggerate interests, hide sensitivities, and sometimes even shift their entire personality just to avoid the social discomfort of standing alone, though I’m not even sure that discomfort is real. Every environment creates its own gravity, pulling us into shapes that match its expectations. Even when we tell ourselves we are independent thinkers, or that we don’t care what others think, something in us still scans the room for the unspoken rules and tries to obey them.
I say all this because I’ve seen it in my own life more times than I can count. The clearest version appeared when I was younger, especially in the early years of high school (ninth and tenth grade). I remember entering the ninth grade with this quiet but persistent desire to fit into some group, any group. I didn’t know exactly who I wanted to be, but I was certain of one thing: whoever I actually was didn’t feel like enough.
So I began trying on different versions of myself, although, if I’m honest, I don’t think any of them were truly mine. I changed the way I spoke, mimicked the humor around me, pretended to like things that didn’t interest me, and hid the parts of myself that felt too strange or too “different.” It wasn’t dramatic. In fact, I barely noticed it happening. It was the kind of self-editing that happens instinctively. And the more I think about it now, the more I realize that I behaved like this because I thought that’s just how the world worked. It wasn’t malice or insecurity. It was simply the belief that if you want to belong, you have to pay the price. And sometimes the price is you.
But something inside me didn’t sit right with that. The more I tried to fit into those groups, the more distant I felt, not from others, but from myself. A heaviness followed me around. I remember walking home some days feeling strangely exhausted, and at the same time relieved to finally be alone. The exhaustion had nothing to do with school. It came from maintaining a version of myself that demanded constant attention. It came from the mask I didn’t even fully realize I was wearing.
Then something shifted. Around the eleventh grade, I had a deep and powerful change, almost an internal rupture, but a healthy one. I started to see clearly that the effort I put into belonging was draining the life out of me. I still don’t know what exactly triggered it. Maybe emotional fatigue. Maybe growing up. Maybe the realization that no matter how hard I tried to belong, something was always missing. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Whatever it was, it broke me open in the best way. For the first time in years, I simply didn’t give a fuck anymore about being accepted or fitting into anything.
I started speaking the way I actually speak. I did and said the things that felt natural to me. I stopped forcing myself into conversations or trends that didn’t resonate with me. I stopped playing roles. I stopped being a character in my own story and slowly became the author of it.
And the irony of it all is that the moment I stopped trying to belong was the moment I actually did. People started liking me more, truly liking me. I became part of more groups, but this time the belonging felt effortless. It didn’t require shrinking. It didn’t require negotiating with my identity. I was accepted not for who I performed, but for who I was. And to be honest, I also stopped caring about being accepted. Instead of chasing belonging, I stepped back and let belonging come to me.
What happened back then still lives in me today. I am the same person I was in that turning point. I stay true to myself no matter what. I don’t care about trends, groups, or whatever the world considers “in.” If people want me for who I am, good. If not, that’s also fine. My life is no longer shaped by how many groups I can join or how many people I can impress. I am at peace with myself, my true self. And still, the right people always find me. This keeps reinforcing something I now believe at my core:
Individuality is not the enemy of belonging. It is the foundation of it.
Yet society convinces us of the opposite. It whispers that to be included, we must adjust, adapt, and assimilate. We must lose our edges and become a version of ourselves that feels “socially acceptable.” But fuck that. The moment we sacrifice our individuality to belong, we lose ourselves and the possibility of true belonging. We may gain access to a group, but we lose the chance to be loved for who we really are. We may gain visibility, but we lose recognition (and the difference between the two is significant). We may gain social acceptance, but we lose intimacy. The belonging becomes conditional, temporary. And we are never at peace because that belonging isn’t built on truth but on the mask we’re wearing, a mask that eventually weighs more than the acceptance it earns. And when we collapse from the weight of it, only the ones who truly know us will care.
Part of what makes this conflict so complex is that belonging is a primal need. Humans are wired for connection, community, and shared meaning. We don’t want to walk through life alone. Just like competition stopped being about winning and started being about making others lose, belonging stopped being about connection and started being about performance, about conformity. We built communities around sameness instead of authenticity, and sameness is a weak foundation. Without real relationship, real friendship, and real identity, everything eventually crumbles.
But here’s what I want more people to understand: individuality and belonging are not opposites. They’re not enemies. They only appear to conflict because of the environments we try to belong to. If a group requires you to shrink or hide parts of yourself, that is not your group. You’re not belonging, you’re auditioning. And the price of admission is your identity.
Real belonging never asks you to disappear. It never demands masks or roles. Real belonging happens when you stand in your individuality long enough for the right people to find you. It’s something you grow into, not something you chase.
The more we become ourselves, the more we belong to the right things. The people intimidated by our honesty fall away. The environments that required our silence lose their grip. The rooms that demanded our imitation stop interesting us. And they are replaced by a community built on truth. You realize, as I did, that the world is full of people who will resonate with your individuality, but none of them can find you if you’re hiding behind safer versions of yourself.
It took me years to understand this, but now it feels obvious. Belonging is not something you chase. Chasing it is the fastest way to lose yourself. Belonging grows from within, through the simple act of living honestly and consistently as who you are. When you do that, the right people, places, and paths align almost naturally. Nothing needs to be forced.
And maybe this leads us to the deeper truth: individuality doesn’t threaten belonging but illuminates it. It reveals what’s real, who’s meant for you, and where you can breathe, speak, and live without negotiating your identity.
The belonging we crave appears only when we stop abandoning the person we already are. Because if people love us for our masks, we will always fear the moment they slip. But if they love us for our truth, there is nothing to fear.
In the end, belonging built on performance dissolves, but the one built on truth endures. And the people who are meant for you, the real ones, can only meet you once you stop hiding.
Thank you! 🌹
Eduard 🌹
The Hidden I🌹 (Pronounced “Eye” or “I.” For the Seer. And the Seen.)
1 comment
It’s funny how we spend years trying to belong to people, places, and groups only to realize later that the only thing we ever truly needed was to belong to ourselves first Sharing my reflection on this again, because this tension, between who we are and who we try to be, is something so many of us carry, most of the time without even realizing it If it finds you at the right moment, I hope it brings clarity Thank you! The Hidden I🌹 (Pronounced “Eye” or “I.” For the Seer. And the Seen.) https://paragraph.com/@thehiddeni/what-we-lose-when-we-try-to-belong🌹