COMMUNITY

There’s long been evidence—science-backed and soul-felt—that community is essential to a happy, healthy, meaningful life. Studies show that strong social connections improve everything from our immune system to our lifespan. In fact, research from Harvard’s 85-year-long study on adult development found that good relationships are the single most important factor in long-term happiness and health—more than money, success, or fame.

Community, in its most healing form, is a safety net. It’s the soft landing when life hits hard. It offers guidance, joy, co-regulation, support, and connection to something far greater than our individual striving. It lightens our load and reminds us we were never meant to carry everything alone.

By definition, community is a group of people connected by shared values, goals, interests, or geography—who support, interact with, and care for one another in ways that matter. It can be a physical space—your street, your gym, your corner café—or a digital one: a WhatsApp group, a creative collective, a shared comment section that feels more like a group hug than a scroll.

But more than where, community is how. It’s not just a location. It’s a way of being. It lives in the small, thoughtful gestures: “Hey, I’m going to the shops—want anything?” A voice note checking in. An invitation to join someone elses community. Sharing resources. Being included in plans, including others in your plans. A thoughtful gift. A homemade treat. A shared lift. A shared laugh. A shared burden. These are not grand gestures. But they are the quiet architecture of a better, brighter life.

And here’s the truth: community doesn’t just happen. It’s built—intentionally, tenderly—through communication. We can’t connect if we don’t speak our truth. We can’t be supported if we don’t say what we need. And we can’t create a sense of belonging without showing up, again and again, with presence and care.

How many times have you suffered in silence, not wanting to be a burden? I know I have. When a brutal stomach virus knocked me out a couple of weeks ago, I could’ve stayed quiet and ridden it out in my sick bed, sweating and crying. I chose to communicate what I was feeling. I sent a message to a few friends in my neighbourhood.
Within hours: electrolytes, fruit, voice notes, check-ins came to my doorstep. If I hadn’t reached out, I would’ve missed the chance to feel loved. That matters.

So how did I find these friends? One of them moved in next door to me in my first little home here in Costa Rica. I watched the build of their house for two weeks before this magical little family moved in with their two children and a beautiful Malinois puppy. I went over and introduced myself, asked if our dogs could meet—as I wanted to make sure that lil Chick wasn’t going to be eaten in one bite! She invited me to dinner that night. We shared food, connected—they opened their home to me, a complete stranger. Shortly after, their son would run over to give me morning hugs. A year and a half later, we’re still watering that friendship. We go to the beach (this morning). We cook each other meals. We batch cook kimchi and pesto and other delicious lil treats. We make plans. I lend them my truck. They sent me messages of support when they found out about a fucking awful situation that happened to me recently, and they made me my favourite meals and took care of me. We organise each other’s birthday parties. We share. We care. And none of it would’ve happened if we hadn’t chosen to connect and be open to welcoming new humans into our lives.

Community doesn’t arrive fully formed. It blooms slowly, season by season, through reciprocal effort and everyday communication. You water where you want the flowers to grow. And here’s something that often gets forgotten: real community is built on mutuality. You can’t just give until you burn out. And you can’t just take without consequence.

The dance of community is one of balance—of attunement, awareness, and respect. It means offering help and receiving it. It means showing up and letting others show up for you. It means acknowledging that we’re all doing our best—and we all need support.

And here’s something important that’s often forgotten (yes, again—because it really matters): true community is rooted in mutuality. You cannot only give, and you cannot only take. If you overextend yourself constantly, you risk resentment and burnout. If you only take without giving, you create imbalance—and people may begin to notice this and retract their care. Reciprocity is key. Community thrives on a natural rhythm of exchange—compassion offered, compassion received. That balance takes awareness and tenderness.

I’ve noticed in my past—and honestly, even recently—moments where I’ve fallen into people-pleasing or overextending myself to make others feel included and cared for. I’ve tried to embody the warmth of community, even when the energy wasn’t mutual. And just the other week, I felt it again. I found myself depleted, emotionally drained from trying to support and include someone who had done the bare minimum to meet any of my needs. I realised I was drowning trying to keep them afloat, all while silently needing them to reach out and support me. So I communicated it. I expressed my needs. I withdrew a little to fill up my own cup.

And still… they didn’t reach out. No plan. No call. No meaningful acknowledgement of what I had shared. They just carried on, and I felt abandoned. Wounded, really. Because underneath it, I had hoped—maybe even expected—to feel their love in return for all the ways I had shown up for them.

But that’s the other piece of this lesson: We cannot expect others to love us in the same ways we love them. We can hope. We can communicate our needs with softness and strength. But kindness is only true kindness when it’s given freely—not as currency for love. Otherwise, we fall into the trap of overgiving with an invisible scorecard, only to feel devastated when the love we poured out isn’t returned in the form we needed.

So now, I try to observe.
Who shows up?
Who listens?
Who waters the soil when I’m too tired to lift the watering can?

We grow flowers where reciprocity lives. You cannot keep pouring into a relationship with someone who won’t lift a finger when you’re the one in need. I remind myself of this often. I need to remember to show up with the love I give—and pour it from an overflowing cup. And when that cup is empty? I have to ask for water. That’s community too.

Community is a give and a take. It’s not transactional—but it is relational. It’s a give without expectation, and a receive with openness and balance. It’s knowing that generosity isn’t depleting when it comes from overflow, and receiving isn’t shameful when it’s rooted in trust. True community provides us with an equal, nourishing rhythm—one where we’re supported and held, while also having the opportunity to support and hold others. That’s where the magic happens. Not in grand gestures, but in those everyday exchanges that say: you matter to me, and I want to share what I have.

And here’s the thing: community starts at home. With us. With the simple question: What do I have to give? Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s laughter. Maybe it’s a truck, a spare seat at the table, a half-bag of oats, or a warm body to walk the dog with. Maybe it’s just a listening ear and a strong hug. A really fucking simple community act? Sharing your Netflix login with your mates. That’s care. That’s sharing joy. It’s low effort, high impact, and comes from a place of trust and generosity.

So, what else can you share?
Maybe it’s tools. Maybe it’s a sourdough starter. Maybe it’s your babysitting hours or a homemade meal when someone’s too tired to cook. Maybe it’s just information—a WhatsApp message that says, “Hey, I found cheap mangos at the market this morning.” The truth is, when you identify what you already have—what you can offer without it costing you much—you unlock a whole new way to give to your community without needing to bend over backwards or be a “giver” in the martyrdom sense. And when you share from that place, it doesn’t feel like sacrifice. It feels like participation. Like connection. Like life.

So ask yourself: What’s easy for me to give that could mean a lot to someone else? That’s your entry point. That’s the seed. And from there—if you water it—everything grows.

It’s all about communication and trust me, the best times I have had are amongst my community, giving and receiving. The most love I feel is when I receive a message that someone has thought about me, sharing something simple like a recipe they think I might like, or a song. Dancing in queer bars, singing karaoke, sharing meals, talking about books, finding friendship in the places I frequent build a magical aura around my life.

If you are struggling to find community, here are some top tips:

✨ Start with hello.
It sounds obvious, but most connections begin with something small. Say hi to your neighbour. Smile at the barista. Wave at the person walking their dog. These micro-moments of friendliness plant seeds. Some might bloom into something beautiful.

I met my chosen family by walking down the street in London a month or two after moving into the area. I was plodding about with little Chicky and I chose to walk a different route home. The sun was setting, it was a beautiful evening, and I walked past a house with a group of humans laughing and basking in the sunlight. A large golden retriever was sat in the window wearing a bandana and, either side of him, were two beautiful women. It was such a picture-perfect moment I said hello and offered to take a photo of them. This turned into a conversation, a connection, and they invited me to come over for beers that night. I did—and it led to dancing in their kitchen until sunrise. A couple of months later I came out to them. Today, they are my family. We have taken trips together, cried together, laughed, danced, fucked up, made amends, loved—and continue to really, deeply, deeply love each other.

🌱 Follow your interests.
Community grows best in shared soil. Love to cook? Join or start a meal-prep group. I have one here in Uvita—we make plans to weekly cook up a delicious large batch of something. We’ve made kimchis, pesto, chilli oils etc. Into movement? Go to a local dance or yoga class. Stay behind at the end. Introduce yourself to the teacher. Reach out. Read? Try a book circle. You don’t need to be extroverted—you just need a shared passion and a willingness to show up.

🤳🏽 Use your phone (intentionally).
Tech gets a bad rep, but it can be a beautiful tool for connection. Look for local WhatsApp or Facebook groups (there are some for everything—from co-working to dog playdates to breathwork circles). And don’t be afraid to post and introduce yourself. Vulnerability is magnetic.

🧡 Offer first.
Sometimes community starts with what you can give. Offer to help someone move house. Share extra bananas from your garden. Invite your neighbours for a drink. Walk a dog. Suggest a park picnic at sunset. That first gesture of care often opens the door to something much deeper.

👯 Be consistent.
One-off connections are lovely, but community needs repetition. Keep showing up—at the farmers’ market, at your gym, in your shared spaces. Show up with warmth and openness to connection. Familiarity breeds comfort. Comfort breeds trust. Trust breeds friendship.

🌊 Let it take time.
Not every wave crashes instantly. Some friendships take months or even years to deepen. That’s okay. Stay open. Stay kind. Keep tending.

💌 Say how you feel.
If you're craving connection, say so. A simple, “I’ve been feeling a bit lonely lately—would love to hang out” is braver (and more effective) than you think. People are often waiting for you to break the ice.

Right now, in a world leaning toward disconnection, division, and control—where policy and platform are being used to isolate and separate us—the need for community is urgent. We can’t afford to wait for someone else to build it. We are the builders.

So, tend to your friendships. Support your neighbours and local businesses. Go a little out of your way. Say how you feel. Show up. Because otherwise, we end up in a world that’s transactional, lonely, and hollow. And we, as humans, were never meant to live like that.

Speak. Ask. Offer. Listen. Check in. Say thank you. Say I love you. Drop off the thing. Send the message. Forgive someone. Let someone help you. Be someone’s someone. Water the flowers.

Communication builds community.
Community builds a better world.
Your voice matters.
Your presence matters.
We need you in it—now more than ever.

Love you,

Frankie x