I had never done anything alone.
I grew up in a sheltered Jewish community where everyone knew everyone. The kind of place where your mom knew your friends’ moms. Where Shabbat tables overlapped. Where friendship was less something you built and more something you were handed. I always had people. I never had to ask the question of whether I would.
Then I went to college.
It was the first time in my life I walked into a place where nobody knew my name. No group. No built-in network. No one to sit with. It was the first time I had to ask myself a question I had never had to ask before:
Am I going to put in the effort? Or am I going to be alone?
I was terrified.
I remember standing alone in rooms those first few weeks. I remember walking into events where I knew no one and forcing myself to stay. I remember feeling like a loner. Not because I was unfriendly. It was because I had never had to start from zero before, and I did not know how.
But I kept showing up.
I went to things I did not feel like going to. I introduced myself to people I had no business introducing myself to. I sat at tables where I felt out of place. I put myself out there over and over again, even when it was uncomfortable, even when it did not work the first time, or the second time, or the fifth.
Eventually, slowly, I found my people.
I found my village. I found it because I was willing to be a villager.
It did not come easy. It was uncomfortable and hard. That is the part nobody tells you.
There is a quote that has been following me around lately. It explains everything I lived through in those first months of college, and everything I have watched the people I work with live through since:
“Everyone wants a village, but not everyone wants to be a villager.”
The Cost Of Belonging
Everyone wants the village. The belonging. The tight-knit group of people who show up for each other. We all want that.
But not everyone wants to be the villager.
The villager is the person who actually does the work to build it. The one who shows up before it is comfortable. Who gives before they receive. Who puts in the effort before they see the result.
The villager is not a personality type. It is a posture. A way of moving through your own life that says, I am willing to be the one who shows up first.
That is rare. Showing up first is uncomfortable. It means risking that nobody meets you there. It means putting in effort that may not be reciprocated right away.
We say we want community, but what we often want is the feeling of community without the cost of it. We want to feel held without being the person holding. We want belonging without the vulnerability of being the first to extend it.
Then I Had To Do It Again
I lived this again when I moved to the city after college.
I did not have many friends here. I remember the ache of craving community, especially a Jewish one, because my faith is so woven into who I am. So I showed up to synagogue alone. I went to Shabbat meals where I knew nobody. I went to events where I had to introduce myself over and over again. It was awkward. It was lonely. There were nights I left wondering if I would ever build something here.
Almost seven years later, I look around at my life and I have a community I love. People I would call in a crisis. People I would call on a random Tuesday for no reason at all. None of that came from waiting for it to happen. All of it came from being willing to be the first one in the room. Again.
It still makes me emotional to think about.
Here is the part nobody tells you. Being a villager does not just give you a village. It gives you yourself.
I can walk into any room, anywhere, alone now. I can trust myself in it. I know I can build a village from nothing because I have already done it twice.
That is powerful. That is what builds real self-confidence. Real self-trust. Real self-love.
This Is Bigger Than Community
I see this same pattern everywhere.
In the gym. In the therapy room. In careers. In life. Within my own work.
Everyone wants a strong body. Nobody wants to show up on the days they do not feel like it.
Everyone wants to feel confident, calm, free from anxiety. Nobody wants to sit in a therapy session and do the hard emotional work to get there.
Everyone wants the promotion. Nobody wants to do the unglamorous work that actually earns it.
We are a generation obsessed with outcomes and allergic to process.
What I See In My Work
In the therapy room.
People come in wanting to feel better. Less anxious. More confident. More at peace with themselves. That desire is real. But healing requires showing up to sessions even when it is uncomfortable. Even when we are digging into things you would rather leave buried. The people who transform are not the ones who wanted it the most. They are the ones who kept coming back and did the reps.
In coaching.
Everyone wants to be the high performer. The focused, disciplined, resilient version of themselves. But when I ask what their daily habits actually look like, what systems they have in place, how they are managing their energy, that is where it gets quiet. The outcome is sexy. The process is not.
On the gym floor.
Nothing makes this clearer. Everyone wants the result they can see. But showing up when you are tired, doing the workout when you are not motivated, building the habit before you feel the momentum, that is the work. That is being a villager.
How To Actually Become The Villager
So how do you close the gap? How do you become someone who does the work?
1. Stop waiting to feel ready. Motivation follows action, not the other way around. You do not wait until you feel like going to therapy, hitting the gym, or putting yourself out there. You go. The feeling catches up. Readiness is built by showing up, not before it.
2. Fall in love with the process, not just the outcome. The people who sustain change are the ones who find meaning in the daily work itself. The session. The rep. The conversation. The small win. If your only measuring stick is the end result, you will quit every time progress feels slow.
3. Redefine what showing up means. It does not have to be perfect. It does not have to be your best day. Some days the villager just keeps their word to themselves. They show up at 60%. They do the hard thing imperfectly. That still counts. That still builds something.
The body you want. The confidence you are after. The mental strength you are building. The community you are craving. None of it comes from wanting.
It comes from showing up. Again and again. Especially when it is hard.
So the question I will leave you with is the same one I had to answer for myself standing alone in those rooms my first year of college, and again when I moved to Manhattan:
Are you someone who wants the village?
Or are you willing to be a villager?
Now I want to hear from you.
Where in your life have you had to be a villager, or where do you want to be one? Hit reply to this email or drop it in the comments on Substack. I read every response.
Let’s Keep Growing: What’s Next For You
Thank you for being here. Really. Every time you open one of these emails, it means something and I don’t take that lightly.
If this sparked something for you, I’d love to hear it. Just hit reply or email me at ellin@mentallyfitwithellin.com. And if you enjoyed this read, the best compliment you could give is to share it with one person or restack it.
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Mentally Fit With Ellin is a community of thousands of like-minded people committed to growth, resilience, and mental performance. As a licensed therapist and performance coach, Ellin Gurvitch started this to give everyone access to the tools needed to develop sustainable habits and enhance mental well-being. For more Mentally Fit With Ellin, make sure you’re subscribed so that each week you’ll receive practical mindset tools and performance strategies delivered to your inbox.
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– Ellin