The Outsourcing of Intimacy: Why Borrowed Words Can’t Replace Real Connection

Borrowed Words Can’t Replace Real Connection

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By: Jamila Gomez

We live in an era where therapy-speak and self-help language are everywhere. Scroll through your feed and you’ll see it: people talking about “protecting their peace,” “not having capacity,” or “establishing boundaries.” Podcasts, TikToks, and Instagram reels have given us a whole new vocabulary for how we approach relationships. And while this language has helped many of us name things we didn’t have words for growing up, there’s a danger in leaning on it too heavily. When we start outsourcing our words, we risk outsourcing our intimacy too.

For Black folks especially, therapy and open conversations about mental health weren’t always accessible or encouraged. Having the language of “trauma,” “attachment styles,” or “emotional labor” can feel liberating because it validates what we’ve always felt but couldn’t explain. That’s the upside: these borrowed words can give us clarity and tools. They help us talk about boundaries without guilt, about self-worth without shame. They’ve given us permission to name what once was only swallowed silence.

But the downside is subtle. Sometimes we use therapy-speak as a shield instead of a bridge. It’s easier to say, “I don’t have capacity right now,” than to admit, “I don’t feel like talking because I’m hurt.” The first sounds polished, like you’ve been through a workshop. The second is vulnerable, messy, and real. And intimacy—the real kind—requires mess.

Relationships suffer when everything is filtered through buzzwords. Instead of raw honesty, we give each other curated scripts. Instead of risking being misunderstood, we hide behind universal phrases that sound wise but aren’t personal. A partner, a friend, or even a sibling doesn’t always need the perfect therapeutic phrase. They need you. Your unpolished words, your stumbles, your actual feelings in their raw form.

This is where intimacy lives: in the shaky “I don’t know how to say this, but…” or the fumbling, “I’m scared you’ll leave if I tell you the truth.” Borrowed language can open the door, but it can’t walk us through it. At some point, we have to put down the script and risk sounding human.

It’s important to remember: vulnerability is not supposed to sound perfect. Love isn’t an essay, it’s an exchange. Healing isn’t a caption, it’s a practice. The point isn’t to be fluent in therapy-speak; the point is to be fluent in yourself.

We can’t afford to let our intimacy become outsourced. The people closest to us deserve more than a vocabulary—they deserve our voices. Not the podcast version, not the Instagram-ready one, but the shaky, complicated, deeply personal truth. That’s what real connection is made of.

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Is It Love or Leverage?

Photo Credit:  Wavebreakmedia via iStockPhoto.com

By: Jamila Gomez

Not everyone who sticks around loves you.

Some people stay because your wounds serve them. Because your silence benefits them. Because your self-doubt makes them feel needed, important, or superior. And sometimes, what we call love is really just leverage dressed up in affection.

It’s not always easy to tell the difference—especially if you grew up believing love was something you had to earn. If your earliest experiences taught you that love came with conditions, sacrifices, or expectations, then it makes sense why being overextended in a relationship might feel normal. Familiar, even.

But there’s a cost.

You start mistaking attachment for love. You start confusing being needed with being valued. And you start accepting bare minimum effort as deep connection because you’re emotionally invested in who someone used to be, or who you hoped they’d become.

Ask yourself this: when you started to heal, did they pull closer—or pull away?

When you found your voice, did they celebrate your power—or shrink in discomfort?

When you stopped needing them to validate you, did they support your growth—or start subtly punishing you for it?

Real love doesn’t flinch when you evolve. It doesn’t see your healing as competition. It doesn’t require you to stay broken in order to feel close.

But leverage? Leverage loves the imbalance. It feeds off your guilt, your gratitude, and your fear of being alone. It creates emotional IOUs—those quiet expectations that say, “You owe me for being here.” It disguises itself as loyalty, then uses that loyalty as a leash. It keeps you dependent, unsure, apologizing for outgrowing the box they put you in.

There are people who won’t know how to relate to you once you’re no longer the version of yourself that needed them. People who don’t know how to love you when you’re clear, centered, and free.

And while that may feel like rejection, it’s really revelation.

We were taught to call a lot of things love that were really just fear, control, and performance. We weren’t taught to ask: Do I feel seen here? Do I feel emotionally safe? Do I feel like myself in this relationship—or just a role I’m expected to play?

Because if your light makes them dim, if your joy makes them distant, or if your peace makes them uncomfortable—what you had wasn’t love. It was leverage. It was control. It was comfort at your expense.

The love that’s meant for you will expand with you. It will want your freedom, not your dependence. It will love the real you—not just the version it could manage.

So, the next time it feels hard to tell the difference, sit with this question: Is it love, or is it leverage?

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We Don’t Have to Be Grateful for the Bare Minimum

Photo Credit:  CarlosDavid.org via iStockPhoto.com

By: Jamila Gomez

Somewhere along the line, many of us were taught to accept scraps and call it kindness. A text back. A half-hearted apology. A job that pays just enough to keep the lights on. We were told to smile through mistreatment, to be “grateful” for whatever was offered, and to lower our expectations in the name of being easy to love, easy to work with, easy to manage.

But let’s be clear: bare minimums are not gifts. They are obligations.

Responding to a message, being honest, treating people with basic dignity, showing up after causing harm—these are not grand acts of service. They are the floor, not the ceiling. Yet so many of us have been conditioned—especially as Black people, and particularly as Black women—to say “thank you” when we should be saying, “That’s the least you could do.”

This is not about entitlement. This is about restoring balance where systems and relationships have quietly asked us to shrink.

We see it in workplaces that expect us to overperform without recognition. In romantic dynamics where we’re praised just for being chosen, as if our presence isn’t a privilege in itself. In friendships where we’re expected to always understand, always forgive, always be the one reaching out. And in all of these spaces, we’ve been guilted into silence with phrases like “at least they’re trying” or “something is better than nothing.”

But here’s the truth: when the bare minimum is dressed up as effort, we begin to doubt what we actually deserve. We start to internalize the lie that asking for more is being “too much.” That wanting follow-through means we’re ungrateful. That needing consistency somehow makes us needy.

It’s not ungrateful to have standards. It’s not ungrateful to say, “I appreciate this effort, but it’s not enough for me to feel safe, seen, or supported.”

And no, raising the bar doesn’t mean we’re looking for perfection. It means we’re refusing to live in cycles of crumbs and confusion.

What we’re worthy of isn’t excessive. It’s basic human decency, followed by real care, and not just in words—but in presence, energy, and accountability.

So, no more gold stars for the bare minimum. No more over-celebrating people or spaces that barely meet us where we are.

Gratitude doesn’t mean settling. And your standards don’t make you unkind. They make you clear.

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How Past Relationships Shape Our Future Love Life

Photo Credit: Jacob Wackerhausen via iStockPhoto.com

By: Jamila Gomez

Love is a journey filled with lessons, emotions, and personal growth. Every relationship we experience leaves an imprint on us, shaping how we perceive love, trust, and commitment. Whether it ended in heartbreak or mutual understanding, our past relationships influence how we approach new romantic connections. From emotional baggage to valuable lessons, here’s how our past relationships mold our future love life.

1. Learning from Mistakes

One of the most significant ways past relationships shape us is by teaching us what works and what doesn’t. When a relationship ends, we reflect on what went wrong—was it poor communication, mismatched values, or unmet expectations? These insights help us make better choices in the future, ensuring we don’t repeat the same mistakes.

For instance, if someone has experienced a relationship where they felt unheard, they may prioritize finding a partner who values open and honest communication. This self-awareness allows for healthier and more fulfilling connections.

2. Emotional Baggage and Healing

Not all relationships end on good terms, and sometimes, they leave emotional scars. Betrayal, heartbreak, and toxic dynamics can create trust issues, fear of vulnerability, or low self-esteem. If these wounds are left unhealed, they can affect future relationships, causing unnecessary insecurities or defensive behaviors.

However, when people take time to heal and reflect on their emotional wounds, they enter new relationships with a clearer mind and an open heart. Acknowledging and working through past pain leads to emotional maturity and prevents repeating unhealthy patterns.

3. Understanding Personal Needs and Boundaries

Every relationship provides an opportunity to understand what we truly need from a partner. Some people may realize they need emotional support, while others may prioritize independence. Past relationships help clarify these needs, making it easier to set healthy boundaries in the future.

For example, someone who once felt suffocated in a controlling relationship might recognize the importance of personal space and seek a partner who respects their independence. Recognizing and asserting these boundaries helps create balanced and respectful relationships.

4. Building Emotional Resilience

Breakups and failed relationships, while painful, also build emotional resilience. Overcoming heartbreak teaches people how to cope with disappointment, adapt to change, and emerge stronger. This resilience makes individuals more capable of handling challenges in future relationships, fostering patience, understanding, and maturity.

Past relationships are not just chapters of our love life but stepping stones toward personal growth and healthier future relationships. They teach us valuable lessons, help us heal, and shape our understanding of love. By embracing these experiences, we can move forward with confidence, ready to build meaningful and fulfilling romantic connections.

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