Today, everyone’s posting about their relationships and I’m sure some are happily celebrating their love together, while others sit in their rooms, frowning a little each time another story pops up. For some, it might feel salty; for others, a little unfair.

We start to wonder: what is it that we lack? Is it our looks, our flaws, or something shallow like not being “perfect” enough? A thousand self-doubts start to flood in.

But in reality, it’s none of those things. And that’s exactly why I wish everyone would read this book at least once in their lifetime.

Seriously read it, and then read this.

If not, here are the spoilers.

In the quiet English countryside, a spirited young woman named Bathsheba Everdene inherits her uncle’s farm and vows to manage it on her own. Beautiful, clever, and fiercely independent, she captures the hearts of three men — each representing a different kind of love. It’s ironic, really: though the story was written in 1874, its themes feel strikingly modern, echoing the timeless struggles of love, independence and maybe a little ego.

Gabriel Oak, a humble shepherd, offers her steady devotion. He proposes to her first, but Bathsheba, not feeling the same, promptly refuses. William Boldwood, a solemn and wealthy farmer, offers her comfort and security, yet his affection quickly turns into obsession, showering her with overwhelming attention. And then there’s Sergeant Frank Troy, a dazzling soldier who brings passion and excitement. Drawn in by his charm, Bathsheba follows her heart, only to discover that his love is reckless…he gambles, drinks, and is haunted by another woman he once promised to marry: Fanny Robin, whose tragic death shatters Bathsheba’s illusions.

When Troy disappears, presumed drowned, Bathsheba nearly accepts Boldwood’s proposal, until Troy suddenly returns, demanding she come back to him. In a fit of madness, Boldwood shoots Troy dead. He is soon arrested and sentenced to life in prison.

Left shaken and wiser, Bathsheba finally sees Gabriel’s quiet strength and unwavering loyalty for what they truly are. Their simple marriage, free from pride or grandeur, brings her the peace she had been searching for all along — far from the madding crowd.

While the ending is often read as a “happy resolution” (Bathsheba with Gabriel), Hardy undercuts complacency by showing how messy, painful, and morally ambiguous the route to that point is.

And that is my point. About how messy, painful, and morally ambiguous the route to that point is. That is the gist of it.

I earlier connected how when we assume the reasons on why we are single, we assume automatically how quick we are to doubt ourselves and go down this road of broken down self esteem. Look I am sure everyone has been through this or done this, and I am here to tell you, it is okay to feel like it but it isn’t the right thing to feel.

More about that.

There was this guy in college who used to talk about his roommate all the time. His roommate was dating a girl he really liked, or at least, thought he did. She wasn’t unkind, but she never quite saw him the way he saw her. He wanted her to be more open, to share what she felt, to meet him halfway — the small gestures that, to him, meant connection. But she wasn’t that person, and maybe that’s why they never quite worked.

One day, out of nowhere, she ended things. He was shattered. For months, he’d sit quietly in their room, scrolling through old pictures, replaying what-ifs in his mind. But time, as it does, kept moving. He graduated, got a job, met new people, learned to smile again.

Years later, he ran into her at a café. She looked different, lighter somehow. She smiled, said hi, and for a moment, the past flickered between them. But he wasn’t that heartbroken boy anymore. He had moved on — found someone new. A girl who didn’t make love feel like trying. Someone who matched his energy, who listened, who made silence feel safe.

And in that moment, he realized: it was never about who she used to be. It was about finding someone who saw him clearly — and still chose to stay.

I know I threw a lot of abstract stories at you, but the biggest lesson is this: the problem isn’t you. It’s never been about being too much or not enough: too emotional, too quiet, too serious, too playful. Love isn’t a reward for perfection. It’s a meeting point between two people who are ready to see each other clearly, flaws and all.

Some people meet that person early. Some meet them much later. Some never do — but they still live lives full of warmth, art, meaning, and friendship. What’s unfair isn’t the waiting; it’s believing that waiting means you’re unworthy.

Bathsheba had to walk through chaos to understand calm. That boy had to be broken before he recognized what peace looked like. And maybe, right now, you’re just in that messy, blurry middle — the part before the calm.

So tonight, when your feed feels loud with love stories that aren’t yours, remember this: you’re not behind, you’re just becoming into the person you want to be.

Sincerely,

@pplcallmetat 🙂