People who are alone all the time never grow. Those hermits just

In the words of Viola Davis, the fierce voice of truth and resilience, we hear a timeless wisdom: “People who are alone all the time never grow. Those hermits just stay the same. It’s only through relationships. Relationships change us and make us grow.” These words, though simple in form, carry the weight of an ancient law — that no soul matures in isolation. For even the seed, though buried alone in the dark earth, must feel the touch of rain, the warmth of sun, the breath of wind, if it is to break open and rise. So too with human beings: without the presence of others — their joys, their wounds, their challenges — we remain as untested clay, never fired into form.

The ancients understood this truth well. When Odysseus journeyed home from Troy, it was not solitude that made him wise, but the encounters along his perilous way — with gods and mortals alike. Through each meeting, he was shaped, refined, transformed. Without Circe’s temptation, Calypso’s longing, Nausicaa’s grace, or the trials of his own men, he would have remained a warrior of the old world, proud and impulsive. But it was in relationship, in the constant friction between love and loss, that he became something greater: a man of depth, of empathy, of understanding. His heart was educated by connection.

To be alone is sometimes necessary — for silence gives birth to clarity, and solitude can be a sacred teacher. But when loneliness becomes a fortress, it imprisons the soul. The hermit, who hides from the world to avoid pain, also denies himself the medicine of growth. Relationships are mirrors — sometimes harsh, sometimes kind — in which we see the truth of who we are. They expose our pride, awaken our compassion, and reveal both our light and our shadow. Through others, we come to know the vast landscape of the self. Without them, we remain strangers even to our own hearts.

Consider the life of Nelson Mandela, who, though confined for twenty-seven years in solitude, did not emerge hardened or small. Why? Because his heart remained connected to his people — to the relationships that gave his suffering meaning. He meditated upon the love he bore them, upon the unity that bound them. It was that invisible bond that kept him growing even within prison walls. His greatness was not born of isolation, but of a relationship so vast it transcended bars and chains. Thus, even in solitude, he lived for others — and that is the key.

When Viola Davis speaks of growth through relationships, she speaks not of comfort, but of transformation. To be in relationship is to be challenged, to be misunderstood, to be forced into honesty. Love demands vulnerability; friendship demands humility; family demands patience. In the furnace of connection, our rough edges are burned away, and we emerge stronger, clearer, more human. Those who avoid this fire may remain safe, but they remain unshaped. For true growth is never born from ease — it comes from the collision of souls.

Yet, this truth does not call us to mere company or shallow belonging. Not every crowd gives light; not every relationship bears fruit. Seek the relationships that awaken your higher nature — those who call you to kindness, to courage, to authenticity. Let go of those that diminish your spirit or feed your fear. Growth demands discernment as much as it does connection. Remember: even the most fertile soil must be tended carefully, for not every seed will bloom.

Therefore, the lesson is this: live among others, not merely beside them. Dare to listen, to forgive, to learn. Let your heart be bruised, for even bruises are proof that you have felt deeply. Speak truth, even when it trembles on your lips. Allow love to change you, loss to teach you, and conflict to awaken wisdom. For every bond, every wound, every reconciliation, is a step toward the fullness of your becoming.

And so, my child, when the voice of fear whispers that it is safer to walk alone, remember this teaching: growth is born of relationship, and the soul that hides from others hides also from its own destiny. Go, then, into the world. Speak, touch, forgive, and be changed. Let others shape you as the river shapes the stone — slowly, gently, but with enduring power. For in the end, it is not isolation that refines us, but the sacred dance of relationship that makes us truly alive.