People are not medicine

Let’s say you have a favourite food. For argument’s sake, it’s burgers. A good burger signals the good life... it's the mark of a gold-star day. You know where to go, what you like, and how it should taste. It’s a simple, known pleasure.

Then one day, you receive some advice. Maybe from a doctor. Maybe a wellness podcast. Maybe a highly convincing stranger on social media. You learn that your body could use more choline. And eggs, as it happens, are packed with it.

So you think: no problem. Just start adding eggs to your burgers. It’s efficient. Practical. Feels clever, even. You’re getting your favourite food and doing something good for yourself. A win-win.

Until suddenly, it’s not.

Because now, when the burger doesn’t have an egg it doesn’t quite satisfy. Even though the burger hasn’t changed, your relationship to it has. It’s no longer just something you enjoy as it is; it’s become a vehicle for something you need.

Your favourite food has been subtly repurposed. It’s no longer an end in itself. It’s now a vehicle for a nutrient. The burger has been objectified. Not in the dramatic, tabloid sense, but in the quiet, everyday way we all sometimes slip into. It’s no longer appreciated for what it is. Its worth now hinges on its ability to deliver something else.

And that changes the whole experience.

The same issue can arise with people.

Maybe you’ve always valued connection. Certain friends, partners, or family members make life feel lighter, more grounded. You enjoy their company, their presence. There's comfort there.

But over time, something shifts. Maybe life gets more complicated. Something old is stirred up: grief, anxiety, uncertainty. You begin to long not just for company, but for something more specific: someone to understand the hard-to-express thing. To calm the undercurrent. To see the part of you you’re still figuring out yourself.

And slowly, without meaning to, you begin to scan your relationships: Can this person meet the need? Can they help you heal?

You stop simply enjoying people, and start assessing them. You value their presence less for who they are, and more for what they can do for you emotionally.

In short, you objectify them.

Not in a cruel or calculated way, but in the subtle, deeply human way we all do when our inner needs become pressing. We turn people into means. And when they can’t meet the unspoken standard, because most people can’t, we grow disappointed. Frustrated. We might pull away, feel lonely, or begin to believe no one really gets us.

But - they haven’t changed. What’s changed is the function we’ve assigned them. It's not that your connections shouldn't support and comfort you, it's that they shouldn't be reduced to that function.

So what’s the alternative?

It isn't to stop needing. Needs are part of being human, and vulnerability is necessary for meaning and connection. The solution is to stop outsourcing them entirely to the people around us. The real work, through therapy, reflection, support systems designed for it, is to address the need at its root, rather than turning your favourite people into emotional regulation systems.

When that happens, something lifts. You can enjoy others again, not because they complete you, or fix you, or “get” you, but because you’ve stopped needing them to. You’ve stopped measuring them against something they were never responsible for in the first place.

People are critical to our well-being, and we need them from an existential perspective, but we run into issues if we treat them like they're medicine.