Have you ever noticed how you become a slightly different person depending on who you are with? With one friend, you’re the careful listener. With another, you’re the one who keeps everyone laughing. Around your parents, you slip into the dutiful child; at work, the composed professional.

It can feel as though there are many small versions of you scattered across the people you know. We may even question: are we sharing from one whole self, or are we giving away small fragments of who we are?

The ‘Horcrux’

In an interview, the comedian Trevor Noah referred to friendship as “horcruxes,” borrowing the word from ‘Harry Potter’. In the story, Horcruxes are the objects in which Voldemort stores fragments of his soul to avoid death. However, to do this, he has to permanently destroy his soul by splitting it apart into many pieces. It is a dark idea, but Noah gives it a beautiful human twist.

He explains that in every relationship we enter, we break ourselves into parts and offer a unique piece of who we are to the other person. Although these pieces may appear similar, no two are identical, because each relationship reveals a different shade of our identity. No one in our lives holds exactly what another has. Using the metaphor of Voldemort’s horcruxes, where fragments of a soul were stored in different objects, Noah suggests that while Voldemort used this to preserve himself, we come back to life through the people who carry pieces of us. This, he says, is the true role of friendship: to restore us, reflect us, and make us whole again when life has scattered us.

Every relationship draws out a different reflection of who we are. Each friend, sibling, partner, or colleague encounters a distinct version of us that arises from that connection. We become mirrors reflecting different shades of the same flame.

If friendship helps bring forth a fuller, better version of ourselves, then it naturally invites a deeper question: from where do these many versions grow? Each friend empowers a part of us, but where lies the source? The different shades of our identity, our kindness, our humour, our strength, our doubts, must arise from some deeper flame within. Perhaps this metaphor nudges us to recognise that the parts we offer to others are not random fragments; they are expressions of a larger, integrated self.

Our relationships illuminate different shades of that inner flame. If a relationship like friendship restores us, it is because the people who hold pieces of us help us rediscover the central fire from which all these reflections emerge, the core of who we truly are.

When the masks fall

Spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle elucidates this through his teachings on ‘consciousness’ and ‘the self’. In his well-known books ‘The Power of Now’ and ‘A New Earth’, he explains that there are two layers of our being: the Surface I and the Deep I.

The Surface I, also called the Ego Self, is the identity we most often live from. It is the “I” that plays roles, has opinions, and constantly replays the past or imagines the future. It is the reactive, defensive, and perpetually seeking self that says, “I am this” or “I am not that.”

This Surface I is what Tolle calls the ego, the mental image of ourselves built from thoughts, memories, and reactions. When we relate from this level, our interactions are coloured by fear of rejection, pride, insecurity, or the hunger for approval. It’s like wearing many masks, each one suited to a different person or situation. Keeping them all in place is tiring. Relationships become performances rather than genuine connections.

Beneath the ego, however, lies a deeper dimension of who we truly are, the Deep I, or what Tolle calls pure consciousness. This is the awareness that observes our thoughts and emotions without being carried away by them. It is not a role, not a label, but the still consciousness that simply “is”.

Spiritually speaking, it is the dwelling place of the divine within us. This is the place of absolute goodness. The fountain from where compassion, understanding, care, and affection spring. When we relate from this Deep I, we no longer give away fragments of ourselves. We share from fullness. Love flows easily because it springs from a source that never runs dry.

The source

Relationships born from the Deep I are not about needing others to complete us; they are about meeting others from our completeness. It is like two candles lighting each other; neither flame becomes smaller, both shine brighter. There is a connection, not consumption; freedom, not fear.

In contrast, relationships that come from the Surface I often become emotional transactions: “I’ll give you attention if you give me validation. I’ll make you happy if you make me feel worthy.” The ego’s hunger for affirmation fuels these relationships. Such bonds may feel passionate but rarely peaceful, intense yet unstable, full of dependence and insecurity.

The Deep I, by contrast, allows space. It listens without trying to fix, speaks without pretending, and loves without clinging. From this depth, we remain centred, connected, and whole.

Slippery slopes of life

In our digital age, living from the Deep I is more difficult than ever. Social media constantly pulls us into the Surface I: comparing, curating, performing, and seeking validation through likes and comments. Our worth begins to hinge on how others see us rather than how deeply we are rooted within ourselves.

Many adults unknowingly replay old attachment patterns: the anxiously attached cling out of fear of abandonment; the avoidant withdraw to protect themselves from engulfment. Both reactions come from fear, surface responses that lack the freedom and strength of the Deep I. A genuine relationship, then, is not about losing ourselves in another but about meeting from the depths of being. It’s not a giving “away”, but a giving “from”, from the abundance of an inner source that is always full.

Psychological research has found similar results. A 2023 study by the American Psychological Association found that Gen Z and young millennials report higher rates of “relationship burnout,” often caused by emotional overinvestment and digital hyperconnection. The more we curate identities for approval, the more anxious and ungrounded we become.

Yet the same study found that people who practise mindfulness and self-awareness, qualities aligned with Tolle’s Deep I, experience higher relationship satisfaction, less emotional dependence, and greater resilience after conflict. Inner depth sustains outer bonds.

We give what we have

What we nurture within us inevitably flows outward. The peace and goodness cultivated in the garden of our hearts become the light we carry into every relationship. When we live from this inner abundance, our presence itself becomes healing. The love we give does not deplete us; it multiplies, leaving others freer, fuller, more alive.

There is an old story of a man who tended his orchard with joy. His envious neighbour mocked him daily. One morning, the neighbour dumped all his household garbage at the old man’s gate. The next day, the old man knocked on his door, holding a basket filled with shining apples. Smiling, he said, “We give what we have. You gave what you gathered, and I brought what my garden bears.”

Our relationships are the same. What makes someone truly loving is not perfection, effort, or charm, but how deeply they are connected to their Deep I. When we cultivate peace, awareness, and compassion within, we no longer give out of emptiness or need. We give from fullness, and from that fullness, genuine connection and grace flow effortlessly.

Are relationships spiritual? In many ways, yes. Our very essence is deeply spiritual. Religions do not need to tell us this; we can hear it in our inner voice. It guides us toward what is good and right in life. When we remain connected to that inner self or the Deep I, our relationships naturally take on a spiritual quality. Let us embrace this human spirituality, which transcends religiosity.