26d • General discussion
How Bad relationships impact us
When we think about loneliness, most of us picture something fairly obvious: dark settings, isolation, and hands in your head. Sounds about right. I say that with confidence because that’s exactly what shows up when you search loneliness on the web. The reality, though, is that loneliness includes a range of social cues that reflect the quieter negativity we see in everyday life: few social plans, a lingering sense of being left out. Because of this, loneliness is often treated as a problem that belongs to other people, or to particular phases of life, rather than something that quietly embeds itself into otherwise functional adulthood. And this is where things start to get confusing, because many adults who feel lonely are not alone at all.
We are busy. We balance jobs, relationships, group chats, social circles, and calendars that require colour coding based on importance. What happens is this: you speak to colleagues all day, message friends in the evening, maybe even see people at the weekend. From the outside, nothing appears wrong. And yet, despite all this contact, there can be a low-level sense that something is missing. Not enough to cause a crisis, but enough to feel slightly off, in a way that’s hard to explain without sounding ungrateful or dramatic.
This is partly why modern disconnection goes unnoticed. If your life is full and you are coping, it can feel indulgent to describe yourself as lonely. The word doesn’t seem to apply. But loneliness is not about how many people you interact with or how busy your diary is, and the science backs this up. Large-scale population studies consistently show that many adults report feeling lonely despite regular social contact, leading researchers to define loneliness not as social absence, but as a perceived gap between the connection we want and the connection we experience. In that sense, our social lives are shaped less by how often we see people and more by whether we feel genuinely connected within those interactions.
Whether we feel known, supported, and emotionally anchored, rather than simply present, makes the difference. I mean, how many times have you been to a social gathering where you know one or two people in a group of fifteen? You’re chatting, joking, keeping up appearances, but slowly your social battery drains and you’re left with a quiet sense of emptiness.
In adult life, connection often becomes efficient. Conversations revolve around updates, logistics, and what’s been happening, rather than how we’re actually experiencing things. How many times have you talked about the weather this month? It’s January. It’s always raining. What do we expect? The unfortunate part is that vulnerability becomes something we edit out, either to save time, avoid discomfort, or simply because it no longer feels expected. Over time, relationships can start to feel polite and functional rather than nourishing.
So how does this show up? Most often, it appears as emotional flatness, reduced resilience, or the sense that you’re managing life rather than sharing it. And because adulthood rewards independence and self-sufficiency, many people dismiss these feelings altogether. Yet research across psychology and neuroscience shows that the human brain is deeply sensitive to social connection, and when it’s missing, the body reacts as though something essential is under threat. Feeling disconnected despite being busy is not a personal flaw. It’s a common response to the way modern life is structured.
At this point, it’s worth clearing something up. The discomfort that comes with disconnection isn’t a personality quirk, a lack of gratitude, or a sign that you’re doing adulthood badly. It comes down to passed-on DNA, so if anything, blame your parents. That always seems to work. (Sarcasm fully intended.) Humans are not just social by preference; we are social by design. Connection isn’t something we decided was nice to have, but It is something we evolved to need.
From an evolutionary standpoint, being part of a group wasn’t optional. For most of human history, survival depended on cooperation, shared resources, and protection within close-knit social networks. The possibility of being hunted by a sabre-toothed tiger far outweighed the irritation caused by Karen in the group - therefor we learned to bond and thrive. Being connected meant safety, while the alternative, exclusion, meant risk. This is why evolutionary psychologists like David Buss argue that many of our emotional systems didn’t develop to make us happy, but to keep us bonded to one another, which i for one, think is a super interesting stance. The outcome has shown that Stability, cooperation, and belonging are adaptive. Isolation is not.
That wiring hasn’t disappeared just because we now have central heating and food deliveries. The reality is that modern life simply makes it easier to neglect connection. We’re not less social by nature, just more distracted and, at times, lazier about maintaining it. But that’s something we can come back to.
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How Bad relationships impact us
