By Marie Vakakis – Couple and Family Therapist
Lately, I’ve noticed how often the same words echo through my therapy room. Lonely. Sad. Disconnected. People say them quietly, almost apologetically, as if loneliness means they’ve failed at life. They describe being surrounded by family, colleagues, or kids but still feeling unseen. Some talk about missing the version of themselves that used to feel connected. Others can’t remember the last time they had a real conversation that wasn’t through a screen.
New parents tell me they feel “over touched” from constant cuddles yet desperate for adult company. Clients say they want to ask a friend to meet for coffee but worry it will sound too needy. I hear from people who feel flat even when everything in their life looks fine on paper. It’s a quiet ache that has become more common than ever.
We live in a world that talks about connection all the time, yet so few of us feel truly connected. We post, scroll, and send quick messages, and hesitate to say, “I miss you. Do you want to catch up?” Reaching out has started to feel risky. Maybe even cringe. Asking for company feels like exposure. Saying I miss you seems needy. The fear of rejection feels too high. We tell ourselves we’re too busy or that the other person probably has plans, when really we’re afraid of what it might mean if they say no.
Here’s what I see again and again. Every relationship has friction. Real connection always comes with awkwardness, vulnerability, and the possibility of rejection. That’s the price of belonging. You can’t have closeness without the chance of being misunderstood. You can’t have community without conflict. Repairing small ruptures is what strengthens a bond, not avoiding them altogether. Yet so many of us have become allergic to discomfort. We assume that if something feels hard, it’s wrong, rather than a normal part of being human.
Fear plays a big role. Fear of being a burden. Fear of being rejected. Fear of seeming too keen. I see it in the way people try to make plans. Vague messages like, “Might be in your area on the weekend, let me know if you’re free.” That’s not an invitation. It’s hesitation. The other person reads it, means to reply, gets distracted, and nothing happens. Both people wait, both feel a bit hurt, and no one is any closer.
We’ve also absorbed ideas about “protecting our peace” that can leave us isolated. Boundaries are healthy, but if every disagreement or disappointment becomes a reason to cut someone off, we lose the chance to repair. Most people aren’t toxic. They’re tired, distracted, and sometimes clumsy at showing they care.
So how do we reconnect? Make it easier, and be a little braver. Easier looks like sending a clear invite. “I’ll be at the 9 am yoga class, coffee after if anyone’s around.” I do this for camping trips, movies, and walks. I book what I want to do, tell a few friends, and welcome whoever can make it. Two people is a win. One person is a win. It doesn’t need to be perfect. Pair connection with ordinary life, shopping at the market, walking the dog, cooking dinner together. Those small moments count.
Braver means asking directly and accepting that no is survivable. “I’d love to celebrate your birthday. Dinner next week?” “I’ve been feeling a bit flat. I’d like to chat after work. Are you free?” For parents awake at odd hours, send the voice memo anyway. They can listen later. We have tools to manage boundaries, mute notifications, use do not disturb, reply when it suits. Give people the chance to show up.
Even as a therapist, I have weeks where I realise I haven’t heard from a single friend. It hurts a lot. That’s my cue to do something. One text. One invite. One repair. Loneliness doesn’t always come from being alone. Often, it comes from being too afraid to reach out.
Marie Vakakis is an Accredited Mental Health Social Worker (AMHSW), Couple and Family Therapist, Mental Health Educator and host of of the podcast This Complex Life
The Therapy Hub Counselling and Psychology
