The loss of community

We feel it every day — that ache, that heaviness — but we rarely name it for what it really is. Instead, we call it “just a bad day.”

But it’s not the traffic.

It’s not your job.

It’s not even that one thing that went wrong.

It’s that you’re doing it all alone.

And the truth is, humans have endured far worse than a crowded subway or a draining 9–5. We used to hunt our food daily. We used to hope we made it through the night without being wiped out by wild weather or something with sharper teeth.

So what made that bearable?

The people.

The community.

The circle around you who helped you survive — and not just survive but find moments of joy and connection in the chaos.

Fast forward to today, especially here in North America, and it feels like we’ve swapped that connection for convenience. We're paying with our mental health. We're exhausted, not just from work or life, but from the loneliness of doing it all on our own.

And listen — life is hard. No argument there.

But doing it alone?

That’s not how we’re meant to live. That’s the part that breaks us.

Here’s what I mean:

Our grandparents had kids and leaned on their people — family, neighbours, friends — to help raise them. No one called it “inconvenient,” it was just what you did. You showed up. You helped out. And you didn’t make it a thing.

Today?

People still have kids, but they don’t have the village anymore. So instead, they hire help. Nannies. Daycare. And yes, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that — the world has changed. But part of it also stems from something deeper: we’ve stopped showing up for each other.

Everyone’s busy setting boundaries (which are important).

Everyone’s learning to “put themselves first” (which is healthy).

But somewhere along the way, we’ve started throwing around these therapy words without fully understanding what they mean — and in doing so, we’ve started isolating ourselves. We've confused protection with disconnection.

We used to trade care for care. Now we trade cash for care.

But you can’t pay someone to love you like a neighbor might. Not the real kind of love — the kind that comes with no invoice.

So let me ask you this:

What other things are you paying for today that you might’ve once gotten from your community?

Drop a comment — I’d love to hear your thoughts.