JoeyJoelle

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about community and friendships. Not in the cute, curated “girls brunch and matching aesthetics” kind of way, although I love me a cute brunch moment. I mean real community. The kind where someone notices when you go quiet, where there’s an actual person you can call when the universe is testing you again. The kind of community that seemed so natural to older generations, yet somehow is non-existent to many of us now.

And if I’m being honest, writing this also required me to check myself, because it’s easy to sit here and point at society and say we’ve become disconnected, while ignoring the ways we ourselves may have contributed to that same disconnection. I have nieces I’ve barely seen. Not because I do not love them, not because I do not care, but because somewhere between adulthood, exhaustion, work, healing, responsibilities, and simply trying to survive modern life, I too have fallen short in showing up the way community actually asks us to show up. So this is not me standing on some moral high ground, wagging my finger at society. This is reflection. Because I think many of us deeply miss community while unknowingly participating in its disappearance.

Somewhere Along The Way, Independence Became The Goal

We live in a time where independence has become one of the highest forms of personal achievement. Being self-sufficient is praised. Needing no one is framed as strength. Protecting your peace has become almost sacred language. And while I absolutely believe boundaries, self-love, and emotional maturity matter, I also wonder whether we have overcorrected so far that dependence itself has become something shameful.

Because honestly, a lot of us say we want deeper friendships, more meaningful relationships, stronger family bonds, and people we can actually rely on, yet many of us have also become deeply accustomed to doing life alone. While embarking on our healing journeys, growing hyper-independent, hustling, and learning not to tolerate nonsense, many of us built lives that are emotionally safe perhaps, but also…Strangely isolated.

The COVID Aftermath

Lockdown looked different for all of us. For some it showed how small their real support system actually was. Some people had family close by, neighbours checking in, communities rallying around them, and a sense of emotional security even in uncertainty. Whereas others had silence. Isolation. Moments of realization that if things truly went left, there were not many people they could genuinely call on.

And I think we are still feeling the emotional aftermath of the truth that COVID exposed in relation to our support systems.

Because yes, the world reopened, but did we actually reconnect? As a matter of fact are we willing to reconnect?

People are outside again, but many are lonelier than ever. We have more access to each other digitally than any generation before us, yet emotional closeness and genuine connection often feels harder to find.

Access ≠ emotional connection

We know where someone went to holiday, but have no idea whether they are mentally okay.

Once Upon A Village

The saying it takes a village to raise a child has become one of those phrases people casually throw around, but when you really think about it, that saying came from a reality where community was not optional. It was practical. It was necessary.

Back in the day, community was woven into daily life. Family members were involved. Neighbours knew each other. Religious spaces often served as emotional and practical support systems. Children were raised around multiple adults. People brought food when someone was sick. Someone stepped in when money was tight. Someone watched the kids. Someone helped fix things. Community was the norm.

And yes, I know not every old system deserves romanticising. Some communities came with judgment, lack of boundaries, gossip, and plenty of dysfunction that has put some of us in therapy.

But despite that, there was an unspoken understanding that life was not meant to be carried entirely by one person.

The Mental Health Cost Of Hyper-Individualism

I genuinely think part of why so many people feel emotionally exhausted is because we are all walking around like Atlas: carrying a load on our shoulders all by ourselves.

Burnout, anxiety, emotional exhaustion… It all seems normalised. Loneliness has become so common that many people barely even recognise it anymore because it has blended into daily life.

But us, humans, are relational beings. Whether we like it or not.

We need support.
We need witnessing.
We need laughter across dinner tables.
We need someone who misses us when we disappear.
We need spaces where we do not have to perform being okay.

And I’m not talking about followers.

I am talking about real connection. And real connection requires presence. Real connection requires effort.

If We Want Community, We Have To Stop Waiting For Someone Else To Build It

Something that I’m learning myself as someone who had the joy of growing up with my aunts and cousins, is that I’m the aunt now. Meaning I too need to do the necessary effort to build and maintain a community, instead of just mourning that the one I had is no longer existent.

Building a community requires allowing people over when your home is not spotless. It requires checking in first. It requires consistency. It requires vulnerability.It requires inconvenience. But also, being someone else’s inconvenience.

Community is beautiful, yes, but community is also commitment.

And perhaps that is where many of us hesitate, because the version of modern life we have built is often incredibly individualistic by design.

But I’m still hopeful. And I think we are heading back to basics.

Not because society is collapsing into an apocalyptic disaster, but because hyper-independence is proving itself unsustainable.

Life is expensive.
Life is emotionally demanding.
Life is unpredictable.

And people need people.

Final Thoughts

Maybe the village does not look exactly like it did before.

Maybe for us, it looks like chosen family. Maybe it’s videocalling your best friends while doing chores. Bringing leftovers to work for your colleagues. Organize creative gatherings in the park. Becoming more intentional about family. Actually showing up for the people we say we care about.

But whatever form it takes, I think one thing is becoming increasingly clear: community is no longer optional if we want to experience joy in life.

And maybe the truth is, it never was.

If we want a village, we cannot keep waiting for one to magically appear.

We have to actively do the work to become one.