The Distance in Our Connected World:
A Post-COVID Reflection on Relationships

In an era where we're supposedly more connected than ever, I find myself more isolated than I've ever felt before. The close friends I once confided in, those few souls I could truly rely on, have either passed away or drifted off into their own private worlds. The ones that remain? It’s as if they’ve retreated behind an invisible wall, apparently uninterested in how I’m doing or too busy in their own lives to care.

During the height of the pandemic, we were all forced to retreat into isolation, but I never expected that sense of distance to persist long after the restrictions lifted. It’s a strange irony — the more "connected" we become through technology, the more distant we feel in meaningful ways. Research in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) emphasizes the importance of human connection for mental well-being. However, when those connections are frayed, our inner monologue often defaults to distorted thinking patterns, such as personalization ("They don’t care about me") or catastrophizing ("I’ll always feel this lonely").

I've reached a point where I long for a connection outside of my marriage — not in any inappropriate way, but in a way that can ease the emotional burden my wife shoulders when I reach out to her. She, too, needs her space, time to tend to her own mental health. As The Amplified Bible notes in Galatians 6:2, "Carry one another’s burdens and in this way you will fulfill the requirements of the law of Christ." Yet how do we balance the load when those around us have burdens of their own?

We’re living in a powder keg, and it feels like the slightest spark could set things off. Frustrations build over time, and in many cases, it doesn’t take much for it to spill over into our relationships. CBT teaches that we must challenge automatic negative thoughts (ANTs) before they consume us. But even with the best tools, it’s hard to practice mindfulness when the weight feels unbearable.

This is where the mental health industry has stepped in, often offering pharmaceutical solutions as a quick fix for emotional struggles. Post-COVID, the use of antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications skyrocketed, raising questions about whether these pills are treating the root cause or merely numbing the symptoms. 1 Peter 5:7 offers an alternative: "Cast all your cares [all your anxieties, all your worries, and all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares about you." But faith without action — without real, human connection — can sometimes feel hollow.

I experienced this firsthand when I reached out to my sister-in-law while working on a website for her. It started as a way to help, to strengthen our bond, but as the project progressed, I found myself revealing more personal insights during our writing sessions. Perhaps I crossed some boundaries in my desire to connect, burdening her with more than she anticipated. Proverbs 25:17 warns, "Let your foot rarely be in your neighbor’s house, or he will become tired of you and hate you." Yet the need for connection can sometimes override our awareness of boundaries. In a world that demands self-reliance, the yearning to be understood often blurs the lines.

It's not that the people around us don't care — they have their own worlds to manage, their own struggles to navigate. But in the vacuum left behind by distance and isolation, the longing for that one connection, someone who can help carry the emotional weight, remains. Without it, frustration grows, and we’re left wondering whether this hyper-connected world has made us better at relationships or if we've simply lost sight of what it means to truly be there for one another.

The Amplified Bible reminds us in Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, "Two are better than one because they have a more satisfying return for their labor; for if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and does not have another to lift him up." Yet, in a world filled with digital noise and superficial interactions, silence can be deafening, and that sense of falling without a companion is more common than ever.

We’re all trying to navigate this new reality, but the truth is, no amount of technology can replace the warmth of a genuine human connection. Healing begins when we embrace the vulnerability of being present for one another, carrying each other’s burdens, and recognizing that sometimes, the greatest gift we can offer is simply our presence.