When The Stress Is Systemic, The Healing Must Be Shared.

Ask people how they’re doing lately, and you rarely get a straight answer. You get a pause, a sigh, or a hesitant "hanging in there."

It’s not like it was during COVID, because we aren't in a state of panic, exactly. It’s more of a low-grade, constant heavy lifting.

The source is everywhere and nowhere. It’s the government, the economy, global conflict, and the weather all bleeding together. In therapy, we usually dig for the specific personal event driving a person’s anxiety, like a breakup or a lost job. But right now, the stress is coming from much larger, less specific sources.

The American Psychological Association’s latest Stress in America survey shows that our worries have migrated from our private lives to the public stage. A staggering 76 percent of adults cite the "future of the nation" as a significant source of stress. That existential dread is followed closely by the economy (75 percent) and the spread of misinformation (69 percent). Even financial anxiety is tied to broader instability, with 65 percent stressed by housing costs and 57 percent worried about the rise of AI.

To the human brain, this level of constant vigilance is exhausting. We are built for short bursts of danger, like a sprint away from a predator, not for a marathon of indefinite bad news. Without a clear "all clear" signal, the nervous system stays stuck in high gear, burning through energy just to keep us upright.

The problem is that we are trying to endure this heavy load without the one resource we need to carry it: other people.

We are facing a collective crisis in isolation, and the cracks are starting to show. The survey reveals a widening "emotional support gap": 69 percent of adults say they needed more emotional support in the past year than they received, and that number has risen since 2024. We are starving for backup, both emotionally and biologically.

The high cost of going it alone

It’s tempting to treat our national anxiety and our national loneliness as two separate news stories. But they aren't. They are one tangled mess. The stress is the overwhelming pressure of the world; the isolation is the reason our knees are finally buckling under it.

The late neuroscientist John Cacioppo, a pioneer in social neuroscience, figured out that loneliness acts as a biological alarm signal, similar to hunger or thirst. Just like hunger makes us find food to prevent starvation, the pain of loneliness is meant to compel us to reconnect with the group to prevent being eaten. When we ignore that signal (or when modern life makes it impossible to follow), the body shifts into a state of self-preservation that forces it to focus on conserving energy and scanning for what might go wrong next.

Research by Steven Cole at the UCLA School of Medicine has shown that even the perceived experience of isolation actually alters the way our genes express themselves. When the brain senses isolation, the body shifts into an old survival mode shaped by a time when being alone meant a higher risk of injury. In response, it ramps up inflammation to prepare for physical threat while dialing down defenses against viruses, assuming there is no nearby group to spread illness.

When we’re lonely, inflammation runs higher, immune defenses weaken, and the system behaves as if danger could appear at any moment. This vigilance carries into sleep. People who are lonely spend about the same amount of time in bed as others, but their sleep is lighter and less restorative, interrupted by brief moments of alertness. The brain never fully relaxes.

All these factors and more led the US Surgeon General Vivek Murthy to officially declare loneliness a public health crisis in 2023, stating that “The mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.”

The load-sharing effect

We usually assume that stress is a simple addition. We think: Global Crisis + Personal Anxiety = Total Stress. But the biology of the nervous system suggests the math is different. It is more like division. The equation is actually: External Pressure ÷ Social Support = Total Load.

When you have people in your corner, the "weight" of the world is distributed. When you are isolated, that weight is yours alone. Three famous experiments show how connection alters how the brain processes difficulty on a biological level:

1. It changes your perception. At the University of Virginia, researchers asked participants to stand at the bottom of a steep hill wearing a heavy backpack and estimate the incline. Those standing alone consistently overestimated the slope, seeing it as an exhausting obstacle. But those standing next to a friend saw the hill as significantly flatter. Their visual cortex actually scaled down the perception of difficulty because the brain registered that the "load" would be shared.
2. It quiets the alarm system. In a landmark fMRI study, neuroscientist James Coan placed women in an MRI machine and told them they might receive a mild electric shock. When the women were alone, their brains lit up with activity in the regions that regulate threat. When they held a stranger's hand, that activity dropped. But when they held the hand of a partner they trusted, the threat response plummeted. While holding their partner's hand, the brain barely registered the crisis at all.
3. It creates a chemical shield. Research from the University of Zurich found that men who brought a best friend with them to a stressful public speaking task showed significantly lower cortisol levels than those who faced the judges alone. The presence of a friend acted as a buffer, preventing the stress response from spiking in the first place.

The struggle feels so crushing because we are facing a crisis without the backup our nervous systems rely on.

Reconnecting might start in therapy, but it can't end there

Knowing that we’re literally dying for community and connection is one thing, but actually finding it is another.

We live in a culture that tells us we should be independent, so admitting we need help can feel like a weakness. On top of that, when you are already exhausted by the state of the world, the idea of trying to build a community, which calls for making plans, being vulnerable, and showing up, can feel like too much work.

This is where therapy fits in. It isn’t a replacement for a supportive community, but it can often be the place where we learn how to build one.

For a lot of people, the therapist’s office is the first place where it feels safe to practice "load sharing." It’s a space where you can hand over a piece of the burden without being judged or rejected. We practice trust. We work through the social anxiety or past hurts that make connection feel dangerous.

But the ultimate goal of therapy isn't just to have a good relationship with your therapist. It’s to build the capacity to have good relationships with everyone else (including yourself!).

If you are feeling the weight of this stressful moment in human history, therapy might be a necessary first step toward stability and toward giving your nervous system the resources it needs for survival. But if you are going to thrive long term, your journey to wellbeing has to go much further than just managing symptoms of anxiety or depression. You also need to rebuild or reinforce your support system. 

According to the APA report, 92 percent of adults still value relationships above almost anything else. That shows we know what is missing. The meaningful work of therapy isn't just understanding why you are lonely, it is figuring out how to stop being lonely. Work with your therapist to identify your community and how to connect or reconnect with them. We were not built to do this alone, and there is no reason we should try.