The Dangers of Community—And Why We Should Engage Anyway (Even When It’s Hard)

We romanticize community.

We imagine a warm room full of people who just get us—who cheer when we arrive, hold space when we’re low, and make life feel a little less heavy.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what it is.

But the reality?

Community is messy.

It’s full of moments where we feel invisible, misunderstood, overlooked, or not quite enough.

Someone gets invited to something you didn’t.

A text goes unanswered.

A group chat happens without you.

Or worse—you’re physically there but emotionally unseen.

And suddenly, the very space meant to ease your loneliness becomes the space that reminds you of it.

Here’s the harder truth:

Community is one of the most powerful containers for healing—but it will also trigger our deepest relational wounds.

That ache of exclusion?

That fear that maybe you don’t really belong?

That’s not just in your head—it’s in your nervous system.

According to research by UCLA neuroscientist Dr. Naomi Eisenberger, the brain processes social rejection in the same area that processes physical pain—the dorsal anterior cingulate cortex. This is why being left out can literally hurt.

We are wired to connect.

From an evolutionary standpoint, social isolation was once as dangerous as starvation or exposure. Our nervous systems still respond to loneliness as if our survival is threatened—activating inflammation, weakening immunity, and raising our baseline stress levels. This is known as the CTRA (Conserved Transcriptional Response to Adversity), and it’s what happens when loneliness becomes chronic.

This isn’t just emotional—it’s biological.

But—and this part matters—the same science that shows us how dangerous isolation is also shows us how healing connection can be.

Regular, safe, meaningful connection has been shown to:

• Reduce inflammation

• Lower cortisol

• Improve cardiovascular health

• Strengthen immune function

• Increase lifespan by as much as 50% (Holt-Lunstad et al., 2010)

So yes—community can hurt.

But isolation? It will quietly dismantle us.

Which means: We need to choose community—even when it’s imperfect.

Even when we feel awkward.

Even when we’ve been disappointed before.

Even when staying on the sidelines feels safer.

Because real community doesn’t mean never getting hurt.

It means learning how to repair.

It means being willing to speak up, to reach out, to risk being seen.

It means practicing inclusion—not just waiting to be invited.

It means building what we wish existed, brick by brick, heart by heart.

If you’ve felt on the outside lately—

If you’re grieving the gap between what you hoped community would be and what it’s actually looked like—

You’re not broken.

You’re human.

And maybe, you’re exactly where the work begins.

Let’s keep showing up—for ourselves, for each other, for the spaces we’re trying to build.

It won’t always feel easy.

But it will be worth it.