If you’re reading this on your phone, you’re not alone. In fact, you’re in good company — statistically speaking, at least. The average American spends more than seven hours a day staring at a screen, toggling between group chats, Instagram stories and the endless scroll of TikTok. Notifications ping, memes fly and the group chat is always “active.” But for all the digital noise, there’s a quieter, heavier feeling that’s become just as common: loneliness.
It’s a strange paradox. We’ve never been more connected, yet so many of us feel profoundly alone. The ache isn’t just reserved for the introverts or the socially awkward. It’s everywhere — from the friend who always double-taps your posts but never texts first, to the roommate who’s physically present but emotionally checked out, to the church small group that’s more about logistics than life together. The world is full of people, but genuine connection feels like it’s in short supply.
That’s because we’re in a full-blown crisis when it comes to loneliness — literally. Nearly half of all U.S. adults report feeling lonely, according to a recent advisory by U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy. Murthy has been outspoken about the public health risks of loneliness, warning that it’s not just an emotional struggle but a medical one. He points to research showing that chronic loneliness increases the chance of premature death by 29 percent — a risk factor on par with smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
The consequences go beyond mental health, contributing to heart disease, stroke and dementia. Young adults are especially vulnerable. A 2024 American Psychiatric Association poll found that 30 percent of adults ages 18 to 34 feel lonely every day or several times a week. For many, this has become a defining feature of modern life.
Digital friendships have become the new normal, especially since the pandemic. When the world shut down, Zoom calls, WhatsApp threads and Instagram DMs became lifelines. Dr. Pamela Rutledge, a media psychologist who studies the intersection of technology and human behavior, said digital communication helped young people maintain friendships and a semblance of social engagement during lockdowns. She notes that these digital tools were essential for keeping people connected when in-person gatherings were impossible.
But what started as a survival strategy has quietly morphed into a habit that’s hard to break. The same tools that kept us afloat are now, in some cases, keeping us apart.
Social media is engineered to keep us coming back for more. Likes, comments and endless scrolling create the illusion of connection, but they rarely satisfy the deeper need for belonging. Rutledge explains that habitual scrolling can actually reinforce feelings of exclusion and inadequacy, amplifying loneliness and tricking us into thinking we’re connected when we’re not.
“Habitual scrolling can actually reinforce feelings of exclusion and inadequacy, amplifying loneliness and tricking us into thinking we’re connected when we’re not,” Rutledge said.
The dopamine hits are real, but so is the emptiness that follows. The more we chase those quick bursts of validation, the more we risk missing out on the kind of relationships that actually sustain us.
It’s easy to rack up hundreds or even thousands of “friends” online, but research shows that quantity doesn’t equal quality. According to the Pew Research Center, 61 percent of U.S. adults say having close friends is essential to living a fulfilling life — more than those who cited marriage, children or money. This finding highlights just how central friendship is to our sense of purpose and happiness. Yet the number of close friendships has been declining for decades, even as our online networks balloon.
Sociologists point to a “friendship recession,” where people have more contacts but fewer confidants. The group chat might be popping, but who’s actually showing up when you need to move a couch or process a breakup?
Some tech leaders, like Mark Zuckerberg, have floated the idea that AI chatbots could help fill the void. Zuckerberg has argued that AI companions could provide constant, personalized interaction for people who feel isolated, suggesting that technology might be able to bridge the gap where human relationships fall short. But ethicists and philosophers aren’t convinced. Gregg D. Caruso, a professor of ethics, pushes back on the idea that AI can replace real friendship.
“AI is incapable of mutual concern or genuine reciprocity,” Caruso said.
He explains that while AI can simulate empathy or encouragement, it doesn’t truly care about the individual — or challenge you to grow. A chatbot might remember your birthday, but it’s not going to call you out when you’re being selfish or help you become a better person.
Caruso draws on Aristotle’s philosophy, which holds that true friendship is rooted in virtue and mutual growth. According to Aristotle, the best friendships are those where both people help each other become better, wiser and more loving. No algorithm, no matter how advanced, can offer that kind of soul-deep connection.
For many of us, the ache for real community is even more acute. Scripture is full of “one another” commands — love one another, bear one another’s burdens, confess to one another. These aren’t just nice ideas; they’re blueprints for embodied, in-person community.
When those connections are missing, it’s not just our mental health that suffers. Our spiritual lives take a hit, too. Faith isn’t meant to be lived in isolation; it’s shaped, challenged and encouraged in the context of real relationships. Without friends who know us, pray for us and hold us accountable, it’s easy for our spiritual growth to stall out or drift.
The New Testament vision of church is one of deep, mutual investment — not just a Sunday service or a group chat, but a family that shares life together.
“Human connection is as essential to our health as air and food,” Murthy said.
So what actually helps? Experts recommend getting intentional about your digital habits. Keeping a media journal for a week can help you notice when you’re reaching for your phone out of boredom or loneliness, and whether you can swap a scroll for a call or a coffee with a friend. This kind of self-awareness can reveal patterns that keep you stuck and open up opportunities for real connection.
Turning solo screen time into social time — like inviting friends to a watch party or game night — can foster genuine relationships. Establishing device-free zones during meals and hangouts encourages conversation and presence. And forming real friendships requires vulnerability and risk.
Research by Harvard’s John Cacioppo, a pioneer in the study of loneliness, shows that loneliness can make us more sensitive to rejection, which can lead to withdrawing even further. But Cacioppo’s work also reveals that pushing through that discomfort — risking awkwardness, being honest about our struggles, showing up for others — is key to building lasting bonds. Vulnerability is the price of admission for real friendship.
Digital friendships can be a lifeline, but they’re not a substitute for the real thing. If you’re feeling the ache of loneliness, you’re not alone — and you’re not broken. The answer isn’t to log off completely, but to use your digital life as a bridge, not a destination. Fewer “likes,” more love. Fewer followers, more friends. And maybe, just maybe, a little less scrolling and a little more showing up.
