Choosing Community in a Culture of Distance

We are living in a culture of distance.

Not always physical distance, though that remains. But emotional distance. Social distance. A quiet widening of space between ourselves and others that we often call boundaries, self-care, or protecting our peace.

And sometimes, those things are necessary. Many of us were exhausted, overwhelmed, and under-supported long before the world shut down. Learning how to say no, how to listen to our bodies, and how to tend our inner lives has been an important correction.

But in the process, something else has happened.

Community has begun to feel optional.

Discomfort has become something to avoid at all costs.

And self-help has quietly replaced shared life.

Everyone wants community.

Belonging. Support. A sense that we are not doing this alone.

Yet fewer of us feel willing or able to participate in the imperfect, relational work that real community requires.

Because community, unlike content or convenience, asks something of us.

Community Is Not Always Comfortable

Real community is not perfectly curated.

It is not always convenient.

It involves people you didn’t choose, perspectives that don’t mirror your own, and moments that require compromise, patience, and repair.

Community is made of both friction and tenderness.

Misunderstandings and second chances.

Showing up even when it’s awkward.

Staying when it would be easier to withdraw.

In a culture that encourages us to leave at the first sign of discomfort, choosing to stay with one another can feel almost radical.

When “Protecting Your Peace” Becomes Disconnection

There is an important difference between healthy boundaries and avoiding relational discomfort altogether.

Growth often asks us to:

• adjust expectations

• sit with differing opinions

• navigate conflict without fleeing

• allow ourselves to be seen imperfectly

When every relationship must feel effortless to be worth our time, we quietly opt out of community altogether.

And the cost is high.

Loneliness is rising.

Mental health struggles persist despite unprecedented access to self-help content.

We are deeply connected online and profoundly disconnected in our bodies and neighborhoods.

How the Pandemic Changed the Way We Relate

The pandemic taught us how fragile connection can be.

It also taught us how to live without it.

Many of us:

• stopped gathering

• lost the muscle memory of casual togetherness

• became more cautious, more insular

• replaced embodied presence with digital proximity

Years later, the systems that benefit from isolation are thriving. Online platforms offer connection without vulnerability. Self-help offers regulation without relationship. Convenience quietly replaces commitment.

And still, we ache for belonging.

Community Asks Something of Us

Community is not something we consume.

It is something we participate in.

Participation looks like:

• showing up even when you don’t feel fully resourced

• allowing your needs to exist alongside others’

• offering care without keeping score

• letting relationships remain imperfect and alive

Community is not about constant comfort.

It is about mutual care over time.

There Is a Middle Path

This is not a call to abandon boundaries or return to self-sacrifice.

There is a middle ground.

One where:

• you honor your capacity

• you choose connection intentionally

• you practice repair instead of disappearance

• you allow some discomfort in service of belonging

The middle path sounds like this:

I will not abandon myself to belong.

And I will not abandon connection to stay comfortable.

Belonging Is a Practice

Community does not arrive fully formed.

It grows through presence, repetition, and care.

Through showing up again. Through staying when it would be easier to leave. Through remembering that community is not a product to consume, but a practice to live.

At Mother Oak, we believe community is not about finding the perfect group. It is about being willing to be part of something living. Something human. Something real.

Everyone longs for community. The deeper question is whether we are willing to practice belonging.

Winter asks us to turn inward, not to disappear, but to listen. It is a season for reflection, for noticing what has quietly frayed and what still longs to be tended. At Mother Oak, Circle exists as one small way of practicing this kind of care together. Not as a perfect solution or a ready-made village, but as a space where showing up matters, where relationships are allowed to be human, and where we learn to stay with one another through the ordinary and the uncomfortable. If this season is stirring questions about how you are showing up in your relationships or what it might mean to nurture community more intentionally, consider this an invitation to begin there. Winter reminds us that what we tend now, gently and honestly, is what will shape the seasons to come.

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Love,

Amanda