"The loneliness epidemic" is a major buzzword and hot topic right now. In fact, I've written at least three blog posts in direct relation to that larger conversation. It's no secret that individualistic lifestyles in western cultures have created environments that stifle genuine community building by way of structures like unwalkable neighborhoods and cities, heightened technology and social media use, and the decline in free or affordable "third places" over recent decades. Individualism has been sold to us as a way to achieve any and all dreams we may have for ourselves, and while this mindset is not inherently bad, it certainly fosters thinking of ourselves before others. Eventually, the "other" becomes much less important.
Until we realize - as we are through the loneliness epidemic - that we really, really, need one another.
A different buzzword has also been saturating our vocabulary for nearly a decade now: "self-care." We typically think of this as small practices and rituals we do for ourselves as individuals to feel our best and keep our mental and physical health in balance. Some find self-care in making their bed every morning, journaling every day, taking a luxurious bath once a week, or getting their nails done biweekly. All ways are valid - it's just whatever makes you feel good.
Self-care is not a problematic practice, but there are a few problems within it. When we put societal, large-scale emphasis on the act of self-care, or use #selfcare every time we buy ourselves a new face mask or eat a decadent chocolate cake slice while watching Netflix, we put power and energy into a product rather than on our actual selves. Hot take: self-care as we now understand it isn't really self-care at all. It is only self-satisfaction. We may be temporarily feeding whatever feeling needs tending to within our emotional bodies, but are we actually caring for the self long-term? Are we present in what we do, or are we doing something in the name of "self-care" to avoid what is present?
I'm not here to judge anyone's self-care practices - we all have them and utilize them. But what I hope to challenge is where we focus our attention. I want to share the hypothesis that individualism may serve a purpose, but isn't a sustainable lifestyle. In other words, self-care cannot be contained to the self. True self-care is only attained when we emphasize community, because, again...we need each other.
Enter "collective care." Believe it or not, it is a real thing with a working definition: the practices and systems where a community or group of people take responsibility for the well-being of each other. It is a holistic approach to mutual support, contrasting with the more individualistic notion of personal responsibility. How relieving (and unrealistic, by today's standards) does that sound? In collective care, the focus is on the health, safety, and well-being of the group as a whole, while also recognizing that individual well-being is deeply interconnected with the health of the community.
Action is taken to implement structures that support the group. This can include community health initiatives, shared resources, and cooperative efforts to address common challenges.
The concept of collective care is not new, either; it has deep roots in many cultures throughout history. Traditional societies often relied on communal efforts for survival and well-being. For instance, in many Indigenous cultures, community care is a foundational principle, where the well-being of the individual is seen as inherently linked to the well-being of the tribe or clan. In my somewhat recent podcast episode with John Belmont, I was completely blown away when he taught me that Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, which many of us learned about in psychology classes, was actually co-opted from the Blackfoot tribe of the American Midwest and whittled down to exclude community actualization - the highest point of the original pyramid.
More examples of historical (and still prevalent) collective care include mutual aid societies: organizations often formed by marginalized communities in which members pool resources to provide financial assistance, healthcare, and social support to one another. During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, mutual aid societies were particularly notable among immigrant communities in the United States, providing a safety net in the absence of formal social services that were not yet granted to them. The "cooperative movement," which began in the 19th century, included hundreds of organizations owned and operated by their members, who would share in the benefits and responsibilities - think of a modern "co-op" grocery store. This model has been applied to various sectors, including agriculture, housing, and finance, emphasizing true democratic control and mutual benefit.
Wherever it has shown up, both past and present, collective care represents a shift from a "me-first" mentality to a "we-first," action-oriented approach, acknowledging that our fates are intertwined and that by caring for each other, we ultimately care for ourselves. True self-care is collective care.
And why do we need it? Well, I hope that would be obvious.
If you're in a similar demographic to me and find yourself scrolling through social media on the regular, you may have noticed more young people discussing whether or not they would drive a friend to the airport if asked. This is one specific example in a larger debate surrounding how we relate to people in our circles - whether we perform or accept favors without the expectation of anything in return, just for the sake of being helpful. Some see it as burdensome. Why do you need me to take you to the airport? Can't you just call an Uber? Why would I ask my already busy friends to set time aside to help me move when I can afford to hire a service? Others see this new reality in which we are afraid of "imposing" on one another as a sad side effect to individualism. We no longer want to lean on one another because it may come off as annoying or needy or unnecessary. We are hands-off whenever and wherever possible. And even though it's become engrained in our culture, it breeds selfishness, coldness, and eventually, isolation.
In response to this wider debate, I've noticed a trend. A caption along the lines of "Yes, I'll drive you to the airport. Yes, you can borrow my sweater. Yes, I'll walk you to your car. Yes, you can tell me all about it." It comes mainly from women in their 20's and early 30's who seem to want to push back on our long-standing prioritization of the self before others and focus instead on the people in our waking lives. This isn't a call for followers or a virtue signal to show how likeable one may be; it's a vow to the collective. It's a promise that we will show up for people who need us, within reason, and without harsh, self-imposed boundaries (that's another hot take for another day).
To me, it's clear how critical this attitude is becoming. As each year passes by, more and more people identify with feelings of loneliness, isolation, depression, and anxiety. Young people have fewer "IRL" friends and are experiencing important social milestones, such as getting a driver's license and going on dates, much later into adolescence than ever before. Humans are inherently social, but with the rapid onset of pseudo-connection via social media, screen time matching or exceeding offline time, individual devices being the main method of teaching and learning in schools (as opposed to raw discussion and group work), and automated delivery systems for shopping, driving, and meals taking center stage in the 21st century, humans find themselves not needing to rely on others in the same ways as before. If we are fortunate enough to live somewhere with the availability of Uber and the affordability of DoorDash, why bother inconveniencing ourselves or someone else with an unnecessary interaction?
There's a keyword in this scenario, and that's "fortunate." Individualism is for the fortunate. Many cannot sustainably live in this way. Many do not have access to the amenities that allow some of us to put our lives on autopilot without help from other people. Economic instability is rampant, and this is where it would serve us all to divest from the capitalistic routines of online shopping and reliance of delivery services, and instead distribute those funds to people struggling to survive under the same system that benefits some and harms many. The gap keeps getting wider, but it doesn't have to. This is very much within our collective control - we have the freedom and the autonomy, still, to decide where our money goes. Perhaps we just haven't been taught how much it matters.
We may not like the way it feels to need other people, but the reality is that we do. I'd venture to say it's an equal reality that most of us are craving reconnection. That in and of itself is reason enough to swing the pendulum away from the individual and toward the collective. If we need more convincing, the mental health crisis should paint a clear picture of how devastating it has been to live within cultures that place more value in material wealth than in social enrichment. As much as I dislike the author Malcolm Gladwell, he did present one insightful anecdote in his book Outliers (2008), about a small community in Pennsylvania where individuals had astonishingly better physical health and longer lifespans than the national average:
"'I remember going to Roseto for the first time, and you'd see three-generational family meals, all the bakeries, the people walking up and down the street, sitting on their porches talking to each other, the blouse mills where the women worked during the day, while the men worked in the slate quarries,' Bruhn said. 'It was magical.'
When Bruhn and Wolf first presented their findings to the medical community, you can imagine the kind of skepticism they faced. They went to conferences where their peers were presenting long rows of data arrayed in complex charts and referring to this kind of gene or that kind of physiological process, and they themselves were talking instead about the mysterious and magical benefits of people stopping to talk to one another on the street and of having three generations under one roof. Living a long life, the conventional wisdom at the time said, depended to a great extent on who we were—that is, our genes. It depended on the decisions we made—on what we chose to eat, and how much we chose to exercise, and how effectively we were treated by the medical system. No one was used to thinking about health in terms of community.
...They had to look beyond the individual. They had to understand the culture he or she was a part of, and who their friends and families were, and what town their families came from. They had to appreciate the idea that the values of the world we inhabit and the people we surround ourselves with have a profound effect on who we are."
Maybe this story alone doesn't prove that cohesive community can provide us with a longer life and better health, but it certainly shows us how life-changing it is to live within a system where we know many people are looking out for us. When we feel supported by our community, we are less likely to experience harmful and debilitating mental health symptoms. The ability to provide access to shared resources and community health initiatives also ensures that individuals receive the care they need, leading to better overall health outcomes. This is reciprocity at its finest: give when you can, receive when you need. In times of crisis, whether it's a natural disaster, economic downturn, or public health emergency, a network of mutual support can provide the resources and emotional strength necessary to navigate challenges. This resilience is built on the foundation of shared responsibility.
With these values in mind, everything about our current world could change. There is much more room for imagination and inspiration when we work collectively. To me, it's no wonder that more initiatives are being put in place to build walkable neighborhoods and communities that take emphasis off of interstate highways and car travel, and back into central gathering locations, public transportation, and ease of access. It's no wonder that third places seem to be getting more hype, that brunch at the local bakery and farmer's market meetups and small concerts on the town square are becoming the most romantic ideas for socializing. In a tumultuous time for our environment, our politics, and our larger systems, dreaminess and loveliness is so desperately needed.
But how can we contribute to this pendulum swing as individuals? What could we provide if we've never considered an alternative to individualism? Well, just look at the increasing commonality of community gardens, food cooperatives, and online mutual aid through sites like GoFundMe. These initiatives demonstrate the power of collective care in action. For instance, community gardens not only provide fresh produce but also serve as gathering places that strengthen social bonds. Individuals can contribute to collective care by volunteering, participating in local events, and supporting community organizations. Simple actions like checking in on neighbors, bringing a meal to a new mom, or even driving a friend to the airport can make a significant difference; even if they only immediately serve one other person, they demonstrate how good it feels to help out a fellow human. The concept of collective care gets integrated into our daily life by fostering a mindset of empathy and cooperation. If we routinely practice active listening, offer help when needed, and stay open to receiving support from others, we are well on our way.
To start a collective care project, we don't have to think too big. We don't have to devote part-time hours to working at a soup kitchen or thick portions of our bank accounts to donate to mutual aid. We can begin by identifying a common need or interest within our community. We can gather a group of like-minded individuals and chat about our desires, develop a plan, and get excited about seeing it through. We can reach out further, secure necessary resources and establish a system for ongoing participation and support. We can celebrate the smallest successes.
And to make our efforts even bigger, we must remember that government policies play a crucial role in fostering collective care. Policies that provide funding for community projects, protect public spaces, and ensure access to healthcare and education for all people can significantly enhance community well-being. Advocacy is essential for driving policy changes. Especially as we embark on this highly unpredictable and anxiety-inducing election season, it's critical to engage with local representatives, participate in public forums, and join advocacy groups that work toward policies promoting social equity and community well-being. Keeping it local is a criminally underestimated way of making sure our voices are heard, and the payoff from contributing to in-person, communal decision-making can be enormous.
By embracing collective care, we can create healthier, more resilient, and sustainable communities where everyone thrives, and it seems we need it now more than ever. There is so much more I want to say on this topic, but I'll finish by emphasizing that no matter how you choose to engage with your community, doing so is of equal benefit to you and to them. Reciprocity is key. We don't do this work for ourselves, but we often find that it reflects back on us and magnetizes the world's goodness. There is plenty of it, still. But when it's hard to see is the most opportune time to reach out to others, in real life, to get some help in finding it again.
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