Why Humans Need Humans
💜 Content Warning
This article discusses trauma, addiction, depression, grief, isolation, and unhealthy relationship patterns.
Introduction
When most people think about happiness, they think about excitement. They think about achieving a goal, getting a promotion, buying something they’ve wanted, falling in love, or experiencing a moment of joy.
Those experiences certainly affect our brains, but one of our most important “happy chemicals” isn’t really about happiness at all.
It’s about connection.
Humans are social creatures. Long before smartphones, social media, modern medicine, or even grocery stores, our survival depended on other people. We survived because we formed families, communities, and support systems. Our brains evolved to reward connection because, quite simply, connection helped us survive.
One of the chemicals responsible for that connection is Oxytocin.
Oxytocin is often called the “bonding hormone” or the “love hormone,” it can helps us build trust, form relationships, experience empathy, and create the social bonds that make us feel connected to others. It plays a role in friendships, romantic relationships, parent-child relationships, and even the bond many people feel with their pets.
Looking back, connection has been one of the most complicated parts of my own life, in many ways. I’ve spent periods of my life surrounded by people while still feeling completely alone. I’ve also spent periods isolating myself and convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. At different points, I have struggled with grief, trauma, addiction, depression, anxiety, and codependent relationship patterns. Each one affected how I connected with other people in different ways.
What I’ve learned is that connection isn’t just something that feels nice to have. It’s something our brains genuinely need, as much as we may not want to admit it. The problem is that life experiences can change how we view connection. Experiences can make trust feel dangerous. Depression can make us withdraw. Addiction can isolate us from the people who care about us. And sometimes our need for connection can become unhealthy and turn into codependency or worse.
To understand why these struggles are so common, we first need to understand what oxytocin actually does.
What Is Oxytocin?
Oxytocin is both a hormone and a neurotransmitter that is produced in the hypothalamus and released by the pituitary gland.
Scientists often refer to it as the “bonding hormone” or “love hormone,” but those labels don’t fully explain its role in our lives.
Oxytocin helps regulate trust, attachment, empathy, emotional bonding, and social connection. It plays a role in everything from a parent comforting a child to the trust that develops between friends, romantic partners, and even the connection many people feel with their pets.
Research has found that oxytocin is released during positive social interactions, physical affection, acts of kindness, emotional vulnerability, and other experiences that strengthen relationships. Unlike dopamine, which motivates us to pursue rewards, or serotonin, which helps regulate mood and emotional stability, oxytocin focuses on something different: Connection.
In many ways, Oxytocin is one of the chemicals that reminds us we were never designed to do life completely alone.
This section was particularly interesting to me because I spent years believing happiness was mostly about achievement. Success, promotions, goals, recognition, financial stability, and checking boxes were what I thought would finally make me feel fulfilled. While those things certainly have value, accomplishment and connection do not provide the same thing.
Looking back, some of the loneliest periods of my life weren’t necessarily when I was alone. They were when I felt disconnected, misunderstood, or unable to openly talk about what I was going through. On the other hand, some of the most difficult periods of my life became more manageable simply because I had people around me who listened, understood, or reminded me that I wasn’t facing it entirely by myself.
As it turns out, our brains place far more value on human connection than many of us realize.
“Biologically, oxytocin serves a purpose… That warm fuzzy feeling. It’s what bonds a couple together. Without it, the human species would have gone extinct a long time ago.”
— Ottessa Moshfegh
The Science of Connection
Most of us inherently know how important human connection is, even when we don’t want to admit it.
We feel better when we have people we can talk to. We notice when we feel disconnected. We miss people when they’re gone. Yet many of us underestimate just how important connection is to our overall well-being.
For years, I was one of those people who joked that I didn’t really like people. I preferred my dogs. I preferred staying home. I convinced myself I was perfectly fine handling things on my own. But looking back, I now know that wasn’t really true. It was depression, and at times, it was my addiction.
Dustin and I used to joke about it all the time. We would talk about how much people annoyed us, how we just wanted to be left alone, and how we preferred hanging out at home. Looking back, I don’t think either of us truly wanted isolation, at least not to the length that we took it. I think we were both struggling and didn’t fully realize how much our depression was influencing the way we viewed the world.
The reality was that even when I was isolating, I still wanted companionship. I still wanted people who understood me. I still wanted connection. I just didn’t always know how to ask for it, and sometimes it felt easier to withdraw, than to be vulnerable.
This was also during COVID, when isolation became normal for a lot of people. Staying home was encouraged. Seeing fewer people became routine. For many people, that period highlighted something important: there is a difference between enjoying time alone and becoming disconnected from others. The COVID-19 pandemic triggered a significant, global surge in depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation, particularly among youth and young adults.
Research over the last several decades has consistently found that social connection affects both mental and physical health. Strong social relationships have been linked to lower rates of depression and anxiety, better stress management, improved physical health, and even longer life expectancy.
One of the most frequently cited studies on social connection found that people with stronger social relationships had approximately a 50% greater likelihood of survival compared to those with weaker social relationships.
Think about that for a moment.
We often hear about the importance of exercise, nutrition, sleep, and avoiding unhealthy habits. Those things absolutely matter. But we rarely talk about connection as a health need, even though growing evidence suggests it may be just as important. This doesn’t mean we need hundreds of friends or a packed social calendar. In fact, many people would rather have one or two trusted people than dozens of casual acquaintances.
What matters most is the quality of our connections, not necessarily the quantity. Moving to Arkansas taught me another lesson about connection.
When I left Kansas, I knew I would miss people, but I didn’t fully realize how much I would miss the recovery community that had become my second family and primary source of support during some of the hardest years of my life. They understood where I had been, what I was trying to overcome, and many of the struggles I was facing at the time.
When I moved away, I realized there was a difference between choosing solitude and losing easy access to the people who helped keep me grounded. Sometimes we don’t realize how important our connections are until they aren’t as close or accessible as they once were.
Humans are remarkably resilient, but we were never designed to carry every burden alone. Connection doesn’t eliminate life’s challenges, but it can make those challenges easier to navigate.
Unfortunately, life experiences can also shape how safe connection feels to us. For some people, relationships become a source of comfort and support. For others, relationships have been associated with pain, unpredictability, disappointment, or loss. For those people, this becomes incredibly complex.
That’s where experiences begin to shape the way we experience connection.
“Showing kindness causes oxytocin release in the recipient that motives him or her to be kind to others.”
— Paul J. Zak
Experiences Shape the Way We Experience Connection
If human connection is so important, why do some people struggle with it so much? The answer often lies in our experiences, as mentioned.
Our brains are designed to learn from what happens to us. Every experience—good and bad—helps shape how we view ourselves, other people, and the world around us. No two people are exactly alike in how they experience connection.
If someone grows up feeling safe, supported, and protected, their brain learns that people can generally be trusted.
But if someone experiences abuse, addiction, violence, grief, neglect, chronic stress, betrayal, instability, or other difficult life experiences, their brain may learn very different lessons.
People aren’t safe. People leave. People hurt you. People can’t be trusted.
The brain is trying to protect us. The problem is that what helps us survive one stage of life doesn’t always help us thrive in another.
Many people become hypervigilant. They constantly scan for danger, conflict, rejection, or signs that something is about to go wrong. Their nervous system learned that being prepared was safer than being surprised.
Unfortunately, that can make healthy relationships incredibly difficult.
When you’ve spent years expecting chaos, calm can feel suspicious.
When you’ve spent years expecting criticism, kindness can feel uncomfortable.
When you’ve spent years preparing for people to leave, consistency can feel unfamiliar.
For much of my life, I didn’t realize how much my past experiences influenced the way I viewed people. Looking back, I can see that I often expected disappointment, conflict, rejection, or abandonment long before anyone had actually done anything to earn that expectation.
If you’ve read some of my recent blogs, a couple weeks ago I deep dove into the subject of worrying before something actually happens: https://detourfromhell.org/2026/05/24/when-your-mind-lives-in-worst-case-scenarios/
One of the most frustrating parts of healing is realizing that some of the coping mechanisms that once protected us later interfere with healthy relationships and make life harder. The walls that kept us safe can also keep people out. The hypervigilance that helped us survive can make it difficult to relax. And sometimes, the fear of being hurt again can prevent us from experiencing the very connection we need most.
That doesn’t mean we’re broken. It means our brains adapted to what they experienced.
The good news is that the brain can also learn new patterns. Healing doesn’t erase the past, but it can help us recognize when old survival strategies are showing up in situations where they are no longer needed.
“Oxytocin is love. Oxytocin is within you.”
— Paul J. Zak
When Connection Becomes Codependency
At this point, it may sound like I’m saying the answer is simply to connect with more people. Unfortunately, it is not that simple.
Human beings need connection. That isn’t weakness. It’s biology.
The problem isn’t needing people. The problem begins when our need for connection becomes so strong that we become willing to sacrifice our own well-being to maintain it.
This is where codependency often enters the picture. Codependency is one of those terms that gets used a lot, but at its core, it often involves relying too heavily on another person for our sense of self-worth, identity, emotional stability, or happiness.
Many people who struggle with codependent behaviors aren’t selfish, manipulative, or intentionally unhealthy. In fact, many are incredibly caring people. The problem is that somewhere along the way, they learned that their needs mattered less than everyone else’s.
They learned to keep the peace. They learned to fix problems. They learned to rescue people. They learned to take responsibility for emotions that were never theirs to carry.
Looking back, one thing I didn’t fully understand was that even during periods when I isolated myself, I still wanted connection. I still wanted companionship. I still wanted someone to share life with. The problem was that I was always looking for connection in unhealthy places or under unhealthy circumstances.
I used to joke that I was probably one of the most codependent people you’d ever meet. Throughout much of my twenties, I seemed to have a talent for finding every red flag imaginable and treating it like a challenge instead of a warning, and then moving all of the red flags in, incredibly too fast.
I thought I could help people. I thought I could help fix people. That’s not what I was thinking in the moment; but that was the reality of it. I thought if I loved them enough, supported them enough, or stayed long enough, things would eventually get better.
Looking back now, it’s much easier to see what was actually happening. And I often feel foolish, because that was never true love, that was me being manipulated and used. I was often lonely, vulnerable, depressed, struggling with my own addiction, and desperately looking for connection. I chose relationships that were not healthy for me. But I can also understand why I made those choices at the time.
When you’re lonely, grieving, depressed, struggling with addiction, or carrying unresolved pain, almost any connection can feel better than no connection at all. That’s one of the reasons codependency can be so difficult to recognize while you’re living it.
It doesn’t feel unhealthy. It feels like love. It feels like loyalty. It feels like helping, at least initially. It’s such a strong sense needing to be needed. Sometimes it even feels like purpose. Only later do you realize how much of yourself you sacrificed trying to save someone else.
One of the most important lessons those experiences taught me is that caring about someone and being responsible for them are two very different things.
Compassion is healthy. Empathy is healthy. Supporting people is healthy.
But at some point, I had to learn that you can’t always do those things with certain people, because you have to protect yourself and your own serenity first. I had to learn that I couldn’t fix other people’s lives for them, no matter how badly I wanted to. They had to want to. And why would they when they had me doing everything for them?
For me, one of the hardest lessons of healing has been learning that healthy connection and unhealthy attachment are not the same thing.
A healthy relationship should add to your life. It should not become your entire life. A healthy relationship should support your well-being. It should not require you to sacrifice your well-being.
The healthier and stronger we become as individuals, the healthier our relationships often become as well. Because connection works best when it comes from two whole people choosing to share their lives—not from one person trying to fill a void that only they can address themselves.
Depression, Addiction, and the Isolation Trap
One of the cruelest things about depression and addiction is that they often push us away from the very things that help us most.
Connection is one of the most powerful protective factors for mental health, yet depression, anxiety, grief, and addiction frequently convince us to withdraw from it.
Depression tells us to stay home. It tells us nobody wants to hear from us. It tells us we’re a burden. It tells us we’re an embarrassment. It tells us we’ll be judged. And sometimes we are.
Sometimes people make assumptions without knowing a single thing about our lives. They don’t know our experiences, our struggles, our recovery, or the things we’ve overcome. Yet they still form opinions based on a last name, a rumor, a mistake, an addiction, a mental health diagnosis, or only having a tiny puzzle piece of a picture of who we are.
Those experiences can reinforce the belief that it’s safer to stay hidden than to be vulnerable. The problem is that while isolation may protect us from judgment, it also prevents us from receiving support, understanding, and connection. It tells us we’ll go tomorrow instead.
Anxiety tells us not to make the call. Not to send the text. Not to go to the event. Not to put ourselves out there.
Addiction tells us to hide. To isolate. To keep secrets. To convince ourselves that nobody understands.
The problem is that isolation often strengthens the very struggles that created it. The less connected we become, the easier it is for our thoughts to go unchallenged.
The easier it becomes to believe we’re alone.
The easier it becomes to convince ourselves that nobody understands what we’re going through.
Looking back, I can see this pattern throughout different periods of my life. When I was struggling with addiction, isolation made it easier to continue doing the things I knew weren’t healthy.
When I was depressed, isolation kept me in bed. And the longer I isolated, the worse things always became.
I wouldn’t eat. I’d stop taking care of myself. I’d withdraw from people who cared about me.
I’d drink plenty, though.
The problem was that isolation rarely made any of those situations better. It usually made them worse. That’s one of the reasons recovery communities can be so powerful. It’s not just because they provide information or accountability. It’s because they provide connection and empathy. They put people in a room with others who understand what they’re experiencing.
People who have been there. People who can say, “Me too.”
Looking back, I don’t think I fully appreciated how important that was while I was living it in the beginning, but it became very apparent overtime. Many of the people I met in recovery became part of my support system during some of the hardest years of my life.
They celebrate milestones with me. They challenge me when I need it. They listen when I’m struggling. They understand things that are often difficult to explain to people who haven’t lived through similar experiences.
When I moved away from Kansas, I realized how much I had relied on those connections. Not because I was incapable of standing on my own. But because none of us are meant to carry everything alone.
One of the biggest misconceptions about strength is that strong people don’t need support. In reality, some of the strongest people I’ve ever met are the ones who learned how to ask for help when they needed it. The people who reached out. The people who admitted they were struggling. The people who allowed others to walk alongside them.
Isolation often feels safer. Connection often feels riskier. But healing rarely happens in complete isolation. More often than not, healing happens when we allow ourselves to be seen, understood, supported, and connected to other people.
Even when every instinct tells us to pull away.
Solitude vs. Isolation
One thing I think is important to acknowledge is that being alone is not automatically unhealthy.
Humans need connection, but we also need solitude. Healthy solitude is intentional. It’s choosing to spend time alone because you want rest, reflection, peace, or space to recharge.
Isolation is different. Isolation is often driven by fear, shame, depression, anxiety, hopelessness, or the belief that nobody understands.
One restores us. The other often drains us.
At one point in my life, I wasn’t sure recovery was the right choice for me. Looking back now, one of the things I’m most grateful for is that recovery introduced me to people who try to not allow me to completely isolate myself. And when I did, I would continue to get sporadic random messages asking to come “home”, come back.
Ironically, I am much more secluded today than I have ever been in my life. Not isolated, but secluded. I have fewer people in my life than I have ever had before. But for me, that’s actually been a good thing. That may be an understatement. It’s been the healthiest thing I probably could have done for myself — remove the toxicity I was allowing.
The people I keep close today are people I trust completely. They are healthy relationships. They support me, challenge me, encourage me, and show up when I need them. And visa versa.
And every time I go back to Wichita and spend time with my recovery family, I leave feeling happier than when I arrived. That experience taught me something important: Connection isn’t about how many people we have in our lives. It’s about having the right people in our lives.
For me, one of the biggest signs is whether I’m moving toward something or hiding from something.
Am I taking time for myself because I need it? Or am I avoiding people because I’m struggling?
Those aren’t always easy questions to answer honestly. And sometimes the answer changes from one day to the next.
The goal isn’t to eliminate solitude. The goal is to recognize when solitude has quietly turned into isolation. Because while solitude can support healing, isolation often stands in the way of it.
“Oxytocin is most people’s favorite chemical. It’s the feeling of friendship, love or deep trust… It is responsible for all the warm and fuzzies.”
— Goodreads Quotes
Final Thoughts
When I first started researching the happy chemicals, I expected oxytocin to be one of the simpler topics.
It’s often called the “love hormone” or the “bonding hormone,” and that makes it sound straightforward. But the more I learned, the more I realized that oxytocin isn’t really about love.
It’s about connection. And connection is rarely simple. And there are many forms and types of connections.
Throughout this article, we’ve talked about how our experiences shape the way we connect with other people. We’ve talked about hypervigilance, codependency, depression, addiction, isolation, recovery, and the difference between solitude and isolation.
What all of those things have in common is that they affect our ability to connect with others.
Some of us learned early in life that people were safe.
Some of us learned the opposite.
Some of us spent years looking for connection in unhealthy places.
Some of us spent years avoiding connection altogether.
Most of us have probably done both at different points in our lives.
What I’ve learned is that needing people isn’t weakness. It’s part of being human. That doesn’t mean everyone deserves access to us. It doesn’t mean we should tolerate unhealthy relationships. It doesn’t mean boundaries aren’t important. But it does mean that connection matters, sometimes more than we realize.
Looking back, some of the hardest periods of my life became easier because of the people who stood beside me. Not because they fixed my problems. Not because they had all the answers. But because they reminded me I wasn’t carrying everything alone. They sat and listened when I needed to get it out. And sometimes that is all you need to calm down.
The people in recovery who answered the phone. The friends who checked in. The people who listened when I needed to talk. The people who challenged me when I needed honesty instead of comfort. The people who stayed.
Those connections mattered more than I realized at the time.
Maybe that’s the real lesson of oxytocin. We were never meant to do everything by ourselves. Sometimes healing begins when we allow ourselves to be seen. Sometimes it begins when we ask for help. Sometimes it begins when we accept support from people who genuinely care about us.
And sometimes it begins when we simply let someone walk silently beside us for a while.
Talk next week on the final part of the happy chemical series, where we will discuss Endorphins (our body’s natural pain killer). Hope its a great week for everyone! Thanks for reading!
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