when connection stops being easy (and what actually brings it back)

A conversation that helps you find your people again without trying harder, being braver, or becoming someone new.

Andy said to me several times: “If my story doesn’t fit here, don’t use it, I won’t be offended.”

And I got what he was saying. My audience leans to the female demographic and he kindly wanted to give me an out.

But the questions I ask aren’t gendered. Loss is loss. Distance is distance. The work of showing up—really showing up—belongs to anyone willing to do it.

Andy talks about dementia stealing his mother. About finally talking about it and getting support. About stopping the assumption that connection just happens and starting to build it instead—one walk, one conversation at a time.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re going through the motions with people you love, this one’s for you.

Tell us about a time you reached out or showed up authentically and it felt risky. What happened, and what did it teach you about connection?

Ironically, it was losing connection to my mum through her diagnosis and continued decline at the hands of dementia.

A few tough years of coming to terms with the situation (along with my sisters), caring for her at home and the realisation that we were unable to cope. Add in the emotional rollercoaster of going through the bereavement process of ‘loss’ despite the person still being with you (my mum no longer recognises me, understands who I am or that I’m her son) I had to admit (thanks also to my wife) that I probably needed to speak to someone about the whole experience.

This was so far out of my comfort-zone (I’m a middle-aged man who will always try to just ‘crack on’) that I was very unsure what would happen and how it could possibly help my mum’s situation feel any less c**p.

However, fast-forward two years and the process has taught me the importance of understanding how I was feeling to help me connect with people around me, rather than pushing them away.

And whilst my mum’s situation has continued to decline, the process of understanding how it’s affected me has helped me to better share this with others (and offer support driven by a better understanding), communicate why I can or can’t do certain things and as a result, I now feel far better connected to those closest to me.

My wife, my sisters and my wider circle of friends all now have a much better understanding of me and how I’m able (and not able) to approach the situation and it’s brought us all closer together.

What moment made you realize that exploring human connection wasn’t just interesting—it was necessary?

Oddly it was through my work (which I wouldn’t have expected).

I work in marketing for an agency that delivers in-store product sampling and one day, I was flicking through customer (shopper) feedback and testimonials and as I read through a set of these from the last 3-4 years something hit me like a truck - it genuinely stopped me dead.

All of the comments (and I mean all of them) were talking about how our staff had made them feel - words like ‘kindness’ ‘funny’ and ‘caring’ jumped off the page as our customers talked about the wonderful experiences they’d had thanks to our teams.

They talked about interactions that had ‘made their day’ and how a simple conversation had changed their mood and made them smile.

I think it hit me more because as an agency that works for brands and retailers we’d always focused on stuff like sales and conversion rates and the product-specific stuff. So it was an epiphany to suddenly realise that it was simple human connection that was the stuff that really mattered.

I would say this was the moment that lit the blue touch-paper in my head because it literally re-framed and made me re-think how I do my work. This then created a wonderful snowball effect to realising that this was also true of pretty much every aspect of life!

And as I’ve dug deeper into it as a topic, the more I’m beginning to understand that we’re hard-wired for connection - it’s something we need to survive.

That’s led to the writing side-project on Substack because I wanted to share what I was learning because I can feel my own life beginning to benefit from my interest and understanding of connection and the things I’m doing to build better connections in my own life. I figured I wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

When did you first notice the gap between how you were connecting with others and how you actually wanted to connect?

It’s really hard to say for certain, it was a process that happened slowly over time. Perhaps driven by the pandemic and our enforced distancing from the people I love?

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who just felt something was ‘off’ in the months and years that followed. I noticed that my contact with people I considered I was close to was somehow less intentional and meaningful than before.

And when I was with others, it was feeling more distant than before. It was as though the social distancing of the pandemic had left a longer lasting impression than I realised. Even when things came back, I was still feeling socially distant, even if I wasn’t physically distant.

I don’t know if that makes sense but reflecting on your question, I think this might be where it started to come into focus for me. But a bit like a dripping tap, I didn’t notice it to begin with.

What belief about masculinity, vulnerability, or relationships did you have to unlearn to connect more deeply?

To be honest, it’s an appreciation that having a life rich in connection is really hard to do BUT it’s also absolutely vital. I think in the past I was guilty of assuming that connection should be really easy. But I’ve come to realise that to maintain connections you have to be two things: intentional and consistent.

I’ve stopped assuming connection ‘just happens’ and I’m now trying to build things into every day to help me better connect with the people in my life, myself and the world all around me.

For example, I’ve started organising a regular ‘walk and talk’ with friends on a Sunday every couple of months. We just go for a walk together, no distractions and then end up back at my house to share coffee and food together (this time it was homemade soup). The consistency of doing it is really making a difference.

One friend messaged me after the last one with the simple line “thank you for the nourishing connection and delicious soups” and I was so happy. And her use for the word ‘nourishing’ to describe connection I thought was a really important but unintentional insight — to nourish is to have something that is necessary for our health, growth and good condition.

Nourish is a term that most of us would apply to the things we consume (food) but actually, this whole journey is making me realise that it’s equally as applicable to connection as this is also vital for our health, growth and good condition!

If you could tell someone who’s feeling disconnected or isolated one thing, what would it be?

I think it would be to think about your passion and use this as a springboard for connection. Start small, be consistent and let it build.

For example, trail running has helped me to build connections. It started with the small act of participating in the thing I love and over time, this has evolved to joining a trail running club and also contributing to the sport through volunteering at events.

The result has been a low-stress, low-risk way of building a whole new set of connections that has definitely added a new layer of enjoyment, happiness and experience to my life.

About Andy

I’m an optimist who leans toward being introvert but loves being with people, preferably outdoors. Despite being in my 50s, I think it’s never too late to learn new things that can help you live a happier, more fulfilling life…no matter what else it throws at you.

Where to find him:
Connect with Andy on Substack and LinkedIn

If conversations like this one matter to you — the slow, honest, human ones — you’ll feel at home on the paid side. That’s where I go deeper into connection, belonging, and the work of coming back to yourself. I’d love to have you there.