When the Internet first took the world by storm, we were newlyweds. The concept of being able to get online and connect with the world was mind-blowing. At first, you could just get online and send emails (which was an INSANE concept). Facebook really took things up a notch and made reconnecting with people like long lost high school friends easy. All the sudden you could not only stay in touch, but you could get almost daily glimpses of each other’s lives from other sides of the world. Then came Twitter, Instagram, and all the other platforms that started trying to steal our attention and focus.

And…somewhere along the way, we learned how to perform connection instead of practice it. We learned how to post updates without letting anyone see the tremor in our voice. How to show wins without sharing the cost of them. We stopped going out with friends or calling each other in lieu of text messages or late-night Netflix streaming. We started staying engaged with our screens, but not nature. We learned how to scroll, react, comment, like…and still feel profoundly alone.

We’ve never been more “connected,” and yet so many people are quietly carrying grief, confusion, exhaustion, doubt, and longing without a place to settle down. And here’s what gets us: most of us have no idea what the people around us are really going through.

The woman you admire online might be questioning everything behind the scenes. The strong friend who “always has it together” might be holding themselves together by a thread. The couple who looks so aligned might be navigating something fragile and tender. The person who irritates you might be deeply lonely.

We don’t see those things because our relationships have become thin. Wide maybe, but not deep. Visible, but not certainly not intimate. Constant, but far from present. Being human was never meant to happen through curated squares and highlight reels. It was meant to happen face-to-face, voice-to-voice, with actual eye contact and shared laughter and those awkward pauses where nobody knows quite what to say. It was meant to happen when someone says, “I’m not okay,” and the other person holds a space for that. Or when you land something big and someone who actually knows what it took says, “I am so proud of you!”

But with the rise of screens and constant surface-level connection, vulnerability got replaced with branding. Presence got replaced with productivity. Friendship got replaced with networking. And, we adapted because we had to. We learned how to “survive” in that environment. But as we all know, survival is not the same as nourishment. And we think a lot of us are realizing that now, even if we can’t quite name it yet.

We believe most people are doing the best they can with what they’ve been handed, and almost everyone is fighting a battle we know nothing about. They don’t always have the language for it and they don’t always trust that it is safe to share. They don’t always know who they could tell even if they wanted to. So, what happens? They keep it light, they keep it moving, and they keep it professional. In other words, they keep it “fine.”

The flip side of that is another part we don’t talk about enough: a lot of people are also building something meaningful, hitting milestones, making brave moves, and have no one who really gets it to share it with. The kind of people who understand what it actually took. Who know the risk you took and can celebrate the win without diminishing it or making it weird.

You can have a thousand followers and still feel like no one truly sees you. You can hit revenue goals and feel strangely empty in the aftermath. You can make the hard decision, do the brave thing, show up fully…and then look around you and realize there’s no one in your life who really understands what just happened.

Over time, that becomes its own kind of lonely. Not just carrying the hard stuff alone, but carrying the good stuff alone, too.

Real friendship asks something of us. It asks us to listen instead of waiting to speak, to show up when it is inconvenient, and to be honest without being cruel. It asks us to stay curious instead of defensive (especially when we have different belief systems), and to let people be where they are without needing them to perform for us.

But it also asks us to risk being seen. This is the part many people avoid…not because they don’t want connection, but because they’ve been hurt before and they don’t want it to happen again. So they keep it surface-level, keep it “safe,” keep it controlled. But then they wonder why they still feel so unseen.

If you're craving more depth, more realness, more actual support in your life (people who can hold both the hard stuff and celebrate the good stuff) it helps to know what to look for.

Look for people who tell the truth kindly. This does not mean people who enable your worst habits or shame your growth, but people who can say, "I love you, and I think you're capable of more."

Look for people who celebrate your evolution, not just your past. Some people love you best when you stay the same. The right people aren't threatened by who you're becoming. The “wrong” ones are.

Look for people who can sit with discomfort. These are the people who don't rush to fix, judge, or change the subject when things get real.

Look for people who understand what you're building and why it matters - even if it's not their path. The ones who ask thoughtful questions instead of offering empty praise or unsolicited advice.

Look for reciprocity. Healthy friendships don't keep score, but they do feel balanced. Support flows both ways over time.

Look for presence. Someone who puts the phone down, who remembers what matters to you, who shows up when they say they will.

And just as important: be that person. Be the one who asks the deeper question, who listens all the way through, who reaches out instead of waiting. Be the one who tells the truth about where you actually are - both the struggles and the wins.

You don't attract depth by demanding it. You attract it by modeling it.

There is something profoundly regulating about being in a room where you don't have to perform. We see it over and over again at our I Do Epic LIVE event, and it is absolutely beautiful to watch. In fact, it is the reason why we throw our event in the first place. It’s a room where you can exhale and let your shoulders drop and know that your story doesn't shock anyone. Where your ambition doesn't make you "too much" and your tenderness isn't a liability. Where someone says, "Tell me about it," and actually means it.

When we gather like that, something ancient wakes up. Our nervous systems soften, and our hearts open just enough to let someone else in. Our defenses lower because they don't need to be so high anymore. We remember who we are. We remember what's possible. And, guess what? That's not self-help. That's just being human.

If you've been feeling disconnected lately, you’re not alone. It's a cultural moment. And you don't fix it by trying harder to be impressive. You fix it by being brave enough to be real. By intentionally choosing depth over convenience, presence over performance, and people over personas.

Reach out to someone today - not to impress them, but to see them. Tell the truth about how you're actually doing, what you're actually working on, and what actually matters to you. Create space for someone else to do the same.

We don't need more followers or more strategies or more noise. We need each other. We need people who get it, who see us, who are building something meaningful too and understand what that takes. And when we find those people (when we choose to play full out together ) everything changes. Healing stops being something we chase alone. Building stops feeling like a lonely grind. And life becomes something we grow into, side by side.