Embodied Community
The cure for isolation and despair
When I am truly with other people, I feel connected to the world and to myself in ways that give me a sense of hope. I feel wholly myself in the best way possible, and I feel wholly present to the people around me. Not only to witness who they are in their own unique ways, but to make space for them to not have to be so polished. We can all take a deep breath and sink into rest, knowing we are cared for by ourselves and each other.
This is what embodied community feels like. My hope is that this idea feels familiar to you in some way, even if it’s been a while since you’ve felt it.
Disembodiment, Isolation, and Helplessness
The concept of embodied community started stirring in my mind as we began seeing an increase in ICE raids, redacted Epstein files, and political division causing social and relational fragmentation. Largely, an increase in violence, both physical and emotional, brings feelings of powerlessness, helplessness, isolation, and dissociation to those experiencing and witnessing it.
During a time when we are constantly experiencing or witnessing suffering, a sense of division tends to set in that can be absolutely detrimental to our mental health. Division can take many different forms. Right now, I often see political and moral division as the frontrunner of disconnection. When we see people advocating for something that goes against our beliefs about humanity, or even enacting harm based on those beliefs, divisiveness ensues. And please hear me when I say this: divisiveness in many of these circumstances is appropriate and important. Causing harm to another person, both physically and mentally, should be a cause of division followed by action to stand against such harm.
But when we live in a constant stream of these events, disembodiment often slowly sets in, leading us to numbness and disconnection. And numbness, in my experience, tends to lead to a further lack of empathy and care, pulling us down a destructive path and continuing the cycle of dissociation as we try to protect ourselves from complete shutdown and despair.
Information Consumption and Our Nervous Systems
Disembodiment can take many forms. I tend to view it on three planes: personal, collective, and political.
When we spend hours each day in a screen-mediated reality, our capacity to truly feel and process emotion begins to shift. The nervous system, which was designed for physical presence, for eye contact and breath and warmth through physical touch, begins to adapt to an inundated, heightened, and depersonalized experience of the world. We become accustomed to witnessing suffering at a distance, processed through a screen, accompanied by an algorithm that serves us the next piece of content before we’ve had a chance to be moved by the last one.
And so we scroll through videos of ICE raids, children in Gaza, strangers’ opinions, and click bait. We go on scrolling or watching not because we are cruel or don’t care, but because our bodies are doing the best they can to manage an onslaught of witnessing and experiencing harm and violence in ways we were never meant to.
So what do we do with division? And what about that loneliness and isolation that can take over when we are witnessing or experiencing hate, harm, and a sense of helplessness to change anything?
Small Pockets of Safety and Community
When large scale change feels unattainable for the individual, it’s important that we look to past groups of people experiencing fear and oppression for guidance. When I look at the histories of people of color, queer folks, and religious minorities, I notice one powerful constant: small pockets of safety in community. This idea is meant to go far beyond groups of people simply gathering, but communities that practice and embody love, connection, empathy, and care for one another through intentional collectivism.
\When we can’t achieve this in an in-person setting, we can still use screens in positive ways for our nervous systems. Group zoom calls, facetime, and building community through online spaces are just as important for our nervous systems, especially when we don’t have access to safe community immediately around us.
While I do believe these spaces enact change on a larger scale, my primary hope is that they allow each of us as individuals to reconnect with people who make us feel understood and important. It’s in these relational spaces that we can slowly feel safe enough to reconnect to our bodies, sensations, and emotions. When we experience that reconnection, the humanity that holds us together begins to feel real again, often restoring our empathy, our sense of empowerment, and our faith in one another.
Attunement as Resistance
Through caring for others and allowing ourselves to be cared for, we fight the systemic demand for disembodiment, disempowerment, and disconnection. To heal, we need presence, connection, and embodiment with those around us.
Embodied community goes hand-in-hand with the work of justice. It is not perfect. We will still experience hurt, disagreement, and conflict with those we are in community with because we are human. What is important is having a space where we can repair, heal, and grow when these things happen.
Isolation is the most powerful tool for despair. When we return to each other, we become capable again of returning both to our bodies and to the connection that regulates our nervous systems. Not only does this help us leave a state of despair, but gives us the emotional support we need to enact change in ourselves, our communities, and our society.
What This Can Look Like
Embodied community can be had in grief circles, community gardens, protest lines, pottery studios, and living rooms. It can be cooking and eating with people instead of alone, going on a walk with someone instead of texting, or joining a group with people who share similar interests or beliefs. What’s important is that people are allowed to be unpolished, fully themselves without judgement, and both give and receive care, empathy, and connection.
Reflection: When did you last feel truly held by a community? What did that feel like in your body? What would it take to find your way back there?
Thanks for writing this.
A lot of what we need isn't community in the abstract. It's just a door opener, something specific enough to show up to, weird enough so that nobody has to perform, and embodied enough that the nervous system gets the memo before the mind catches up. Deep down we want to connect and just need some structure that gives an excuse to be ourselves.