Against the silent epidemic: loneliness, bonds, and the right to keep being present

Unwanted loneliness is more than emotional discomfort: it is a public health issue, a social challenge, and an urgent call to rebuild the bonds that sustain us.

We live longer, but do we live accompanied?

We live longer, but sometimes we live more alone. And loneliness, when it settles in, not only saddens it also deteriorates. Today we know that unwanted loneliness directly impacts physical and mental health. It’s not a hunch or a poetic metaphor: it’s evidence. Chronic loneliness in older people is associated with a higher risk of functional decline, anxiety, depression, and an overall deterioration of health. It affects sleep, the immune system, cardiovascular health, and quality of life.

And yet, it remains a silenced reality, experienced with guilt, shame, or resignation. It’s not easily acknowledged. Sometimes, it isn’t even named.

Loneliness is not invisible: it’s structural

It’s not visible, but it’s felt. And not just by those who experience it, but also by the environments that stop listening to their voices. Unwanted loneliness is not just an emotional issue. It is a social, cultural, and structural phenomenon. Often, it is not chosen it is imposed by the loss of close people, fragile support networks, lack of transportation, or urban planning that isolates. Also, by a cultural model that has weakened community ties and equated independence with total self-sufficiency.

Fighting loneliness means transforming our environments, but also our beliefs. It means rebuilding a culture of encounter, mutual care, and recognition of others as a necessary part of our own lives.
 

It’s not exclusive to old age, but it worsens with age

Unwanted loneliness affects all ages. It is present in youth, in people with disabilities, in those going through grief, in migrants who have left their network of affection behind. But in old age, it can become especially cruel, as it combines with other losses: health, mobility, social prominence. And because our societies, even today, tend to push aside those who are no longer of working age.

Despite this, many older people still have much to contribute. We need to stop seeing this stage as a closure and start seeing it as a time for presence, for conversation, for connection.

What works: meaningful bonds, active community

The good news is that there are ways to act. And they work. There are no miracle solutions, but there are effective strategies. Structured group activities—like workshops, book clubs, or walking groups—have been shown to reduce feelings of loneliness. So have intergenerational programs, time banks, neighborhood networks, or accessible cultural spaces. The important thing is not the format, but the purpose: to create spaces where older adults are not passive recipients of help but protagonists of their participation.

Digitalization can also be an ally, as long as it is approached with respect. Learning to use a smartphone or make a video call can open a window to the world. But it doesn’t replace human contact. Technology should add, not replace. And when introduced with support and purpose, it can be a powerful tool to reconnect with the world, rebuild networks, and keep long-standing bonds alive.

Community as a health strategy

Fighting loneliness is not just a matter of compassion: it is a public health strategy. Investing in bonds costs less than hospitalizations. Supporting networks costs less than dealing with avoidable emergencies. Promoting social participation in old age is not entertainment, it is prevention. It is dignity.

Communities that care are communities that recognize, that reach out, that do not forget. A city that places benches in the shade, adjusts schedules, facilitates transportation, or creates intergenerational spaces is taking care of its collective health. It is creating infrastructure so that encounters remain possible.

No one should reach old age alone. And if they do, they should not remain that way

Living longer must also mean still being present. Still counting. Still mattering. Because being present is not just a physical matter. It means having someone to talk to, someone to share with, someone to build everyday life with.
And that, many times, starts with something as simple —and as deep— as having someone to drink a coffee with, someone to exchange a glance with, someone to build a bit of daily companionship with.

Networks don’t build themselves. They need people who greet, who ask, who listen. They need you. Because sometimes, being a community begins with a single call.

What if we started building it with you?

Who could you call today so they know they still matter?