Summer Isn't Always Sunshine

Why do we feel lonely during summer, the one season we're supposed to be having the time of our lives?

Last weekend I was sitting by my apartment complex's pool with a book and a Diet Coke, feeling completely fine. Better than fine. Then I picked up my phone.

Twenty photos from a friend's trip through Eastern Europe. My cousin's story at a beach resort. My friends back home at dinner without me. An ad for Disney tickets. And somehow, in about ninety seconds, my perfectly nice pool day started to feel small and a little lonely. Nothing about the day had changed. Only what I was measuring it against.

I don't think I'm the only one who does this in the summer.

We all have a very specific picture of what these months are supposed to look like. Endless sun, spontaneous adventures, a group of friends watching fireworks on the Fourth, crystal water, the whole thing. It's in commercials, it's in every show, it's in every vacation dump on your feed. And underneath the picture is an expectation, not just of what summer should look like but of what it should feel like.

So when it doesn't feel like that, something weird happens. We feel down during the exact season we're supposed to be up. And then we feel bad about feeling bad.

If that's you right now, I promise it isn't just you. More people are talking about summer loneliness online, which is genuinely good. But there's a message tucked inside a lot of those videos that I want to come back to at the end, because I think it's quietly doing damage: you don't need friends at all.

First, the why.

This season is not as easy on us as we think

Despite everything the season promises, Dr. Rob Whitley, a professor in the Department of Psychiatry at McGill, points out that loneliness and psychiatric difficulties actually tend to climb in spring and summer for some people.

Part of it is just biology. It's hot, it's humid, and there's suddenly a lot more daylight than our bodies have gotten used to over the past several months. That shows up in our circadian rhythms, so our sleep. In our hormones and neurotransmitters, so our mood. In how our bodies manage energy, so how tired we feel.

To be clear, this isn't the whole story and it isn't a guarantee. Not everyone is vulnerable in the summer, the same way not everyone is vulnerable to the holiday blues in December. These things contribute. They don't decide.

The part that actually gets us: comparison

Here's where I think the real damage happens.

Whitley makes a point that stuck with me: the pain of being socially isolated gets amplified in summer, because summer is when everyone else is visibly out doing things. In the cold, dark months, nobody is having a better time than you either. That's oddly comforting. In July, the evidence of everyone else's good time is everywhere.

I think there are three things that stack on top of each other:

1. Comparison, and the expectations that come with it. Sometimes you don't have the time, the money, or the bandwidth for a grand trip. That's fine, and you can make something good out of what's around you. Right up until you open an app and watch everyone else at festivals and beaches and airports, apparently having a better summer than you.

2. Your routine falls apart. A lot of us lose the structure we've held all year. This is especially brutal if you're in college, where you leave a bubble that made friendship almost automatic and land somewhere your people aren't. You don't just lose the plans, you lose the proximity that made plans happen without effort.

3. You don't have anyone to call. Some people have the idea and the energy and the free Saturday, and no one to share it with. And so much of what summer asks of us is built for groups. The Fourth. The beach day. The trip. Drinks on a patio. It's a season designed around having people.

The through line is this: we have a very clear expectation of what summer is. When we don't meet it, or we watch other people meeting it better, it stings.

So what do we actually do?

Practice doing things alone. You can have a genuinely good summer without a big group. Doing things solo is intimidating at first, and I'd rather you feel a little awkward at a movie than let the whole season pass. Pick the thing you keep putting off. Take yourself on a date. Some people are naturally better at this than others, but it is absolutely a skill, and skills get better with reps.

Reach out first. I know. It feels embarrassing and it's the easiest thing in the world to postpone. Do it anyway. Text the friend. Send the picture. Schedule the call. Book the visit. Almost nobody is offended by being thought of.

Take a break from the apps. Comparison needs material. Stop supplying it for a few days and see what happens to your baseline.

"So if I can do things alone, do I even need friends?"

Yes.

You can do things alone. You can learn to enjoy your own company. You can build a whole summer out of solo plans and have it be a good one. Feeling lonely sometimes, especially around big social holidays, is normal and human.

Being lonely all the time is a different thing, and it isn't harmless.

The research here is not subtle. A recent study in Nature Communications found evidence that loneliness and social isolation lead to poorer mental health and wellbeing, and that loneliness specifically leads to poorer general health. And when researchers followed more than 12,000 US adults over years in the Health and Retirement Study, the people experiencing loneliness and social isolation were at higher risk for chronic disease, disability, and death. Not just fewer years. Fewer good years.

Not everyone needs the same amount of social connection, and I'll defend solitude all day. But there's a difference between "I'm learning to be alone" and "I've decided I don't need anyone," and one of those is a coping mechanism dressed up as a personality.

Get re-centered

Reaching out, picking the plan, making it actually happen. It's work, and it takes time most of us don't feel like we have.

It's still worth it. Keep the people who matter close, and let us help you find the initiative to take your social life back.