Self-Soothing or Self Destruction? Why we’re reaching for everything except human connection

Recently, Matt Willis spoke with neuroscientist TJ Power on his mental health and addiction podcast, On The Mend.

Kicking off the chat, Matt read a quote from TJ’s Instagram that I can’t stop thinking about. It lists the ways we try to soothe ourselves; alcohol, scrolling, fast food, social media. Then it names them for what they often are; escape sold as fun, validation sold as friendship.

Something suddenly made sense to me. I’ve done it all; reached for distraction instead of presence. I’ve tried to fill a hole and created more noise.

I am the sort of person who chases human connection like I’m playing the most important game of tag in the school playground. A genuine spring pops into my step whenever I bump into someone at the supermarket and have an impromptu chat.

Last week, I went into an actual shop to get my son’s passport photos taken and was served by a real human who was so friendly, it MADE my day. I don’t need an elaborate activity with my friends. No escape room, no crazy golf course. I just need them there, present, perhaps sitting on something comfy with minimum distraction. Yet, like most of us, I don’t always choose to chase this. I choose to chase what is being sold to me, disguised as something more appealing than just other humans.

You might recognise this scenario; it’s evening, my kids are winding down after a hectic dinner, and finally, I’m on the sofa. I scroll through Instagram, telling myself I just need a minute to zone out. A few minutes pass. I need this. The 30 minute timer I set goes off and I tap ‘ignore for today’. I keep scrolling. But, I’m not enjoying it. I’m not learning anything. I’m not connecting with anybody, not commenting, chatting, liking. I just scroll. And I can’t stop. I tell myself I’ll stop in a second. My husband calls me and I shout, “Yeah, coming…” and yet, I keep scrolling. Just one more. It might be funny! It might be thought-provoking! When I finally drag myself up and throw the phone aside, the room feels empty. I am empty…

…And a little bit broke. I might have bought something spontaneously during the scroll sesh. A lipstick promising a smudged “French” look. Baggy trousers that looked amazing on the “normal person” (-a-hem, model) and will no doubt look daft on me. A supplement “guaranteed” to banish bloating once and for all. As I wait 5-14 days for the item to arrive, I will no doubt question my choices and feel a bit icky, whilst also hopeful that I haven’t been scammed.

Ugh.

Now, I absolutely do NOT feel like this after multiple, random conversations in real life. On Friday mornings, after school drop off, I go for coffee at the local cafe along with other parents. This weekly hour fills my soul. Subject matter ranges from the mundane to the deeply meaningful, and we can chat about the recent Oscar nominations, menopause, and our children kicking off about socks simultaneously. When I return to my desk on a Friday, I feel different from other days. Lighter. I’ve had some damn fine human connection and it’s like gold dust.

But we live in a culture that throws substitutes our way disguised as connection. Dangerously, they work just enough to keep us coming back. Alcohol dulls the edge. Social media provides a sense of validation. Scrolling simulates company. And yet, admitting we’re hungry for something more can feel uncomfortable, even embarrassing. ‘Oh, I need some real people around me! Sorry, am I being needy?!’

Reaching out can feel risky. I’ve worried that if I say I’m struggling, I might get an eye‑roll, a “what now?” But I messaged a friend the other day, confessing I was in a strange headspace.

Pressing send felt like exposing a raw nerve. Why dare to burden someone else? Her reply came; simple, patient, and with love. We didn’t solve the problem, but the weight lifted dramatically. My nervous system settled. Real medicine. No algorithm, fast food, or scrolling feed can offer that. I’m not alone in trying routines or hacks to feel less anxious, restless, or lonely.

I’ve watched videos inspiring me to bake sugar‑free muffins or get up early for yoga. I’ve eaten fast food for instant comfort. I’ve bought fancy items for a fleeting sense of purpose. Sure, they work temporarily. But they don’t hold me when I’m raw.

When Matt Willis finished reading the quote, it ended with a simple warning; don’t feed the best parts of being human with artificial fuel. Perhaps it’s better heard as an invitation. To pay attention to the places where connection lives. To notice when we’re reaching for distraction instead of asking for support. To allow ourselves to lean on people without shame or calculation.

So much honest joy can be found in the ordinary. You don’t need to organise a school reunion or be invited to the wedding of the year to experience - or enjoy - human connection. Just getting up and going to the shops instead of ordering everything online will give you a boost. A cuppa with a friend can remind you that you’re not alone. These moments, simple and unremarkable to some, are exactly where our best selves are nurtured and found.

Watch the full episode here: