Publications

Guest article by Sofia de la Fuente Garcia, PhD, GMBPsS, FHEA; Psychologist and Research Fellow at the University of Edinburgh; INT-ACT - Intangible Cultural Heritage: Bridging the Past, Present and Future. 

How often do we stop to consider whether mental health isn’t just about what’s difficult inside us, but also about what’s missing around us? Alongside the statistics and clinical terms, a quieter, somewhat older truth keeps surfacing: we are not meant to weather life alone. Human beings are wired for connection. A voice that listens, a hand that reaches back, a place with heartfelt memories—these are not luxuries, but lifelines. Again and again, research shows it’s not just medicine or mindfulness that helps us thrive—it’s other people. The communities we build, the places we belong to, the moments we feel seen and held. While this should not be news, in a world that often mistakes disconnection for independence, it might still be something we’re learning to take seriously: connection is a pillar in the architecture of wellbeing. 

Neglecting this basic human requirement—treating social connection as optional or secondary to self-reliance and individual resilience—is an oversight we can no longer afford. To move forward in public mental health, we need to ask questions accordingly: How close do people feel to others around them? Do they feel part of a community and connected to a place they can call their own? Do they have safe spaces—both social and physical—where their identity feels recognized and held?

Wellbeing through connectedness

In a research study on the psychological effects of the COVID-19 lockdown in Scotland (PsyVoiD), our team combined structured mental health assessments with spoken narrative diaries. While exercise and spirituality supported wellbeing as expected, the most significant improvements came from social and relational activities: speaking more frequently with friends, engaging in online group interactions, and even increased sexual intimacy. Interestingly, the only solo activity matching these sociosexual benefits was sleep—an established cornerstone of psychological health. 

In parallel, our ongoing work on intangible cultural heritage interventions for wellbeing (INT-ACT), uses digital technology to facilitate immersive and accessible interactions with local heritage. Here too, the aim is not mere information, but connection—to place, to history, to identity. This connection to place has been recently emphasised in another research project exploring personal narratives of psychedelic experiences in Scotland. Experiences of foraging—whether for magic mushrooms or simply engaging with local plants—are described moments of exchange, attunement with the land, seasonal rhythm, and insight—of being part of something bigger. Healing, in these accounts, was not abstract or purely internal. It was grounded, reciprocal, and relational—between people, and between people and place. As grassroots movements grow, these narratives remind us that wellbeing is not merely personal or interpersonal—it is ecological. 

Just as ecological intimacy speaks of roots and grounding, migration research and therapeutic practice highlight what happens when those roots are lost. Many people today live far from their origins—for work, education, safety, or opportunity. While global mobility brings diversity and growth, it can also uproot us. In my work with migrants and international workers, emotional struggles often stem less from logistics and more from a quiet but persistent longing for belonging. Again and again, I hear how being unmoored from familiar environments and long-standing relationships creates emotional dissonance. 

Connection as organising principle

Furthermore, recent research shows that, despite many of us increasingly finding company and solace in interactive artificial intelligences, technology’s social and emotional benefits tend to decrease as usage increases. While many animals return to their den or nest for safety and comfort, humans turn to each other—relationships are our shelter. Our nervous systems regulate through social cues, our emotions are reflected and soothed by others, and our sense of safety is deeply rooted in closeness. Community offers stability, shared meaning, protection, and emotional safety. More than a buffer against distress, connectedness shapes who we are. Our sense of identity and self-worth develops largely through our relationships with others and with the places we inhabit. Through others, we find a mirror; through attachment to place—whether it’s a hometown, a cultural heritage site, or simply a familiar street—we construct meaning, continuity, and a story about where we come from and where we belong. 

Our environments—digital and physical—decisively shape our connections and, hence, our wellbeing. Understanding how to optimise technology to foster rather than hinder connection, and designing neighbourhoods for proximity, encounter, and inclusion, is not merely aesthetically pleasing—it’s psychologically protective. Policies that invest in these aspects not as optional extras but as core indicators and drivers of wellbeing will move us closer to a more human-centered, resilient vision of public mental health—one rooted not just in the absence of illness, but in the presence of connection.