Three years ago, I was sitting in a cramped Bangkok apartment, supposedly living my dream as a digital nomad. Yet I felt more isolated than I ever had back in my corporate cubicle days.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, traveling the world, working from exotic locations, and supposedly “living the life.” But most days, I’d roll out of bed at noon, grab instant noodles for breakfast, and spend hours mindlessly scrolling my phone before reluctantly opening my laptop.

Sound familiar?

US general surgeon Vivek H. Murthy once said, “Loneliness is like hunger or thirst — a feeling the body sends us when something we need for survival is missing”. I can relate; I was starving for connection, yet somehow feeding myself all the wrong things.

The statistics back up just how common this struggle is. Figures by Cigna suggest nearly 8 in 10 Gen Z adults and 7 in 10 millennials feel lonely. We’re more connected than ever, yet feeling more alone.

It took me hitting rock bottom—missing client deadlines, gaining weight, and having my mom ask if I was “okay” during our weekly video calls—to realize something had to change.

That’s when I identified five behaviors that were keeping me trapped in this cycle. Ditching them didn’t happen overnight, but it completely transformed how I experience both solitude and social connection.

1. Endless social media scrolling

Let’s start with the obvious one, but stick with me because there’s more to this than you might think.

I used to wake up and immediately reach for my phone. Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, TikTok—rinse and repeat. Hours would vanish into the void of other people’s highlight reels.

Here’s what I didn’t realize: I was using social media as a substitute for real connection. It felt like I was being social, but I was actually isolating myself further.

Researchers have found that increased time on social media was linked to greater feelings of loneliness. I can attest to this. The more I consumed other people’s content, the more inadequate my own life felt. Everyone else seemed to be having more fun, making more money, or living more interesting lives.

The worst part? I wasn’t even engaging meaningfully. I was a passive consumer, scrolling endlessly without contributing anything or forming genuine connections.

When I finally deleted the apps from my phone (not the accounts, just the apps), something interesting happened. Those first few days felt weird—like phantom limb syndrome. I’d reach for my phone and then remember there was nothing to mindlessly scroll.

But after a week, I started noticing things. The way light hit my apartment wall in the afternoon. The sounds of the street outside. My own thoughts, for once.

That mental space I reclaimed? I used it to reach out to actual friends, plan video calls, and even work on projects I’d been putting off for months.

2. Avoiding uncomfortable emotions

This one’s tougher to admit, but I was an expert at emotional avoidance.

Feeling anxious about a client project? Time to binge-watch Netflix. Feeling sad about missing home? Let’s order takeout and play video games until 3 AM. Feeling lonely? Well, that’s what social media is for, right?

I had an entire arsenal of distractions to avoid sitting with difficult feelings. The problem is that when you numb the bad emotions, you also numb the good ones.

I realized this when I was in Chiang Mai, staying at this beautiful co-working space surrounded by other digital nomads. On paper, it should have been perfect. But I felt disconnected from everyone, including myself.

That’s when it hit me: I’d become so good at avoiding discomfort that I’d lost touch with what I actually wanted and needed.

The shift came when I started what I call “emotional check-ins.” Three times a day—morning, afternoon, and evening—I’d ask myself: “What am I feeling right now?” Not what I thought I should be feeling, but what was actually there.

At first, it was mostly anxiety and a vague sense of restlessness. But as I got better at sitting with these feelings instead of immediately distracting myself, patterns emerged. I noticed I felt most connected when I was learning something new or helping someone with a problem.

These insights guided me toward activities that actually fulfilled me rather than just filled time.

3. Isolating when I felt down

Experts have noted that “loneliness can generate a vicious cycle in which lonely people withdraw further because they perceive social interactions as negative or unfriendly”.

This was me to a T.

When I felt low, my instinct was to hibernate. Cancel plans, decline invitations, and retreat into my apartment until I felt “ready” to be social again. The problem? That day never came.

I remember turning down an invitation to join some fellow nomads for a weekend trip to the islands near Koh Samui. I told myself I needed to catch up on work, but really, I just felt too drained to be around people.

That weekend, alone in my apartment while everyone else was out having adventures, I felt worse than ever. I started to convince myself that maybe I just wasn’t cut out for the nomad lifestyle—that maybe I was better off isolated.

The breakthrough came when I made a rule for myself: if someone invited me to something, I had to say yes, even if I didn’t feel like it. Especially if I didn’t feel like it.

This led to some of my most meaningful experiences. That cooking class in Hanoi where I met Sarah, who became one of my closest friends. The hiking group in Bali that introduced me to meditation. The co-working session in Tokyo that led to a collaboration with another freelancer.

None of these would have happened if I’d followed my impulse to isolate.

The key insight? Connection often comes before the feeling of wanting connection. You have to show up first, and the motivation follows.

4. Waiting for others to make the first move

I had this weird belief that reaching out to people was somehow needy or desperate.

I’d see someone’s Instagram story from a coffee shop I loved and think, “I should message them to meet up,” but then I’d talk myself out of it. What if they’re busy? What if they think I’m being too forward? What if they don’t respond?

So I’d wait for others to reach out to me. And guess what? It rarely happened.

This changed during a stint in Ho Chi Minh City. I was feeling particularly isolated and noticed another American nomad, Jake, posting about working from the same co-working space I frequented. Instead of my usual overthinking, I just sent him a direct message: “Hey, want to grab coffee after work?”

He responded within an hour, and we ended up having one of the best conversations I’d had in months. Turns out, he’d been feeling the same way but was also hesitant to reach out.

That experience taught me something crucial: most people are just as eager for genuine connection as you are. They’re just waiting for someone else to make the first move.

I started applying this everywhere. Messaging old friends I hadn’t talked to in months. Suggesting activities to acquaintances. Organizing group dinners at co-working spaces.

The response was overwhelmingly positive. People appreciated the initiative, and many mentioned they’d been meaning to reach out but hadn’t gotten around to it.

Being the connector, the one who brings people together, shifted my entire social dynamic. Instead of waiting on the sidelines hoping someone would include me, I became someone who creates inclusion for others.

5. Treating productivity as my only source of self-worth

This might be the most insidious one because it masquerades as something positive.

I’d tied my entire sense of value to how much I could accomplish in a day. If I finished three client projects, answered all my emails, and wrote 2,000 words, I was worthy of rest and connection. If I had an off day, I felt like I didn’t deserve to enjoy myself.

This created a brutal cycle. When I felt lonely or low-energy, I’d beat myself up for not being productive enough, which made me feel worse, which made it even harder to be productive.

I remember one particular day in Bali when I’d planned to work on a big project but ended up feeling too drained to focus. Instead of acknowledging that maybe I needed rest, I spent the entire day feeling guilty about “wasting time,” which made the next day even harder.

The shift came when I started tracking my mood alongside my productivity. I noticed that my most productive days often came after I’d spent time with people or done something purely for enjoyment.

Taking a motorbike ride through the countryside wasn’t “productive,” but it recharged me in a way that made the next week’s work flow effortlessly. Having a long dinner with a fellow nomad didn’t generate any income, but the conversation sparked ideas for three new article topics.

I started scheduling “unproductive” time like I scheduled client calls. Saturday mornings became sacred for whatever felt good—whether that was exploring a new neighborhood, reading fiction, or just sitting at a café people-watching.

This wasn’t just about work-life balance; it was about recognizing that I’m a human being, not a productivity machine. My worth isn’t determined by my output, and neither is my right to connection and joy.

The transformation wasn’t instant

Changing these behaviors didn’t happen overnight. There were setbacks, days when I fell back into old patterns, and moments when I questioned whether any of it was working.

But gradually, things shifted. I started waking up excited about the day instead of dreading it. I formed genuine friendships with people from around the world. I discovered parts of myself I’d forgotten existed when I was trapped in the loneliness-lethargy cycle.

The most surprising change? I became more productive, not less. When you’re not constantly fighting feelings of isolation and low energy, you have so much more capacity for everything else.

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in any of these behaviors, here’s what I want you to know: you’re not broken, and you’re not alone in feeling this way. And sometimes the path out of loneliness and lethargy isn’t about adding more to your life—it’s about removing what’s keeping you stuck.