The Medicine in Belonging
Belonging is a deeply human need.
It's more than being surrounded by others, part of the herd or crowd.
It’s about feeling seen, accepted, and understood for who we truly are. And it doesn’t always require big gestures, grand summons, or the gravitational pull of a mob. Sometimes, it’s just an unspoken understanding, care without question, a connection that quietly binds us.
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For much of my life, I’ve felt like an outsider. As a child, I found more joy in basement art projects and the imagined lives of the dolls piled on my bed than in the social world. While my older sister, Lori, was driven by connection and popularity, I found solace in creativity and the company of a few close friends. When Lori left for college and we moved from New Jersey to a Chicago suburb, I became the "new kid" at a high school large enough that no one noticed me as new. My 1980s East Coast electric blue Doc Martens and asymmetrical hair were just new-wave enough for these Midwestern teens, in their button-down Oxfords and pastel polo shirts, to label me "weird." Basically, not worth knowing.
None of this is particularly unusual for adolescence—many of us had our own experiences of not fitting in. I was fortunate to have parental support that gave me the security to navigate any environment, no matter how shy I was. Still, those early feelings of being an outsider, however minor, set the stage for the profound sense of isolation I would encounter later in life—becoming a widow just three days after my 36th birthday. When my late husband, Isamu, passed away from a brain tumor, leaving me and our 19-month-old son to navigate life off the common path, I found myself facing a new and deeper sense of alienation, as if the world I once knew was no longer a place where I belonged.
What does belonging really mean?
So, what does belonging really mean, especially in times when we feel disconnected or misunderstood?
And how does this powerful concept play a role in our health?
As we explore these questions, I want to acknowledge that belonging can feel especially elusive in moments of vulnerability. When a diagnosis changes how we see our body or our life, or when we seek answers only to find that the healthcare system doesn’t always offer clarity, it’s easy to feel alone.
As we age or express ourselves in ways that don’t align with cultural “norms,” we may feel isolated, overlooked, “othered,” or even wrong. Chronic illness, mental health struggles, physical differences, and life-altering events can all create a sense of not fitting in—a feeling of being unseen or misunderstood. We can feel “other” at home, in community, or at work. And there are plenty of systemic ways in which we determine who and who does not belong. In fact, at times belonging can be defined by exclusion itself, and the act of determining who to exclude.
Yet, even in moments when we recognize we’ve strayed from the beaten path, there’s profound potential for connection and healing. Belonging becomes more than just being accepted for who we are, it’s also about recognizing and creating space for the humanity of others, even when their beliefs or actions differ from our own. And fostering belonging is about navigating the complexities of human experience with empathy, rather than rejection. True belonging, after all, requires us to embrace both the parts of ourselves and others that make us different, and to recognize that we are all worthy of being seen and heard.
I invite us to approach the concept of belonging with openness and self-compassion, recognizing that the exile we may have felt at times, or may be feeling now, is real. Sometimes, we outgrow the places of belonging that once nurtured us. Many of us have experienced the reality of returning to a once-familiar place and finding that it no longer resonates. When we recognize the sensation of belonging that was within us and release the connection to the person or place, we make space for new connections that reflect the fullness of who we are becoming. Some parts of us may belong in one place, while other parts find their home elsewhere. And that's perfectly okay—each of us is a mosaic of different experiences and connections.
“Belonging doesn’t always require grand gestures. It’s the quiet, unspoken understanding, the care without question, that binds us together.”
After Isamu’s passing, there were a few powerful moments of belonging that I’ll forever hold in my heart—a touchstone for what being truly accepted and welcomed really feels like.
Those first months were a blur of grief, confusion, deep reckoning, and magical thinking. I was still learning how to be a single mother to a toddler, how to release the preoccupation with Isamu’s health and medical management, and what to do with the emptiness left by the cocoon we had created with each other throughout his diagnosis and treatment. I was unsure how to ask for help or even what help would look like. Isamu and I had turned to each other for almost everything over nearly ten years of our relationship, particularly during the 2+ years of medical therapies. It was a complex mix of conventional and complementary care, carefully orchestrated to support each other without interfering, both in our schedules and in his treatment.
As I quickly came to realize, we often don’t know what true belonging feels like until it’s no longer there—until we’re left to navigate the world without that subtle, steady understanding that we are accepted exactly as we are. It’s in the absence that we sometimes realize the depth of connection we once had, and how vital it was in shaping who we are.
The quiet comfort of being seen
Belonging offers us a sense of stability and regulation. It soothes our bodies in ways that allow us to feel grounded and at ease. It bolsters our confidence and enables us to make leaps and take risks. Our nervous system, which controls how we respond to stress, safety, and connection, is deeply impacted by this sense of belonging. When that affiliation is lost, our bodies can feel unsettled, as though we're searching for calm or rest that has been disrupted, unmoored.
Within the first year after Isamu’s passing, my two-year-old son and I made the drive from Portland to Seattle to spend a weekend with my cousins. They were gathering to celebrate a friend’s graduation from acupuncture school. Still in survival mode—juggling the responsibilities of solo parenting, grasping for a sense of normalcy, and not knowing how to ask for help—I arrived without expectations. What I found surprised me: asking did not matter. It was as if belonging was woven into the fabric of my time with my cousins. Without words or requests, each one stepped in, anticipating what was needed, supporting and seeing me in ways I hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t experienced in this new chapter of life.
One cousin scooped my boy into his arms, another threw the diaper bag over his shoulder, and yet another lifted the stroller, relieving me of my usual burdens, allowing me the rare pleasure to just enjoy the moment. My needs were anticipated and appreciated before I even had the thought to articulate them. In that small, unspoken act of care, I felt a deep sense of kinship—a reminder that, even in my seeming brokenness, I was supported and loved. Included.
That moment was an impressive reminder that belonging doesn’t always require big gestures or grand statements—it’s in the unspoken understanding, the care without question, and the connection that binds us.
What does belonging look like?
As with so many things, what belonging looks like, and how we experience it, varies greatly from person to person. For some of us, belonging may come from being part of a larger group—surrounded by many voices, perspectives, and interactions. This could be a religious or spiritual community, a network of people who share similar beliefs or lived experiences, or those from the same culture or place of origin. There might be a shared penchant for a certain game, musical genre, or types of activities or foods. Meditation, mountaineering, or the art of making Mexican mole for a crowd. Belonging might also come from others who rally around a shared cause, a collective effort to address something important to you. In these spaces of comfort and acceptance, we may even find the courage to speak difficult truths, knowing we will be heard and honored. Whatever form it takes, these alliances provide a sense of connection, support, and a place to feel embraced and valued.
But what does that actually feel like?
What happens when you know, deep in your bones, that you belong?
It’s not always something you can articulate. It can be the warmth in your chest when you enter a room and you know, without a word, that you're in the right place.
More recently I’ve found this sensation in dance class. When I returned to Portland after a trip to New York, I was determined to find my way back to dance after a decades-long break. I wasn’t looking for competition, judgment, or a scene that focused on perfection. I wanted a space where I could just be, where my body could move freely without the need for applause or recognition or even a watchful eye. What I found was belonging.
Without saying a word, where nobody knew my name, it was immediately recognizable. Every session starts with a cheer for anybody attending their first class and a reminder to just have fun, and that nobody is watching you. (This serves as an understated invitation, which can be considered the first step in any situation of belonging). The crowded room is blessed by people of all different shapes, sizes, colors and identities. Collectively, we move our bodies to choreography, individual yet unified. We hoot with the familiar songs, twerk at the right moments, and applaud each other when someone bravely takes the stage to join the instructor. It's a place of belonging without any rules of initiation other than showing up.
So, what happens in our bodies when we experience that sense of belonging?
The biology of belonging
Before delving into the biology of belonging, it’s worth considering how belonging has been understood historically in the context of human needs. Psychologist Abraham Maslow, best known for his Hierarchy of Needs, placed belonging at the third level, just above physiological needs and safety. That third category also includes love, relationships, and social connections. According to Maslow’s model, once our basic survival needs are met, we seek connection and acceptance in relationships and communities.
This model suggests that belonging is important but not as foundational as physical safety or physiological needs. But contemporary social psychologists are rethinking this framework. Increasing evidence suggests that belonging may be more central than originally thought—maybe even occupying a space closer to safety and security. Researchers posit that belonging is crucial for our mental and physical well-being, with some suggesting that without a sense of belonging, we feel unsafe in the world, triggering stress responses that are physiologically harmful. This shift in perspective recognizes that without feeling truly connected to others, our sense of security—both emotional and physical—remains unfulfilled. A lack of belonging has been linked to increased rates of anxiety, depression, and even physical illnesses, suggesting that our need for connection may be as vital as the need for safety itself.
Inquiries in the field of psychoneuroimmunology (PNI) and the gut-brain axis have shown that emotional stress, which can arise from a sense of disconnection or lack of belonging, directly impacts digestive distress, anxiety, and migraines. When we experience feelings of isolation or exclusion, our stress response system is activated, leading to higher levels of cortisol. This chronic activation not only disrupts our emotional balance but also affects our physical health, particularly in the digestive system. Chronic stress from isolation can exacerbate conditions like IBS. This emotional strain creates a cycle of physical discomfort, highlighting how loneliness impacts both body and mind. Other symptoms, such as sleep disturbances, chronic fatigue, and even skin conditions like eczema, can also be linked to prolonged stress and feelings of isolation. These symptoms reflect the broader impact that lack of belonging has on both our emotional and physical well-being.
There is a growing body of research that supports the idea that we don’t just survive in community—we thrive and heal in it. Human beings are inherently social creatures, and our welfare is deeply intertwined with the connections we create and nurture. As Michael Marmot emphasizes in his work, The Social Determinants of Health, “The evidence shows that the social environment has a greater impact on health than even genetics or lifestyle. Strong social networks and a sense of belonging are crucial for preventing illness and promoting well-being.”
““The evidence shows that the social environment has a greater impact on health than even genetics or lifestyle. Strong social networks and a sense of belonging are crucial for preventing illness and promoting well-being.””
To get even more granular, one area where belonging has been shown to directly influence our health is through its effect on inflammation. Inflammation, while a natural and necessary part of the immune response, becomes problematic when it’s chronic. And that chronic inflammation contributes to the development of diseases like cardiovascular conditions, diabetes, autoimmune disorders, and most other chronic health diagnoses. Steve Cole's pioneering research in social genomics has demonstrated that the lack of social connection, a key component of belonging, can activate gene expression related to inflammation.
According to Cole’s research, social isolation triggers the activation of stress-related genes, leading to increased inflammation in the body. In this state, the immune system remains in a heightened state of alert, which can contribute to long-term health risks. This persistent state of inflammation is one of the underlying mechanisms that links loneliness and lack of belonging to chronic diseases and even premature aging.
On the other hand, social connection—whether through friendships, family bonds, or community—has the opposite effect. Cole’s work suggests that belonging, in its many forms, can help regulate the body’s stress response, reducing inflammation and promoting better health. Strong social bonds reduce the activity of those inflammation-related genes, helping the immune system function more effectively and improving our resilience to stress. This evidence reinforces the idea that belonging is not just a psychological need, but a biological one that directly impacts our overall health and well-being.
Whether through emotional support, shared understanding, or collective resilience, communities help us weather the storms of life, showing us that healing may not happen in isolation. This sense of belonging, woven into our shared humanity, echoes sentiments often expressed in cultural traditions. Many Black and Asian communities, for example, emphasize the power of the collective—where every individual is supported, nurtured, and uplifted by the whole. As the African proverb reminds us, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
Where belonging finds us
At the same time, it's important to recognize that the experience of belonging isn’t always defined by embracing larger groups around us. For some of us, including myself, belonging might reflect a smaller, more intimate circle, where connection feels meaningful and safe with just a few trusted individuals, like the cousins I’ve known for a lifetime, or even one-on-one time with a friend sipping tea in her kitchen.
We may find belonging with partners, family, friends, or mentors we lean on in times of joy or struggle. And it’s even possible to find meaningful belonging in solitude—in spaces where we reconnect with ourselves, where we feel at peace and integrated, whether that’s through nature, creative expression, meditation, or lost in a book.
Yet there’s a growing public awareness of loneliness that goes beyond these moments of solitude. More and more research is pointing to the critical impact of social isolation on our physical and emotional health. We’re hearing about loneliness as a public health crisis, with studies showing that chronic loneliness can lead to higher risks for conditions like cardiovascular disease, depression, and weakened immune function. It makes me wonder: Is loneliness simply the absence of connection, or is it, at its core, the absence of belonging?
This is where the intersection of loneliness and belonging becomes particularly important. It’s not just about having people around—it’s about the quality of connection and whether it fosters that deep sense of being seen, understood, and accepted for who we truly are. Social isolation, which often feels like an overwhelming emotional void, may reflect the absence of a deeper sense of belonging. In this way, the research suggests that what we truly need isn't just a social presence, but the kind of connection that makes us feel grounded and valued—a reminder that our individual and collective well-being thrives when we belong.
In all its forms, belonging is about finding that place, or those people, (or both), where we can show up as ourselves, without fear of being misunderstood or judged, and where the impression we feel resonates with our truest sense of self. It’s a quality and may have nothing to do with quantity at all. That feeling of belonging exists outside of words, where you are accepted in your purest, most integral form. It's unconditional and it doesn't ask anything of you. It just is.
I asked my friend Claire where she feels the most belonging, knowing her answer would likely be the ocean. Since this sensation of belonging differs from my own, yet still resonates on a similar level, I asked her to share her experience with me:
The first time I truly felt like I belonged, there were no people around. I was alone in the deep ocean, held by the saltwater, surrounded by a pod of spinner dolphins. Far from the debilitating physical pains that kept me grounded on land, I was free.
I belong here, I thought.
These creatures, so different from my gangly self—spinning, twirling, squeaking with delight—made me feel at home, alive, and welcome. None of them cared what I was wearing, how successful I was, or whether I was clever, funny, or aligned with a certain way of life. I didn’t have to do anything at all. I was enough simply as I was.
Not knowing what they could possibly gain from me, I soaked up all they offered… eye contact, squeaks, leaps, yellow heart-shaped leaves, and love—mostly love, with no conditions and no requests.
Whether the dolphins are with me or not, the vast saltwater of the Pacific feels more like home than any place on land. The moment I dive into the first wave, my mind quiets, my body relaxes, and I feel held—cradled in the arms of Mother Nature.
I have one of Claire's leaves beside me as I write, a small piece of the ocean she calls home—a token of our friendship and the connection we share, even divided by that expansive ocean. Her story echoes the healing power of belonging, something I’ve seen firsthand in my practice as a Functional Medicine Nutritionist and in my work with Narrative Medicine. I’ve come to realize that true healing is rooted not just in tending to what seems broken, but in the essential nutrient of belonging.
Healing isn’t just about addressing dysfunction or what isn’t working in the body, as we’re often led to believe by the noise of external voices—from medicine to media to well-meaning advice that infiltrates our lives. It goes beyond the surface, deeper into the stories we carry, both consciously and unconsciously. True healing unfolds in the connections we make—with ourselves, with others, and with the world where we fit.
“Healing goes beyond addressing the dysfunction that may have pushed us to seek help. It’s about understanding the stories we carry, both consciously and unconsciously, and the deep connections we make with ourselves and others along the way.”
Finding connection in unusual places
As I reflect on my own life, I realize that, for some, feelings of disconnection are not just occasional—they can be an ongoing reality. After Isamu’s diagnosis and illness I discovered that the conventional markers of belonging—like age, health, or stage of life—no longer applied in the same way. I found myself having to “opt-in” to the similarities in situations, embracing threads of connection, instead of focusing on the differences in our lives.
Maybe we had a toddler in the same library playgroup, or we belonged to the same co-op. Perhaps we had both lived in San Francisco before moving to Portland. These seemingly small commonalities helped me feel anchored in something familiar and shared, even though everything else in my life felt very “other.” It was in those little connections—through the laughter of other parents in the playgroup circle, the knowing smiles in the bulk herb section, and the mutual understanding of what it meant to transition to a new city—that I began to feel a sense of belonging, even in the midst of profound loss and disconnection.
After Isamu died, I discovered that the hardest days weren’t when I felt sad. Sadness was natural, expected even. The difficult days were those when the discontinuity in lived experiences was so visceral that it was like an invisible yet impenetrable wall separating me from the world, even in the presence of well-meaning sympathy. I longed to be recognized in my experience of loss, yet couldn't find anyone who truly saw that in me, a woman with a toddler on my hip, a familiar image in a story not my own. I wished there was a way for widows to identify each other in a crowd—maybe with a symbolic gesture, a shared mark, or an item of clothing. I hungered for something that allowed me to be identified by those who had walked a similar path, even if decades older than me in their experience of bereavement. I craved moments of connection that enabled me to feel seen in my particular form of grief.
And it’s precisely in these moments of difference and disconnection that we often find new, and perhaps even deeper forms of belonging. These times can guide us to bridge gaps that once divided us, connecting us with others who share a part of our profile or empower us to embark on a journey of self-acceptance that transcends societal norms. We sometimes even begin to find connections in the most unexpected places and find allies among those we thought of as adversaries.
Belonging is a deeply personal need
Belonging itself can be one of those complex feelings that touches us all in different ways. For some of us, it’s a sense of comfort when we’re with family or friends and everything just flows. For others, it’s something felt more profoundly in the synapses—when we’re alone with ourselves or in a peaceful place in nature. An intake of breath can remind us of the beauty of humanity and ‘poof,’ we’re thoroughly connected. Belonging is so personal, yet it’s universally shared.
From a health perspective, belonging is an essential nutrient.
Our body’s need for connection goes beyond emotional safety; it’s rooted in our biology. Extensive research shows that feeling connected activates healing pathways in the brain and body. Social connection, for example, can directly affect our stress response. When we’re in supportive relationships or feel a sense of belonging, our bodies produce lower levels of cortisol, the stress hormone that becomes overactive during stressful life events and, due to the chronic stress of modern life, can fail to return to baseline. Ample production and utilization of cortisol is crucial for preventing chronic diseases such as heart disease, diabetes, and autoimmune disorders, and mitigating the severity and impact they can have on our bodies and lives.
Research conducted by social psychologist Dr. Julianne Holt-Lunstad shows that a lack of social connection is as significant a risk factor for early death as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Her findings underscore the critical role social relationships play not only in emotional health but also in overall physical health and longevity. In fact, the absence of connection is associated with increased inflammation, lower immune function, and even shortened telomeres—the protective caps at the end of our chromosomes that play a role in aging. A 2016 article in PNAS (The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) noted that social isolation increases the risk of inflammation to the same extent as physical inactivity during adolescence, and in older age, its effect on hypertension exceeds the impact of diabetes. Conversely, higher levels of social integration (the number and quality of social connections) correlate with better health markers, including lower blood pressure and reduced inflammation, particularly for teens and as we age.
““Social relationships are not just important for emotional well-being; they get under the skin, influencing biological systems that shape health outcomes.””
Feeling disconnected or isolated affects everything from immune to cardiovascular health, making it harder to heal and thrive, despite our best efforts. But the opposite is also true—when we experience a sense of belonging, our bodies respond with greater resilience.
Connection can increase the release of oxytocin, the "bonding hormone," which promotes feelings of calm and safety. This physiological response supports immune function, heart health, and even improves our ability to recover. Belonging also stimulates the production of dopamine and endorphins, both integral to feelings of happiness and pleasure. These "feel-good" hormones not only lift our mood, but also play a role in enhancing cognitive function, strengthening our emotional resilience, and boosting our motivation to engage with others in positive, life-affirming ways.
This is one place where I find the intersection of Functional Nutrition and Narrative Medicine so intriguing. In Functional Nutrition, we look at the whole person—how your body, mind, and environment interact to shape your health. Nutrition, sleep, stress levels, elimination, and physical activity all contribute to our health and healing. But equally important are other factors often overlooked in our quest to be better, factors like the sense of belonging we cultivate in our lives. When we’re aware of these associations to our desired outcomes, we can then explore how the relationships we nurture—or lack—can affect our healing processes, as much as other practices we engage in.
Belonging and longevity
Belonging’s impact on longevity is evident in the 'Blue Zones'—regions where community ties seem to contribute to longer, healthier lives. These ties remind us that belonging plays a central role in how we age and thrive. Popular theories surrounding the Blue Zone areas emphasize lifestyle factors like diet, exercise, and community. While more recent research challenges the foundational assumptions about these areas, questioning where data accuracy, selection biases, and socioeconomic factors might be at play, what’s undeniable is that centenarians do exist. And despite the debates, one factor is certain—the deep sense of community and belonging for those that live longer does influence their lifespan.
In some populations, even today, elders are not seen as burdens but as active contributors to family and community life. Their wisdom is valued. They play vital roles in raising children, participating in community events, and sharing knowledge passed down through generations.
This sense of belonging—where older individuals are not just respected but actively included—has been shown to contribute to both longevity and health. These societies understand that thriving is multi-faceted. It’s about being seen, heard, and valued throughout life, which fosters resilience, a sense of purpose, and fuels the body and soul. As I reflect on my own aging and health, I’m reminded that belonging is a living, breathing part of the environment that influences my body’s ability to heal and thrive.
““The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science.””
Ultimately, by creating space for our stories of pain, healing, and life lived, we also foster connection—both with others and within ourselves. This shift from a narrow clinical view of health to one that embraces the full spectrum of the human experience is how we can begin to truly heal. It’s how we usher our bodies and stories into alignment, cultivating the connection that is so essential to our well-being. It’s what allows us to tap into the pharmacy within.
Much like the areas where elders are embraced, and whose life stories and contributions are respected and woven into the fabric of their communities, we too can benefit from honoring our own narratives. When we create space for our own stories—whether of loss, triumph, or transformation—we not only connect more deeply with others, but we also strengthen the connection within ourselves. By acknowledging and sharing our pain and healing, we mirror the generational and ancestral wisdom that shows us the power of belonging. Just as elders are revered for their lived experiences, we can recognize that our personal journeys are essential in cultivating the resilience and wholeness we so often seek, no matter our age.
Belonging is a bridge between various realms of healing. And through the combined power of Functional Nutrition and Narrative Medicine, we create an environment in which both our bodies and stories can thrive.
Belonging narratives
In a recent Narrative Medicine workshop, I invited participants to explore belonging and identity through both art and poetry. These forms of creative expression serve not only as healing tools but also as invitations to engage with ourselves and each other on a deeper level. One piece of art shared was Roy Nachum’s Portraits series. This allowed us to engage with identity in ways that words often can’t.
Roy Nachum, “Portraits”, Leona Godin, 2015-2020, oil on canvas
In this work, Nachum invites blind or visually-impaired subjects to paint over their own portraits. These larger-than-life realistic paintings, painstakingly created by Nachum over the course of a year, serve merely as a starting point for the finished work. When the subject takes the brush, they layer their own identity onto their portrait, choosing one bold color and unsighted strokes to express themselves across the broad expanse of the canvas.
The significance of this process extends beyond the artist’s and subject’s connection—it also invites us, as viewers, to challenge our assumptions about art, perfection, and identity. It pushes us to reconsider what it means to see and be seen, not just through the eyes, but through the heart. The work encourages us to reflect on the ways we form identities, what we believe to be “finished,” how we express ourselves, and how we perceive others, particularly those whose experiences may differ from our own.
Nachum sees the subject in a literal way. The subject sees themselves differently. As we explored in the Narrative Medicine workshop where I shared these pieces, this concept holds a profound message—belonging is not just about conforming to the expectations of others, but about embracing the individuality and authenticity that we all bring to the table, regardless of how we might perceive each other or if we have a shared vision. It teaches us that true identity is an evolving process—one shaped by both our inner world and our connection to those around us.
“True identity is an evolving process—one shaped by both our inner world and our connection to those around us.”
I chose to share Nachum’s paintings precisely because it reminds me that identity is not fixed. Just like our health, it’s ever-evolving, shaped by the stories we create and those we tell about ourselves. And much like these collaborative portraits, we become richer and more complete when we allow ourselves to connect and collaborate with forces outside of ourselves—people, places or things.
Just as Nachum’s subjects add their own layer to the portrait, so too does our identity emerge from both our internal sense of self and how we are reflected by the world around us. It’s an ongoing process of creation, one that requires both introspection and interaction with others. In the same way that health isn’t merely about the body’s mechanics but the stories and connections we weave into our lived experience, identity is something we build and reframe continuously. It’s through this interplay—between what we feel internally and how we are mirrored by others—that we come to see ourselves more fully, and in turn, we see others in their fullness too.
Similarly, Andrea Gibson’s poem "MAGA Hat in the Chemo Room" touches on the complexities of identity, belonging, recognition, and acceptance. In this raw and vulnerable piece, Gibson explores how our politics, our beliefs, and our experiences intersect—and how, despite our differences, we are all tied to one another through the human experience of suffering and survival. When I first considered sharing this poem, I was nervous. I wanted everyone to feel a sense of belonging and inclusion, regardless of their identity or political beliefs. Yet, this poem so wisely moves from the shock of encountering "the other" to a recognition of oneself as "other," or “othering,” and ultimately, to a space where belonging and inclusion can bridge even the widest divides. The poem encourages us to question how our identities both separate us and bring us closer to others, asking us to consider what it truly means to belong, and how and where you belong may shift over time.
I encourage you to witness the reading of this poem now as an example of the transformative power of finding connection across differences and embracing the complexity of belonging in its many forms. LINK
Where does belonging happen?
Yes, belonging can unfold in many different spaces and forms, each contributing to our health and healing in unique ways. Personal relationships, including friendships and mentorships, often serve as the foundation for feeling seen, heard, and supported—key elements that foster emotional resilience. But belonging isn’t confined to just close relationships. It thrives in group dialogue, collective exploration, and shared learning experiences. Whether it’s through community classes, group health or medical visits, or even online forums, these spaces create opportunities for connection that can have a profound impact on both our mental and physical health. When we engage with others in these contexts, we tap into a sense of purpose and shared humanity, essential factors that influence how we navigate challenges, heal, and even age with vitality.
In our professional and personal lives, we often see that those who feel a strong sense of belonging are better equipped to face adversity. Whether it’s the shared wisdom of a group or the encouragement we receive in a supportive network, these connections enhance our resilience. As we age, these networks can also help us maintain a sense of purpose and active engagement in life, vital ingredients for staying healthy throughout our years.
I invite you to pause and reflect: What does belonging look like to you in the context of your health, healing, and personal journey through life?
Is it found in a support group that nurtures your growth, in the shared wisdom of peers, or in spaces where you feel like you truly belong—whether physical or virtual?
What does belonging mean to you?
If you’d like, set a timer for 5 minutes and write about a time in your life of belonging.
There's no "right" or "wrong" way to do this, only the anchoring of your recollection. Allow your words to flow, letting this time be a space for insight or discovery.
Feel free to share your writing with me by sending it to scribe@andreanakayama.comI’d love to read your words.
The role of stories in healing
Each of us carries a narrative that’s woven through our biology, our history, and the choices we make everyday. These stories not only influence the terrain in which the root causes of illness grow, but they also offer us the opportunity to heal and connect—both with ourselves and with others.
When we listen to our own stories—truly listen, with compassion and curiosity—we begin to see ourselves more clearly and perhaps even illuminate patterns that have shaped our health. We may discover beliefs, experiences, and emotions that have impacted our path to healing. And it’s through this deeper listening—this openness to both our own bodies and the stories we share with each other—that we create the space for both connection and real healing to occur.
In many ways, our stories are the very foundation of belonging. As we reflect on our experiences, we can find the threads of connection that link us to others, even when we feel isolated or misunderstood.
“Our stories don’t just define us—they have the power to unite us to those who share similar struggles, joys, and journeys.”
Our stories don’t just define us—they have the power to unite us to those who share similar struggles, joys, and journeys. They remind us that, in the grand narrative of life, we are never truly alone.
One workshop participant wrote about this very subject:
It's like it's been there all along, this fabric, unseen, of connectedness in our lives but not yet actuated, potentiated, catalyzed. We pass each other, say hello, and the energy is there--I think we both recognize. There is more here to explore, to unfurl and unfold. Time and attention and patience. Will we give it these things? And the return. Returning to the moment outside the moment. Revisiting and taking a leap of heart into a moment of a connection about the connection. It's brave being human. Venturing beyond our own earth into other native lands and territories without consuming or controlling or capitalizing or colonizing but just taking our earth, our customs, our messes, our ways, our secrets in another's without hiding, without protecting...or maybe some protection because who wants to risk rejection? Mostly not me. Definitely not me. So...being surprised--can I tolerate it long enough in my body to land in connection?
As you sit with your own story—whether it feels whole or fragmented—ask yourself: What truths are waiting to be uncovered? What parts of your story are longing to be heard, and how might this act of listening open the door to a deeper sense of belonging? True healing begins when we embrace belonging—not just as an abstract feeling, but as an essential, living force that connects us to ourselves and to each other.
““To belong is to be seen in the fullness of our being, not in the narrow confines of a label or category, but in the depth of our humanity.””
References:
Cohen, G.L. (2023). Belonging: The Science of Creating Connecting and Bridging Divides. Viking. Link to book
Cohen, G.L., & Garcia, J.A. (2008). Identity, Belonging, and Achievement. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 17, 365 - 369. Link to article
Cole, S. W. (2013). Social regulation of human gene expression: Mechanisms and implications for public health. The Lancet, 381(9873), 1215-1225.
Link to articleCole, S. W. (2017). Human social genomics. PLOS Genetics, 13(6), e1004601.
Link to articleCole, S. W., & Slavich, G. M. (2018). Loneliness, eudaimonia, and the human conserved transcriptional response to adversity. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(7), 1279-1285. Link to article
Gibson, A. (2019). MAGA Hat in the Chemo Room [Poem]. Tiny Desk Concert, NPR. Link to video
hooks, b. (2009). Belonging: A Culture of Place. Routledge. Link to article
Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., & Layton, J. B. (2010). Social relationships and mortality risk: A meta-analytic review. PLOS Medicine, 7(7), e1000316. Link to article
Kiecolt-Glaser, J. K., McGuire, L., Robles, T. F., & Glaser, R. (2002). Emotions, morbidity, and mortality: new perspectives from psychoneuroimmunology. Annual Review of Psychology, 53, 83-107. Link to article
Lieberman, M. D. (2013). Social: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Connect. Crown Publishing Group. Link to book
Marmot, M. (2005). The Social Determinants of Health. Oxford University Press. Link to article
Nachum, R. (2018). Portraits [Art Series]. Link to article
Smith, C. (2023, December 18). How Social Connection Supports Longevity. Longevity website. Link to article
Terracciano, A., Luchetti, M., Karakose, S., Stephan, Y., & Sutin, A. R. (2023). Loneliness and risk of dementia. JAMA Neurology, 80(10), 1056–1063. Link to article
Walton, G.M., & Cohen, G.L. (2011). A Brief Social-Belonging Intervention Improves Academic and Health Outcomes of Minority Students. Science, 331, 1447 - 1451. Link to article
Yang, C., Boen, C., Gerken, K., et al. (2016). Social relationships and physiological determinants of longevity across the human life span. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113(3), 578-583. Link to article
