The Quiet Rebellion of Connection: Staying Human in a World That Pulls Us Apart
(Image credit: Photo by Sora Shimazaki on Pexels)
By Helen Patterson
Lately, I’ve been feeling it again… That subtle pull away from myself, the rush between meetings, the scroll between moments, and the quiet ache of being in a room, but not truly with anyone. I notice it in others, too. In teams that feel fractured, leaders who are burned out but still smiling, and even in mentorship relationships that start off full of potential and then quietly drift, not from a lack of care, but from a lack of connection.
And I get it. Disconnection has become the norm. We’re busy performing, always on the go. Quite frankly, most of us are just trying to keep our heads above water. And in survival mode, it’s nearly impossible to welcome in presence, curiosity, collaboration, let alone creativity.
But what if we flipped that?
What if the truth isn’t that we’re disconnected because we’re merely surviving… but that we’re merely surviving because we’re disconnected?
What if tackling disconnection is the first real step out of survival mode? What if connection (real, intentional, heart-led connection) is what moves us from coping into creating?
These are some of the questions I’ve been sitting with this month, and what I would like to work on myself.
How do we stay connected—to ourselves, to others, to what matters—in a world that, in many ways, is built for separation?
It’s not a rhetorical question. It’s a real, daily challenge. And I think the answer is more radical than we realise.
Disconnection as the Default
We don’t have to look far to see how disconnection shows up in our lives, especially in our professional spaces. I see it all the time in my HR and mentoring work. The cultural forces that drive us to perform, produce, and push through don’t leave much room for presence.
We wear busyness like a badge of honour, communicate through screens, trade depth for efficiency, and try to lead while hiding how overwhelmed we feel. We treat vulnerability like a liability, when in fact it’s the very thing that forges connection.
Even in mentoring programs, where the intention is connection, things can become transactional. People are paired based on job titles and goals, but no one talks about chemistry, or the why behind the relationship. Without that, mentoring becomes another box to tick.
And under all of it, there’s often this quiet fear: If I slow down, will I fall behind? If I show up as myself, will I still be seen as capable?
So we disconnect: From each other, from ourselves, from the things that light us up.
But what I’ve come to believe is this: Disconnection might be the default, but it doesn’t have to be the design.
Reclaiming Connection as a Professional Practice
What if connection wasn’t a “soft” skill we squeeze in between deadlines, but the very foundation of how we work?
That’s the question I keep asking in my own leadership, in my book Create a Mentor Culture, and in every mentoring relationship I hold space for.
Because when we centre connection, things inevitably change. And not in fluffy, abstract ways, but in tangible, measurable ones:
Teams communicate better.
Feedback lands with care instead of fear.
People trust each other enough to try, to fail, to grow.
Mentoring becomes more than advice, it becomes transformation.
In my book, I talk about mentoring with heart. That’s not just about being “nice” or “supportive”, it’s about being present. It’s about listening for what’s said and what isn’t. It’s about seeing someone fully, not just in terms of what they do, but who they are.
I’ve seen mentor pairs thrive not because they had the perfect plan, but because they built real connections. They were curious about each other, and didn’t try to fix, but showed up to witness, to reflect, to walk alongside. That kind of mentorship ripples through an organisation. It builds a culture of trust. And trust, I believe, is the true ROI of connection.
Starting with the Self
But here’s the part I think we don’t talk about enough: Connection doesn’t begin with others, it begins with self.
When I’m disconnected from myself, when I haven’t taken the time to check in, to get quiet, to listen, I notice it immediately. I become incredibly reactive, I start rushing and overcompensating, I show up with answers instead of questions, and that shapes everything I touch.
Self-connection isn’t selfish. It’s the ground from which all meaningful leadership and mentoring grows.
That might look like:
Taking ten minutes to journal before your first meeting.
Noticing your emotional state and naming it, without judgement.
Saying “I don’t know” instead of pretending you do.
Choosing presence over performance.
And yes, it’s a practice. I forget all the time. But I keep returning, because when I’m anchored in myself, when I feel connected to my truest self, my why, my own internal rhythm, I can show up for others with a steadier kind of presence.
I think it is about time we stopped believing in the myth fed to us for the past God-knows-how-many-years (Does anyone know how many, actually? I’m guessing forever?) that self-connection is indulgent. Self-connection is necessary. It’s the first step toward building a life and career that actually feel aligned.
And once we’re grounded in that kind of truth, the connections we build with others become more real, more courageous, and more sustaining.
A Quiet Call to Action
So here’s what I’m holding close this month:
That connection isn’t something we “achieve.” It’s something we practice every day in small ways: Noticing, pausing, listening, reaching out, checking in.
Sometimes it’s a hand on your heart, sometimes it’s turning off your notifications. Sometimes it’s sending a text that says, “I’m thinking of you.” Sometimes it’s saying, “Can we slow down for a second?”
So I’ll leave you with a few gentle questions:
Where do you feel most connected in your life right now?
Where are you feeling disconnected, and what might that be trying to tell you?
What’s one small, real act of connection you can choose today?
Here’s to choosing connection. A quiet, courageous type of connection. Always one moment at a time.
With Love,
Helen