There have been times in my life when I've been far, far away from my family.

Christmases spent in other countries.

Years when the people I loved were gathered around a table somewhere I wasn't. Distance has its own gravity in December.

I learned to accept it.

I lit candles. I baked things I'd never baked before.

I tried to build warmth in places where I still felt like a visitor.

And then life brought me here to Amsterdam.

I'm now officially an expat.

An alien with a BSN-number, a Dutch-shaped existence, and a city Iadore… while still occasionally feeling like I'm floating just outside ofthings.

I've written about that before, the freedom, the fascination, and yes,the tiny ache beneath it.

And here's what I've learned:

If you don't have a tribe, you build one.

So every December, instead of slipping into that quiet melancholy, I open my door.

I gather the people around me, friends, fellow internationals pretending to be brave and we create our own traditions. Food, laughter, mismatched rituals, kids racing down the hallway, vinyl spinning, candles burning low.

A local tribe.

Made on purpose.

Because, as beautiful as this season is, December is also the month that exposes loneliness like nothing else.

It's the month of comparison.

The month where every shop window and every office party whispers..

"Belonging should look like this."

Let's talk about it.

Seeing Loneliness Differently

The story of loneliness is changing.

In the last year, global public-health bodies have begun classifying loneliness as a critical threat to human wellbeing, not an emotional footnote.

Recent data from across Europe shows that nearly one in ten adults saysthey have no close friends. A significant share report having no one they could rely on in a difficult moment.

That isn't about awkwardness or shyness.

It isn't introversion.

It's structural.

And it comes with consequences. Studies now compare loneliness with smoking, obesity, and physical inactivity as a health risk. Long-term isolation raises the chances of heart disease, depression, anxiety, weakened immunity.

Even shortened life expectancy.

The message is clear: loneliness is not "sadness that'll pass."

It's a social disease with biological consequences.

So if you've felt that sting during the festive season, your body already knows the truth.

The tight chest.

The shallow breathing.

The nervous system quietly scanning its surroundings for safety and connection. We're wired to belong because belonging once kept us alive.

The Stakes Are Higher Than Melancholy

What we're seeing today isn't a generation that suddenly forgot how to socialise.

It's the by-product of how we've built modern life.

We've optimised for mobility, productivity, independence, efficiency.

We move.

We swap cities.

We change jobs.

We chase opportunities.

We build careers across borders and raise families across time zones.

But belonging doesn't thrive under constant relocation.

Connection needs repetition. Familiar faces. Shared rituals. Micro-interactions.

The neighbour whose footsteps you recognise.

The friend you grab a spontaneous coffee with.

The colleague whose breathing you subconsciously sync to during a meeting.

When those rhythms fracture, so does tribe.

So no, loneliness isn't evidence that you're failing at relationships or didn't "try hard enough."

It's evidence that we've created systems that separate us.

Urban layouts that isolate. Work cultures that numb.

Housing models that seal people away.

Digital habits that mimic closeness without offering the nervous-system cues that tell us we're actually safe together.

Loneliness is not a private defect.

It is a public architecture problem.

If loneliness can be designed, then connection can be designed too.

Why December Matters

December reveals the gap more than any other month.

It's the season of flashing lights, family portraits, packed trains, ritual meals, and the unspoken assumption that everyone is safely wrapped inside a circle of people who love them.

But December can also become a moment of reclamation.

We can redesign belonging at the smallest scale.

Cities, workplaces, neighbourhoods, and cultural institutions can all shape conditions for connection, but so can we.

With a bowl of soup and a front door that isn't closed to possibility.

This year, I'll do what I've been doing since I became an expat:

I'll invite whoever needs a place to land.

Friends. Colleagues. Fellow outsiders.

People still learning to call this city home.

We'll gather, light candles, mix our traditions, and create a tribe of presence.

A Small Call to Action

If loneliness finds you this season, you are not broken.

You are human.

Your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do, signalling a need for togetherness, eye contact, shared meals, and the familiarity of people who know your face well enough to read the tiny shifts.

So here's a gentle invitation for December:

•      open your door

•      invite someone in

•      join a small dinner

•      start a ritual

•      bake

•      share food

•      walk with someone

•      light a candle for company

We won't solve systemic loneliness in a single month.

But we can make December warmer, softer, and more human.

One connection at a time.

And maybe that's where the real work of belonging begins.

Lots of love,

Stina

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