Were we happier in 1980, or do we just remember it that way?
This week I posted a short video comparing 1980 to 2026. On one side: friends dropped by with no text first. Supper with everyone at the table. The phone on the kitchen wall. A bad day meant you called a friend.
On the other side: a group chat with people you haven't seen in months. Supper with everyone on a screen. The phone in your hand, in your bed. A bad day means you scroll till it passes.
More than 200,000 people watched it, and close to a hundred sent it to someone. I don't think that's about the video. I think a lot of us saw ourselves in the second column and wanted someone else to see it too.
The 80s weren't simple for everyone
Someone on Facebook pushed back, and they were right to. The 80s were only simpler for some people. There was the cold war. There was the stigma around AIDS. There was racism and misogyny that nobody was putting in a sitcom. Rose tinted glasses, they called it.
I'm an 80s kid. We left the house after breakfast and came home when the streetlights came on, and I have a soft spot for all of it. I also hear the other side of it in my office. "That's just the way it was," with a little laugh, and we're on to the next thing before I can ask about it. A lot of what we remember as simple was just never talked about.
So I'm not going to tell you to go back. The year was never really the point for me. What I keep thinking about is what we stopped doing for each other somewhere along the road.
Lonely, and surrounded
We have more ways to reach each other than ever, and so many of us don't have anyone to really talk to.
People don't usually sit down in front of me and say I'm unhappy. They say I don't have anyone to really talk to. It's almost always someone who is surrounded.
The one who runs the meeting, answers the group chat, and remembers whose birthday is coming. The one everybody leans on. Somebody asks how you are and you say good, busy, you know how it is. That's true enough that nobody follows it up.
Being welcome somewhere and being known there are two different things.
A bad day used to mean a phone call. Now it's an hour of scrolling and feeling worse. The scroll asks nothing of you, which is part of why it's easy. Nobody hears your voice change. Nobody asks the second question.
What being seen looked like for me
When I married, I moved to rural Saskatchewan to help lead my husband's family's third-generation company. It was his family's world, and for a long time I lived inside it waiting to feel like I belonged. It was lonely, and it was isolating.
What made it home wasn't one big moment. It was the quiet walks in the woods. The people I waved to, always making me feel welcomed. The hot casseroles when someone knew we were having a tough week.
Nobody announced any of it. Someone noticed, and did one small thing about it.
That's the piece of 1980 I think people are really missing when they share a video like mine. Not the wall phone. Someone close enough to notice.
Maybe we just stopped seeing each other
Maybe the problem isn't that we got weaker. Maybe we just stopped seeing each other.
Nobody did anything wrong for that to happen, and it isn't yours to fix by yourself. Most of us are busy for real reasons. The phone isn't the bad guy either. For plenty of people, a screen is how they found their people at all.
What helps is usually smaller than you'd expect:
Call instead of texting, once this week. Let one person hear your voice.
Answer "how are you?" with one true sentence instead of good, busy.
Notice who's always the one asking. Ask them back, and wait for the real answer.
On a hard night, before your thumb goes to the scroll, stop and ask yourself how your body feels. Heavy? Wired? Then think of one person you'd actually want to hear from.
You're allowed to need people now. That was true in 1980 too. We just didn't say it out loud much.
What that hour with me looks like
Picture this. You log on from your kitchen table, or your parked truck between meetings. Coffee in hand. Nobody in town sees you walk into a waiting room.
The first thing I'll ask isn't "so what brings you here." It's "how does your body feel?" Most people have to stop and check. That's usually where we start.
You don't have to have it figured out, and you don't have to be polite about it. You can say the true thing, the whole messy version, and nobody needs you to be fine afterwards. There's honesty in this room, there's humour, and the odd swear word when nothing else fits.
And somewhere in there, we get to the question underneath it all: who are you, beyond the roles?
I've watched people find their way back to that answer. Less fighting at home. Laughing again. Finally able to say who they are out loud. I can feel the shift in the room when it happens.
You get one hour a week that's just yours. Seen, heard, understood. That's the whole idea.
I work online across Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia, in English and French. It starts with a free 15-minute Java Chat, so you can see if we're a fit before anything else.
If this is you, book a Java Chat, bring your coffee.
Frequently asked questions
Why do I feel lonely even when I'm surrounded by people?
Being around people and being known by them are different things. If you're usually the one holding things together, people may rarely ask you the second question, and you may rarely offer the true answer. Loneliness can live right in the middle of a full calendar.
Is loneliness a good reason to see a therapist?
Yes. "I don't have anyone to really talk to" is one of the things I hear most when people first reach out, often sitting under stress, burnout or a big life change. You don't need a crisis to want one place where you can say the true thing.
Do you offer online therapy in Saskatchewan?
Yes. I see people online across Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia, in English or French. It starts with a free 15-minute Java Chat, so you can see whether we're a good fit.
