My dad turned 67 this year. He ran a small business for thirty years and spent another ten watching his father struggle with one. He coached my brother’s baseball team for six seasons, rewired the kitchen when an electrician’s quote was too high, and once drove four hours to help my cousin out of a tough spot. He’s always been the go-to guy.
Last Thanksgiving, I called him around 2 PM. He answered on the first ring. You could hear something in his voice—like he’d been alone for a while and almost forgot what it felt like to talk to someone. “Just watching the game,” he said, but I could tell the TV wasn’t on.
The truth is, my dad isn’t sad or sick; he’s just sitting there in a house he’s maintained for forty years, waiting for a call that’s not about fixing something.
He’s not alone. This is a common experience for many older adults.
The Utility Trap
There’s a pattern we don’t talk about enough. People often build their identities around being needed. They’re the fixers, the providers, the ones everyone turns to for help. For decades, that relationship thrives. But then, kids grow up, friendships fade, and suddenly the phone stops ringing—except for the occasional call about a leaking faucet.
Psychologist Laura Carstensen, a Stanford researcher, describes this phenomenon as socioemotional selectivity. It explains how older adults often narrow their social interactions to those that truly matter. But sometimes, this narrowing isn’t a choice; it just happens as loved ones get busy with their own lives.
Parents like my dad tend to say they’re “fine” or “just relaxing.” They never admit loneliness, as that feels too vulnerable for someone who has spent years being the strong one.
The Identity That Worked Too Well
I often think about my dad’s generation. They believed that providing was love. Fixing things, working hard, and putting food on the table—those actions spoke volumes.
But there’s a downside. When you define yourself by what you do for others, you might feel invisible when that role is gone. Research shows that retirement and reduced physical ability don’t just change what people do; they shake their sense of identity.
My dad struggles to call me just to chat. He needs an excuse, like asking about my car or sharing some news. It took me time to realize I did the same thing—relying on reasons to connect rather than reaching out for connection itself.
The Quiet Epidemic Nobody’s Naming
Loneliness among older adults is a recognized issue. The U.S. Surgeon General described it as a public health crisis. Many people think loneliness is a failure of older adults to stay connected. But that’s not entirely fair. They succeeded so well at being needed that their families often forget to check in just to say hello.
According to a 2019 study in the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, feeling less valued by loved ones is a stronger predictor of depression in older adults than actual isolation. This means it’s not the solitude that affects them; it’s the nagging feeling that they’ve become optional instead of essential.
What We Get Wrong About “Checking In”
After my Thanksgiving call, I started reaching out to my dad more. Yet, I found myself manufacturing reasons for my calls. “Hey Dad, quick question about the furnace.” I was just repeating the pattern: hiding connection behind utility.
The first time I casually called and said, “I just wanted to talk,” there was a three-second pause. That silence spoke volumes. Finally, he said, “Well, alright then,” and began to share about a bird he had noticed visiting the feeder regularly—something I didn’t know mattered to him at all.
It was a simple moment that reminded me how little we often ask about what brings joy to our loved ones.
The Thing Nobody Wants to Admit
I relate to my dad more than I’d like to admit. After my second startup failed (and I lost touch with many people), I also found myself in a silence that felt deafening. At 28, I realized that I had become invisible in my personal life, just as he did after retiring.
It took effort to understand that being wanted is very different from being needed. My dad never had spaces to explore these feelings; he simply filled roles without question.
What Changes This
I don’t have a quick-fix solution for generational loneliness. However, I learned that regular, casual contact can make a difference. Short, no-agenda calls became our new norm. Asking about lunch or his new bird friend let him know he mattered beyond what he could do for me.
Research supports that regular, low-pressure interactions work wonders. They remind the other person that they’re valued simply for being themselves, not just for what they can fix.
My dad still doesn’t call just to chat, but he answers more quickly now and talks longer. Just last week, he sent me a photo of the bird—no pretext, just a message saying: “Tuesday.” I knew exactly what that meant; the bird visits on Tuesdays, and he wanted me to share in that moment with him.
That’s a big deal for a person who spent his life being the fix-it guy. It shows growth, a rare opening to connection, and perhaps, the quiet strength in sharing a piece of his world.
