Even as a kid, I didn’t play team sports. I did dance. Technically a group activity — but anyone who’s danced knows it’s internal. You’re not throwing a ball, you’re fixing your own posture. You’re in your body, in your line, in your mind. That kind of training doesn’t exactly condition you for team dynamics. It teaches you to monitor yourself, not others.

Maybe that’s why I don’t crave group belonging now, or maybe I was just never wired for it in the first place.

Watching people give themselves away — willingly
What is strange is how much other people do crave it.
I’ve watched smart, grounded adults slowly merge into group culture — in workplaces, in fandoms, in “online communities” that start with in-jokes and end with identity crisis.
People will mold their tone, beliefs, and even behavior just to stay inside a group. You start out interested. You end up dependent.
Even in adulthood, people chase the emotional safety of collectives like it’s a basic need, and in a way, it is.

So what is this need to belong — really?
Psychologically, the need to belong is considered a fundamental human motivation.
According to researchers Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary (1995), humans have a basic drive to form and maintain lasting interpersonal attachments. This isn’t a personality quirk — it’s an evolutionary mechanism.

From a survival standpoint, being part of a group meant protection. Isolation meant death. We’re talking about thousands of years of conditioning that taught our nervous systems to interpret rejection as danger and group inclusion as safety.

And in modern life, that primitive equation still runs in the background.
Belonging gives people coherence, it organizes chaos. It tells them who they are, what they value, what to wear, what to think, and for people whose internal world feels unstable or overwhelming, being part of a collective gives structure. It’s like emotional scaffolding.

There’s also a dopamine hit in group participation — validation, mirroring, the warmth of being “gotten.” Studies in social neuroscience have shown that the brain responds to social acceptance much like it responds to rewards. Belonging, quite literally, feels good.

This is why people get so attached to jobs, teams, political identities, even fan cultures. It's about finally feeling held, finally feeling named, finally feeling.

But there’s a risk to that comfort
The darker side of belonging is how easily it becomes conformity.
You adjust, you filter, you compromise — not always in big ways, but gradually. You become more concerned with being accepted than being honest. You smile through discomfort, silence your instincts, mimic what’s “normal” in the group just to stay connected.

That’s when belonging starts costing you something.
It’s also why I’m cautious. I’ve seen people get lost in collectives that looked like safety but functioned more like soft control. I’ve seen them shrink, become flat versions of themselves — easy to love, easy to place, easy to forget.
So no — I don’t long for that.
Not because I think I’m better, but because I’m afraid of disappearing in the process.

Choosing to stand slightly outside
Of course, not everyone’s experience with belonging is toxic.
For many, it’s healing, supportive and life-changing.
There are healthy communities, built on mutual respect and non-performative presence. But even in those, I tend to hover at the edge. It’s where I think best. It’s where I feel most me.
I like people, I believe in connection, but I don’t want to be part of a hive, even if the hive is smart and nice and knows about niche subreddits.
I want one-on-one honesty, I want space, I want silence without tension.
And if that means I miss out on group photos, matching t-shirts, or the serotonin of being “in” — I’m okay with that.
Because I know who I am when I’m alone.
And to me, that’s worth more than any badge of belonging.