How many close friends do you really need? New research shows a certain number is attainable

In 2025, many of us are living alone. Or we live with housemates, cotenants, flatmates – people who may share a fridge, a lease, even a dog, but not necessarily our inner world.

While the population swells in our cities, and digital devices keep us constantly connected, many of us live in a kind of emotional isolation. We go to work, we cook our meals, we scroll our phones, we answer messages – and still feel deeply alone.

For generations, it was a given that our romantic partner, our spouse, was also our closest confidante – the person we could cry in front of, confide in, lean on when the day had simply been too much. But for some, the presence of a partner only throws the lack of connection into sharper relief. Intimacy cannot be assumed. And for the growing number of people living solo, the question becomes starker: if not a partner, then who?

The answer, it turns out, is friends. Not a friend. Friends – plural. Research from News Corp’s Growth Distillery with Medibank reveals that those with the best self-reported mental wellbeing are also those with the most people in their corner.

On average, people with high well-being have five people they can rely on; those with poorer mental health report just over three.

That gap might sound small, but in practice, it’s enormous. It’s the difference between feeling like there’s always someone you can call, and running through a dwindling mental list of names when things start to unravel.

The data is compelling. It confirms what many of us know instinctively, but sometimes forget to prioritise: that connection is not an optional extra — it is vital. Friendship is not a decoration for a busy life. It is one of the structures that hold us upright.

And yet, many Australians don’t feel able to build or rely on that structure. The research also found that nearly half of us feel unprepared or unsure how to talk about mental health – even when someone turns to us for help.

And when it comes to talking about our own struggles, we hold back out of fear: not fear of judgement, but fear of burdening others. We silence ourselves to protect the people we care about, not realising that this silence builds barriers where we need bridges.

What emerges from this research is not just a picture of loneliness, but a profound uncertainty about how to connect in meaningful ways. Many of us are deeply social in practice – attending events, replying to group chats, showing up for work drinks – but feel emotionally cut off. We keep things light. We’re funny, dependable, and generous.

But not vulnerable. Not fully ourselves. And in doing so, we miss out on the nourishment that true connection can bring.

It’s tempting to try to solve this with another app, a new social initiative, a government-funded campaign. And those all have their place. But there’s something more elemental at stake here – something that doesn’t require policy or innovation, but courage.

We need to talk to our friends. Really talk. We need to be brave enough to say, “I’m not okay.” Or even just, “I’m struggling today.” We need to listen to each other without scrambling for solutions. To be present, even if we don’t have the perfect words.

Of course, that kind of honesty doesn’t appear overnight. It takes time and trust. But the alternative – isolation, both physical and emotional – carries its own costs. Mental ill-health is not just a personal issue. It’s a public one. It affects families, workplaces, healthcare systems, and communities. And it’s growing. We cannot afford to pretend that mental well-being is something people can cultivate entirely alone. The most resilient among us still need others.

That’s why the link between support networks and mental health is so powerful. It gives us something tangible to work with. If we want to improve wellbeing, we can start by expanding our circles. That might mean reaching out to old friends and suggesting a catch-up that’s more than just a walk-and-talk. It might mean gently probing when someone gives a breezy “I’m fine” that doesn’t ring true. It might mean noticing who is always the listener and never the speaker – and inviting them to take up space.

These small actions don’t always feel like mental health interventions, but they are. A text message that says “thinking of you” might be the first step out of someone’s emotional fog. A regular coffee catch-up might become someone’s only appointment they truly look forward to. We don’t need to be therapists to be impactful. We just need to be consistent and willing to show up – even imperfectly.

And we need to remind ourselves, too, that we are not burdens. If someone cares for us, they probably want to know how we really are. It is not weak to need others. It is human.

In a culture that prizes independence and stoicism, this may feel radical. But if the research tells us anything, it’s that no one thrives in isolation. We thrive in connection. We flourish in friendship.

So maybe the real message from all this data isn’t about mental health campaigns or social trends. Maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s this: pick up the phone. Send the message. Make the plan. Build the net before you fall.

Because one day, you might need it. And so might someone else.