I spent an entire weekend in self-imposed isolation. With looming deadlines, I stocked up
on fruit and tea and barricaded myself in my room to work. So when Monday rolled around, and it was time to re-emerge into society, I found myself craving human connection.
But on the metro in Dubai, like in most major cities, everyone was absorbed in their screens. I looked around at all these commuters and felt curious about their lives, their mornings, and their vibes. Then, I did something different: I made eye contact just for a second with the older woman across from me. She reminded me of my mom. She looked startled at first, then smiled slightly before looking away.
It was just a tiny moment, but it felt like breaking an unspoken rule.
When did we all agree to stop looking at each other? We’re socialised to avert our gaze,
to treat eye contact as intrusive or even aggressive. We’ve turned looking away into a form of politeness, of respecting boundaries in crowded spaces. But what if this visual isolation is contributing to the very epidemic of loneliness many of us are experiencing?
The neuroscience of looking at each other
Dr Ash Shishodia, a consultant psychiatrist and medical director at Thrive Wellbeing
Centre in Dubai, describes what we’re losing in neuroscientific terms: “Eye contact is one of the earliest and most powerful forms of human communication. Long before language develops, the brain is already wired to extract meaning from the eyes.” It activates regions involved in emotion, social understanding, and relational awareness. But as Dr Shishodia points out, what matters most is how it feels. “Eye contact is different because it is reciprocal. It requires mutual presence, not just the exchange of information.”
That reciprocity, that mutual presence, is precisely what feels so rare now. “What I see is
not a loss of capacity, but deconditioning,” Dr Shishodia explains. “When people spend less time in face-to-face interaction, eye contact can begin to feel unfamiliar or uncomfortable.” In other words, we’re out of practice.
Go ahead, try it. I dare you. Look at the next stranger and attempt eye contact. Will they
match your gaze? It’s okay if they don’t. Dr Shishodia encourages his “clients to approach it as a relational skill, one that strengthens through safety, repetition, and self-awareness. Discomfort isn’t failure; it’s information from the nervous system.” Notice how vulnerable it feels to even try. Throw in a smile if you’re feeling brave.
I was at a grief circle once, where strangers disclosed unfiltered stories of loss. Before we
began, the facilitator reminded us to engage with each other by making eye contact. “When someone is sharing their pain,” she said, “don’t look away. Let them know you can hold it with them.”
What happened in that room was extraordinary. As each person spoke about their
breakup, their miscarriage, or their friend who didn’t survive, the rest of us didn’t just listen. We witnessed, and in those moments of gentle eye contact, we found humanity. If eyes are entry points into the soul, making eye contact can be a deeply intimate experience.
Dr Shishodia observes this phenomenon regularly in his practice: “In my clinical
work, eye contact often communicates more than words. Clients may speak confidently whilst avoiding my gaze, or struggle to articulate emotion yet reveal vulnerability the moment our eyes meet.” He’s careful to note that for many people, particularly those with trauma histories, social anxiety, or attachment disruptions, eye contact can feel exposing or intense. “The nervous system reads it as closeness, and closeness requires a sense of safety.”
Eye contact opens up worlds professionally, romantically, and culturally
But when that safety exists, when we allow ourselves to truly look and be looked at, eye
contact can open up worlds. Professionally, it signals confidence and trustworthiness. The job candidate who meets the interviewer’s gaze appears more competent, more present, more worthy of the role. The colleague who looks you in the eye during a difficult conversation earns your respect, even in disagreement.
Romantically, eye contact is the gateway; that moment across a crowded room, that
lingering glance that says “I see you, and I want to keep seeing you.” Research shows that
mutual gaze triggers the release of oxytocin, the same bonding hormone released during physical touch. We literally begin to fall for each other at first intentional glance.
Culturally, eye contact shapes how we understand community and belonging. In the grief
circle, we weren’t just individuals processing private pain. Through eye contact, we became a collective, holding each other’s stories, creating what Dr Shishodia describes as “attuned, regulated presence.” In those moments, he notes, “being seen, and seeing another, can still create trust, connection, and repair in ways no screen can fully replicate.”
I try again to make eye contact with a guy this time in the metro. Our eyes lock, but I feel
instantly shy and look away. Eye contact is a skill too, one that requires practice and a certain boldness. Whether it’s to flirt with your eyes or to draw someone into a conversation, eye contact is a tool we wield with varying degrees of competence and courage.
When lowering your gaze is its own form of eye contact
Of course, avoiding eye contact is also part of the skill. Women are constantly stared at
and scrutinised under the male gaze, which often starts with eye contact. In many Islamic and Arab cultures, men are taught to lower their gaze, particularly around women, as an act of modesty and respect. This practice, far from being a rejection of connection, is actually a deeply intentional form of nonverbal communication. It says: I see you, and I honour your presence by not imposing mine.
Dr Shishodia emphasises this nuance in his clinical work: “Eye contact is also deeply
shaped by culture and context. What feels respectful in one setting may feel intrusive in another. Clinically, this matters. Avoiding eye contact is not always avoidance. It can be learned, adaptive, and appropriate.”
This is where the conversation around eye contact becomes richer. It’s not about staring
down every stranger on the metro or maintaining unbroken eye contact in every interaction. It’s about choosing when to engage, when to withdraw, and understanding that both gestures carry meaning. Lowering your gaze can be just as communicative as meeting someone’s eyes.
The call to revive intentional eye contact
The problem isn’t that we sometimes look away. The problem is when we’ve forgotten
how to look at all, when avoidance becomes our only mode, when we’ve lost the ability to
discern between respectful restraint and reflexive withdrawal.
What matters is intentionality. Whether you’re holding someone’s gaze across a coffee
shop or respectfully lowering yours in a mosque, you’re participating in a universal embodied language. You’re saying: I am here. I see you. This moment between us matters.