Lonely in the Land of Plenty: Rethinking Belonging in Canada
Canada is the second-largest country in the world by land mass and among the coldest. With breathtaking landscapes and world-renowned multiculturalism, it presents itself as a beacon of opportunity and inclusion. Yet beneath this picturesque exterior lies a sobering contradiction: for many, especially immigrants, Canada is a profoundly lonely place.
Fact check: Russia is both the largest and coldest country. Canada ranks 2nd in size and 3rd in average temperature (Greenland, territory of Denmark is second coldest). Canada’s population is ~40 million vs. Russia’s ~145 million.
Despite a national identity rooted in diversity, the reality is more fractured. “One Canada” is a powerful ideal, but it often fails to reflect the lived experiences of those within its borders. With 10 provinces, 3 territories, and hundreds of Indigenous nations, each maintaining distinct governance, languages, and cultural practices; unity often feels more aspirational than actual. The ongoing tensions in Quebec, including separatist sentiments, and more recently in Alberta, where frustrations over federal policies have fueled calls for greater provincial autonomy, only highlight how varied our understandings of nationhood truly are.
This fragmentation doesn’t just affect politics or trade. It influences how people move, settle, and connect. For internationally trained professionals, the first major hurdle often begins with credential recognition. A process that is complex, inconsistent, and frequently exclusionary. Even when qualifications are eventually recognized, interprovincial barriers in licensing and labour mobility remain daunting. These aren’t just bureaucratic challenges; they are deeply personal ones that impact economic independence, social integration, and mental well-being.
Canada is often described as a country of immigrants, and statistically, that’s true. Over 23% of the population are immigrants, hailing from every corner of the globe. Some arrive by choice, pursuing education or employment opportunities. Others come by necessity, fleeing war, climate crises, political oppression, religious persecution, or economic instability. But regardless of their reasons, many immigrants find themselves unprepared for what comes next: a system that appears welcoming on the surface but often fails to include them meaningfully.
One of the most pressing challenges is family separation. Many migrants are unable to bring their loved ones with them, and those who can still face significant emotional and financial burdens. Loneliness, already a global public health issue, is compounded by the isolation of displacement, the grief of leaving home, and the pressures of adapting to a new country. Even in Canada’s bustling urban centers, where populations are dense and diverse, loneliness persists.
Why? Because density doesn't equal connection.
The majority of Canada’s population lives in just four provinces: Ontario, Quebec, British Columbia, and Alberta, and within those, in major cities. Yet for many immigrants, these cities are not communities. High costs of living, housing instability, language barriers, and cultural disconnects make meaningful interaction difficult. Outside these cities, in suburban or rural areas, the problems are different but equally isolating: limited access to services, harsh weather conditions, and fewer opportunities for social engagement.
As immigrants struggle to find belonging, many slip into survival mode. For some, this is a familiar state carried from their countries of origin, shaped by war or trauma. For others, it begins in Canada; triggered not by violence, but by exclusion, systemic barriers, and the slow erosion of hope. The trauma of culture shock, combined with historical trauma and the stress of navigating complex systems, can push people into despair.
Canada has no shortage of programs designed to help with integration. Federal, provincial, and non-governmental organizations offer language training, job readiness programs, and social supports. However, access is often restricted by rigid eligibility criteria, age limits, immigration status, or narrow definitions of “need.” The result is a paradox: abundance and scarcity at once. Programs exist, but they don’t always meet people where they are. The system can be so fragmented and opaque that newcomers are left to navigate it alone, often falling through the cracks.
When this happens, people turn to coping mechanisms. For some, it’s retreating into isolation. For others, it’s substance use. As Major Lazer captured in a song lyric, “Everybody gets high sometimes, you know. What else can we do when we’re feeling low?” In the absence of belonging, people seek ways to numb the pain.
And while loneliness affects everyone, it hits harder as people age. Making friends and building support networks after youth becomes increasingly difficult, especially when compounded by language barriers, racism, or cultural differences. Trauma, both past and ongoing, further complicates trust, communication, and the ability to form new relationships.
Outside the major urban hubs, the situation can be even more dire. In rural and northern communities, immigrants may find jobs but few services, limited healthcare, and virtually no mental health supports. Winters are long and isolating, transportation is limited, and community engagement activities are scarce. Quality of life in these areas often falls short, not just materially, but socially.
So where do we go from here?
First, we must acknowledge that loneliness is not just a personal issue, it is a systemic one. It reflects how our policies, infrastructure, and narratives fail to support true inclusion. Addressing loneliness among immigrants doesn’t require more programs; it requires better ones. Programs that are co-designed with immigrants, informed by lived experience, and grounded in flexibility and trust.
Second, we need to dismantle the myth that diversity alone creates inclusion. Multiculturalism on paper does not equate to belonging in practice. Cultural safety, representation, and the valuing of immigrant voices at decision-making tables are essential to building truly inclusive communities.
Finally, we must bridge the gap between urban and rural, federal and provincial, intention and impact. A truly united Canada means eliminating the systemic and social barriers that keep people apart, even when they’re physically close. It means ensuring that no matter where you land, or why you came, you are seen, supported, and allowed to thrive.
Canada is vast. But in a country with so much space, no one should feel invisible. If we truly want to build “One Canada,” we must begin not with land or law, but with people; and with the simple, radical act of making each other feel like we belong.