Why Is It Sometimes Easier to Live With Six People Than One?

This sociable season has seen yours truly venturing out for more gatherings than I'd normally need or want to, but one beautiful thing that comes from these (sometimes forced) environments at this time of year is the opportunity to chat with people I don't normally get to mingle with.

Somehow, in more than one discussion last week I found myself exchanging experiences of shared living. About being younger and living in shared houses, dorms, places where you didn’t have much privacy and had to tolerate other people’s habits whether you liked them or not.

As we get older, we tend to say we value our own space more. We talk about needing quiet, autonomy, somewhere to retreat to. But many of us end up living in arrangements that offer less of that than we ever had before — sharing a home with just one other person, often someone we truly care about.

I reflected in these conversations that I think I've actually found it easier to live with a house full of people than I have done living with just one.

Lower Expectations

For many, living with lots of people is rarely calm and on that front I consider myself very fortunate to have had some pretty relaxed and mostly professional housemates. For others who weren't so lucky, kitchens were busy, someone was always using the bathroom (and not always cleaning it after use), there was noise, mess, half-finished conversations and food going missing from the fridge. But for most of us, there was also a strange kind of ease to it.

Nobody expected you to be emotionally available all the time. If you were quiet, it didn’t need explaining. If you were grumpy, it didn’t automatically become something that needed resolving. You could disappear into your room and no one assumed it meant anything beyond you needing a bit of space.

Research into shared accommodation and communal living suggests that people tend to cope better in environments that allow for private retreat, even when shared spaces are busy or imperfect.

It isn’t the presence of others that causes strain, but the feeling of being constantly visible or unable to withdraw (Altman, 1975; Evans & Wener, 2007).

Sharing with a Significant Other

Living with one person creates a very different atmosphere.

There’s no background hum of other lives happening alongside yours. If something feels off, it’s more noticeable. If you’re quieter than usual, it tends to register. Everyday moods that might have passed unnoticed in a shared house feel more immediate.

Research comparing communal living with couple households suggests that emotional responsibility becomes more concentrated as household size shrinks.

In larger groups, feelings tend to disperse more naturally, whereas in smaller households they are held more directly between fewer people (Gove, Hughes & Galle, 1983).

This doesn't suggest fault, it's a pattern in human experiences on how space and numbers shape the tone.

Recharge looks different for different people

This becomes more important when you think about how people recover from stress.

Some people feel restored by conversation and shared activity. Others need low stimulation and time alone before they can re-engage.

Most of us move between the two, depending on the day and what life is asking of us... But there are also broader patterns worth noting. Research suggests that women, on average, are more likely to process stress verbally and relationally, while men are more likely to withdraw and regulate internally (Taylor et al., 2000). Neither approach is better, but they require different conditions to work well and, in my own experience, I guess I sit more on the traditionally male side of that preference!

In shared houses, these differences were often easier to live with. Someone could talk things through without it being directed at one person. Someone else could retreat without it being read as distance.

In a two-person home, those same needs can feel more exposed, simply because they are shared so closely.

Loss of Control of Your Space

There’s something important about having a place you can go that doesn’t need interpreting.

Environmental psychology consistently shows that people experience less stress when they feel a sense of control over their space, particularly over stimulation, interaction and withdrawal (Altman, 1975). The option to step back, even if it isn’t always taken, has a regulating effect on the nervous system.

This may help explain why shared houses often worked better than expected. Retreat was assumed. Closing a door wasn’t a statement. Being unavailable didn’t require justification. A sense of choice was built into the structure.

In smaller shared homes, especially with just one other person, that sense of choice can quietly minimise. Withdrawal becomes visible and space feels negotiated rather than assumed. Over time, even small decisions about when to talk, rest or be alone can start to feel effortful. There’s less opportunity for moods to pass through unnoticed, and less chance for irritation to fade on its own. This doesn’t necessarily lead to more conflict, but it can mean that emotional regulation requires more intention.

For people who are sensitive to stimulation, emotionally perceptive, or already carrying stress from elsewhere, this loss of control can register quite strongly, even if it’s difficult to articulate.

Studies of communal and co-housing environments have found that people often feel less personally scrutinised when living with others. Withdrawal is easier, and emotional recovery happens with fewer explanations (Williams, 2005). In contrast, smaller households tend to place greater emphasis on boundaries, timing and mutual awareness.

Choice, money and what we take for granted

Of course, many people don’t feel they have much choice.

Housing costs and economic pressure make living alone unrealistic for lots of adults. Alongside that sits a strong cultural assumption that sharing a home is a natural marker of commitment.

It leaves little room to ask whether different arrangements might suit different people, or even the same people at different stages of life... Or, times of day!

If money and social expectation weren’t part of the picture, some might choose separate homes, shared land with private spaces, or clearer divisions of space within a shared home. These possibilities exist, but they’re rarely discussed.

Living together asks a lot of relationships, often without us realising it.

If you’ve ever found shared living more demanding than expected, or noticed that you miss having somewhere that’s just yours, there’s nothing unusual about that. It may simply reflect how closely modern life asks us to live.

Closeness can take many forms. Sometimes it benefits from a little more physical room around it.

It can be helpful to step back and ask a few gentle questions, to notice what’s actually being asked of you:

• Where do I genuinely feel able to switch off at home?

• Do I have a space — physical or otherwise — that feels fully mine, even briefly?

• When I need quiet or distance, do I experience that as rest, or as something I have to justify?

• Am I craving less closeness, or just a little more room around it?

For some people, the answer might be clearer boundaries around space, time, or sleep. For others, it might simply be naming a need that’s been quietly present for a long time.

In fact, would it really be so terrible to break tradition and share with other trusted couples, so that you can still enjoy your person, but with a little buffer of the other people around too?

However you move forward, I hope you find the space and time you need to rest, reset and show up for those you care about, in the right ways for you and for them.

If you're struggling to find balance in your living situation, it may help to talk about it.

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