In the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the world seemed to shrink overnight. Doors closed. Streets emptied. Familiar routines dissolved into uncertainty. For many, the silence was not just outside—it crept inward, too. Without the rhythms of daily life, countless people began asking an unsettling question: Does my life really matter?
Psychologists have a word for that deep human need to feel significant. It’s called mattering. It refers to the belief that we are important to others, that our presence makes a difference. When that belief falters, something fragile inside us begins to tremble. People who experience what researchers call mattering struggles often report feeling invisible, lonely, anxious. The mind can become a restless place.
But as social spaces shut down, something else quietly shifted. With less access to workplaces, schools, and community gatherings, people found themselves spending more time at home—or stepping into nature in search of breathing room. And in those spaces, something unexpected began to unfold.
A new study published in the Archive for the Psychology of Religion suggests that for many people, a deep spiritual connection to a physical place became a kind of emotional lifeline. That sacred bond, researchers found, appeared to soften the psychological blow of feeling insignificant.
A Sacred Bond Between Earth and Spirit
The research was led by Victor Counted, an associate professor and director of the Office of Research and Sponsored Programs at Regent University. He has long been fascinated by a question that few scientists have tried to answer: What happens when our inner spiritual lives intertwine with the physical spaces we inhabit?
Traditionally, environmental psychology has studied place attachment, the emotional bonds we form with our homes or neighborhoods. Meanwhile, the psychology of religion has focused on spiritual attachment—our connection to the Divine. Rarely have these two perspectives been woven together.
Counted wanted to explore what he calls a “sacred-spatial bond.” His idea is simple yet profound. Spirituality, he suggests, does not float somewhere abstract and detached from reality. It unfolds within the environments we move through. It anchors itself in specific, tangible places.
A sacred space, in this sense, does not have to be a towering cathedral. It might be a quiet corner of a living room. A park bench beneath old trees. A memorial ground. Even a private altar tucked away from view. The sacred, the researchers emphasize, is not confined to organized religion. It is something people sense and experience in places that feel meaningful.
When the pandemic disrupted social and physical structures, Counted saw an opportunity to examine whether these sacred places could act as psychological anchors during a time of collective instability.
Measuring the Invisible
To explore this idea, the research team turned to data from the National Religion and Spirituality Survey 2022. The study included exactly 3,640 adults across the United States. The sample was carefully designed to reflect a broad range of ages, genders, races, and education levels. Data collection took place between November 9 and December 7, 2022, with participants responding either online or by telephone.
The researchers focused on three key experiences since March 2020. First, they asked participants whether their spiritual ties to a place had increased during the pandemic. People rated this on a five-point scale, reflecting on whether they had become more spiritually connected to a sacred location.
Next came the question of mattering. Participants reported how often they had questioned whether their lives really mattered, using a four-point scale. These responses captured the depth of their mattering struggles.
Finally, participants evaluated their overall mental well-being, indicating whether it had worsened, stayed the same, or improved during the pandemic.
The researchers also accounted for background factors such as age, gender, income, political orientation, and religious affiliation, aiming to ensure that the patterns they observed were not distorted by unrelated variables.
The Weight of Feeling Invisible
The findings revealed something both sobering and striking. People who frequently questioned their significance—those experiencing stronger mattering struggles—were consistently more likely to report a decline in their mental well-being. The link was clear: when individuals felt they did not matter, their psychological health suffered.
But another pattern emerged alongside this troubling trend.
About 29 percent of adults surveyed said their spiritual connection to a sacred place had strengthened during the pandemic. And among these individuals, something remarkable happened.
A stronger spiritual tie to place was associated with improved mental well-being. Even more compelling, it appeared to moderate the harmful effects of mattering struggles. In other words, for people who felt deeply connected to a sacred physical location, the negative impact of feeling insignificant was noticeably weaker.
Counted described this as a powerful buffering effect. The sacred place did not simply correlate with better mental health. It specifically weakened the link between feeling like you do not matter and experiencing psychological decline.
It was as if the physical location acted as an emotional anchor. A steadying force. A quiet reminder of meaning when internal doubts grew loud.
Where the Sacred Hides
One of the most surprising aspects of the research was the variety of places where people reported finding these spiritual connections.
Some described grand religious settings. Others spoke of nature. But many found their sacred ties in what Counted called “unfrequented” places—memorial grounds, burial sites, private home sanctuaries. For some, it was a small, dedicated corner of their house. For others, a solitary spot in a park.
These findings challenge the assumption that spirituality must be public or institutional. The study suggests that sensing the sacred is an embodied experience. It involves bodily regulation, emotional connection, and a renewed sense of action. It transcends formal belief systems.
The researchers also observed a modest demographic pattern: women were slightly more likely than men to report an increased spiritual connection to a place during the pandemic. This aligns with earlier research indicating that women may engage spiritual resources more frequently during extreme stress.
Still, the core message of the study is not about gender or doctrine. It is about the deep human capacity to root ourselves in the world around us.
A Shield in Times of Crisis
Counted describes spiritually significant places as adaptive psycho-spatial resources. That phrase may sound technical, but its meaning is deeply human. It suggests that our surroundings are not passive backdrops. They can actively support our psychological resilience.
When people feel insignificant, when the question of mattering gnaws at their sense of self, a sacred place can serve as what Counted calls a “protective shield.” It offers stability. It offers meaning. It provides a sense of grounding when other structures have fallen away.
However, the researchers are careful not to overstate their findings. The study relied on cross-sectional data, meaning all information was gathered at a single point in time. Because of this design, the researchers cannot prove cause and effect. It is possible that people who were already feeling mentally well were more inclined to seek out sacred spaces, rather than the spaces themselves improving mental health.
Moreover, the data were collected in the unique context of the pandemic. The emotional intensity of that period may have amplified both mattering struggles and spiritual ties to place.
Even so, the strength of the observed buffering effect surprised the researchers. It points to something deeply rooted in human psychology: our need to be anchored not only socially, but physically.
Why This Research Matters
In a world that increasingly feels fragmented and fast-moving, this study offers a gentle yet powerful reminder. We are not disembodied minds drifting through abstract space. We are beings rooted in environments. Our physical surroundings shape us in ways we are only beginning to understand.
The research suggests that during times of crisis, a meaningful physical place can help shield the mind from despair. A quiet room. A forest path. A memorial site. These spaces may serve as reservoirs of stability when social structures falter.
Importantly, this insight extends beyond organized religion. The sacred, as described in this study, is not confined to doctrine. It is something sensed and embodied. It is the feeling of connection that arises when a place resonates deeply within us.
Counted’s long-term vision is ambitious. He hopes future research will move from merely mapping these spiritual ties to actively mobilizing them. He imagines a world where urban planning and clinical therapy might one day consider prescribing place-based spiritual practices to help regulate distress.
The study stands as one of the first attempts to examine the psychological bridge between religion and place in this way. It suggests that flourishing may require more than internal resilience. It may require being rooted—literally—in spaces that hold meaning.
When the world went quiet, many people discovered that significance does not always come from social applause or external validation. Sometimes, it is found in stillness. In a corner of a room. Beneath open sky. In a place where the sacred whispers that you are not invisible.
In that whisper, for some, mental health found a shield.
