Why Intelligence Feels Isolating

The quiet loneliness of being "the smart one"

If you think of the word intelligence, what is the first image that comes to your mind?

Is it a high IQ score? Excelling at school? Perhaps it is someone eloquent with a vast vocabulary? Or is it something entirely different?

What do you think of when you hear the word intelligence?

Did you notice that the examples above were only positive traits? Did you think of any negative qualities?

When we think of intelligence, we often only perceive the sunny side: being able to see and combine information nobody else seems to grasp and probably doing well in school and university, which leads to having better chances in the job market (and therefore perhaps getting a higher salary).

Also, this way of thinking cannot simply be bought but has to be discovered, cultivated, and earned. This is one of the reasons why intelligence is such a sought-after status symbol currently. In a world where almost everything can be bought, the things that cannot become more valuable because they are harder to acquire.

But what even is intelligence?

According to our well-known friend and trusted companion, the Cambridge Dictionary, intelligence is “the ability to learn, understand, and make judgments or have opinions that are based on reason.” To put it in other words, intelligence means being able to define, comprehend, hold, and connect multiple concepts in your head while thinking critically and having a sense of discernment.

In recent essays, we have looked at the many dimensions of intelligence: why we romanticize, culturize, and fake it.

The dimension we are focusing on here is the social aspect. You might know the stereotype of the mad scientist or the isolated writer, who have shaped the public perception of how we see intelligent people. Those are not new stereotypes. For example, the archetype of the mad scientist appears in Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein, embodied in the character of Victor Frankenstein. (And yes, the book is named after the scientist, not the monster.)

What gets lost in those stereotypes is not only nuance but also the question of how they ended up at this particular point. Because the fewest people make a 180-degree turn without reason.

So let’s imagine…

When you were a child, you got praised. This is one of the ways you learn how to behave in the world. Maybe it was for writing or thinking quicker than others. You were good at it, it was fun, and the praise kept you motivated, so you kept going.

With time, you realized that what made you stand out among others also pointed the spotlight directly on you. This could be a positive light, like recognition or congratulations. But it also could be negative, like envy or resentment by others who felt unappreciated and left out. As a response, they began to exclude you or show you that you were somehow different and did not belong.

Meanwhile, you did not feel understood by others because your mind always had its own way of working; you could not place your finger on it, you just knew that it was seemingly different from theirs. Your interests, too, did not seem to align exactly.

Others might have seen you as overly obsessive or arrogant. Not because you truly were, but because they were projecting their own negative beliefs onto you.

At this point, it is important to note that high intelligence often correlates with anxiety. For instance, someone who is very analytical might constantly question their own actions and words, trying to find logical explanations for every social interaction. Especially if there is a sense of dislike towards them.

In addition, intelligence is also closely linked to deductive reasoning (the process of moving from general principles to specific conclusions). It is no surprise that this proposition can lead to overthinking. Repeating small interactions again and again in your head while micro-analyzing what was being said, how it was being said, from whom and why, and what could (or could not) have been said is incredibly draining. Especially if you are questioning, on top of that, your own social position and wondering whether they secretly dislike you.

This type of thing can make social interactions feel more stressful, complicated, and awkward than they already are. Over time, this creates a frustrating cycle where intelligence feeds overthinking, which then fuels anxiety and makes it harder to simply relax and connect with others. (Which, ironically, would not just help you to ease the stress, but also display that you do not need to overthink social interactions as much, and that less overthinking might even bring better results.)

Unresolved, the feeling of quiet frustration begins to grow slowly but steadily. You always had to tone down yourself, your vocabulary, your way of thinking, and perhaps even your whole self. With time, you might have internalized it as a way to deal with it. “Nobody gets me,” and “I’m the smart one” are possible explanations you told yourself.

What often gets lost in all of this is your uniqueness. Somewhere along the way, you start to build a cage. One that others may have designed for you, but that you now maintain yourself. You feel the pressure of being “the smart one,” because who else are you supposed to be? Slowly but surely, it becomes part of your identity, your unspoken job title.

With that label comes (again) anxiety. It is the slightly sad but knowing look from your teacher when they hand you a test. The grade is not as high as you expected. In fact, it is not as high as everyone expected. While you try to manage your own disappointment, you see others start whispering, “What happened?” “Did you see?” You start to realize that they are disappointed in you too, because the result does not fit with your identity. This only adds pressure. Between analyzing your mistakes and making plans on how to study more and harder, a silent thought creeps in: “What if I‘m not good enough? If I am not the smart one, who else am I going to be?” Being ‘the intelligent one’ can feel like a compliment until it becomes the only thing you are allowed to be. Perhaps when the next test came around, you did not even give yourself time to rest, because sleeping less is better than getting a grade below your own standard and much better than risking damage to (or even questioning) your identity.

Over time, this pressure can build into something much larger: a quiet existential crisis.

At first, carrying others’ expectations feels manageable, maybe even motivating. But as time passes, the weight grows heavier, until one day, you find yourself exhausted by it all. You burn out. You crash.

It does not always happen dramatically. Sometimes it is not a breakdown but a slow unraveling: the loss of motivation, the feeling of disconnection, and the creeping sense that you are just going through the motions. Life begins to lose its colors; the once bright shine of the headlight now feels like too much. You stop recognizing yourself. The passion that once drove you fades and is replaced by numbness and confusion.

You start to wonder, What is even the point of all this if I’m not even happy? So what now?

But here is the thing: even if it feels like everything is falling apart, you can use the broken pieces to build something new.

Perhaps it is triggered by a formative event; perhaps it is a random Thursday. Slowly, you start to rebuild. It does not happen overnight. There is no single “aha” moment where everything begins to make sense again. Rather, it is an accumulation of small “aha” moments. It is more like waking up after a long sleep and realizing that the room looks different in daylight. You begin to notice the single sunbeams shining through the window. You begin to understand that you are allowed to (re)define yourself, for yourself and by yourself. That intelligence does not have to be your entire identity, and being “the smart one” is not your only source of self-worth.

Maybe it starts with something small: you pick up an old hobby that has nothing to do with being productive or impressive. Like dancing, painting, hiking, and playing music badly but joyfully. You realize you can do things simply because they make you feel more alive. You laugh more, even at yourself. Furthermore, you start to notice how good it feels to make a mistake and not spiral about it for hours afterward.

Of course, this will not happen immediately, but if you keep looking, you will begin (and later keep) finding.

You might also begin to reconnect with people in new ways. Instead of only trying to be understood intellectually, you start valuing emotional understanding. Maybe you start talking to a friend, and, instead of analyzing every word, you listen. Really listen. You realize that connection can come in many forms, like being vulnerable and admitting, “Actually, I don’t have that figured out either.”

There is a quiet kind of freedom in that.

You quit the invisible job of being “the smart one” because it has terrible hours and neither pays your overtime nor your bills. You begin to see that your intelligence can serve you without defining you. With that in mind, intelligence is becoming a multifunctional tool in your hand and not a limiting identity in your head. You can use it to create, connect, question, and understand.

With time, redefining yourself means broadening your curiosity through your sharpness and allowing yourself to be multi-dimensional: intelligent and kind, analytical and intuitive, and ambitious and playful. There are no rules.

When you stop obsessing over being “the intelligent one,” you let go of the heaviness. The same analytical power that once turned inward and created anxiety can be turned outward, toward creativity, problem-solving, or helping others.

In all of those small moments, your intelligence transforms from a label into a part of who you are.

Eventually, you begin to realize that true and healthy intelligence is not about being the smart(est) person in the room. It is about curiosity and compassion, but also about humility and introspection, and above all else, balance. With yourself and your surroundings.

But here is the secret: that balance is not something you are born with. It is something you can learn.