A new 2025 study conducted by researchers at Bar-Ilan University in Israel uses a fresh approach to understand a familiar human experience: emptiness. By asking participants to rate how empty they felt several times a day, the researchers painted a picture of how this feeling waxes and wanes, and how it relates to impulsive behaviors. The headline takeaway is that emptiness is not unique to borderline personality disorder, though it can play out quite differently there. In people with borderline personality disorder, emptiness tends to be a chronic backdrop that can spike impulsive actions when the feeling is strongest. Yet the study also shows that emptiness can occur in anyone on any given day, and the link to impulsivity is not a simple one-to-one relationship. For Thai readers, this research arrives with clear relevance: it speaks to daily mental health realities in families, schools, clinics, and communities where emotional struggles are often kept private.
The study’s design matters as much as its findings. Researchers recruited participants from the New York City area and used a computerized momentary assessment method (EMA) to capture five daily prompts, including a self-rated scale of emptiness and a checklist of potential impulsive acts. The results showed that among those who fit the criteria for borderline personality disorder, the connection between feeling empty and acting impulsively was stronger than in people with avoidant personality traits but not stronger than in healthy controls. In other words, while emptiness can be a powerful risk factor for impulsivity in BPD, it is not a phenomenon unique to the disorder; it can arise in the general population under stress or distressful moments. One of the most striking insights is that the frequency and intensity of emptiness varied from day to day, challenging the idea that it’s a fixed feature of a clinical label. The authors highlight that most participants found chronic emptiness distressing and sought relief through coping strategies that were either maladaptive or, when readers understood the link, adaptive. This nuance matters: it points to teachable moments for clinicians and caregivers in Thailand who aim to reduce risk-taking and self-harm through timely support.
A second important thread from the study concerns mentalization—the ability to understand one’s own mental states and those of others. In the Bar-Ilan study, mentalization, or the capacity to reflect on what one is feeling and why, did not emerge as a significant moderator of the emptiness-impulsivity relationship. In practical terms, this suggests that simply knowing one is feeling empty is not automatically enough to prevent impulsive actions; it depends on a broader set of emotional regulation skills and supports. For Thai clinicians and educators, this finding underscores the value of multi-faceted interventions that go beyond awareness to include concrete coping tools, structured support, and ongoing supervision. It also aligns with a growing recognition in Thai mental health care that emotional regulation is teachable and improvable through consistent practice and access to care.
What can Thai readers take away from these insights? First, the EMA approach itself offers a promising template for understanding emotional states in real time. Digital health tools that prompt daily reflections, mood tracking, and brief safety check-ins could be integrated into Thai primary care, school counseling programs, and community mental health initiatives. Such tools can help families notice patterns, identify triggers, and mobilize timely support before distress escalates into impulsive or self-harming behaviors. In Bangkok and other urban centers where access to mental health professionals is expanding but still uneven, a scalable approach that combines digital monitoring with local human support offers a practical path forward. Second, the study’s broader message—that emptiness is a common human experience, not a rare pathology—could help reduce stigma in Thai society. By reframing emptiness as a signal that someone needs care rather than a character flaw, communities can foster more compassionate responses in homes, temples, workplaces, and schools.
Thai cultural context provides a useful lens for applying these findings. In Thai families, decision-making often centers on collective well-being, with elders and caregivers playing pivotal roles in whether someone seeks help. The Buddhist emphasis on mindfulness, compassion, and seeking balance resonates with the idea of learning to sit with difficult emotions rather than compulsively acting to escape them. Traditional practices such as mindful breathing, temple-based outreach, and family-oriented counseling can be harmonious with modern therapies designed to teach adaptive coping. Schools, too, can weave emotional learning into the curriculum—not merely as an add-on, but as part of everyday life—so students recognize that feeling emptied or overwhelmed is a common human experience and that skillful strategies can change outcomes.
The Bar-Ilan study also gives a broader, more inclusive takeaway that could affect Thai mental health programs. It shows that daily distress, including emptiness, does not neatly map onto diagnostic categories. People who do not meet a clinical threshold for a disorder may still experience distress that leads to impulsive actions. This has practical implications for early intervention: by adopting screening tools that gauge day-to-day emotional fluctuations in schools, workplaces, and clinics, Thai programs can identify at-risk individuals who might otherwise slip through the cracks. It also highlights the importance of equipping families with simple, accessible coping strategies—such as structured routines, small, achievable self-soothing techniques, and clear pathways to professional help—so people have concrete options when emptiness intensifies.
From a policy perspective, Thailand stands at a crossroads where mental health services are expanding but still unevenly distributed. The study’s emphasis on real-time data collection aligns with ongoing moves toward digital health in Thailand, including telemedicine and smartphone-based support networks. To translate these insights into real-world impact, public health planners might prioritize training for frontline workers in recognizing signs of emotional overwhelm and providing immediate, nonjudgmental support. Educational authorities could embed emotional literacy and coping skills into national curricula, ensuring that students learn how to identify distress, seek help, and employ adaptive strategies both at home and in school. In clinical settings, integrating EMA-based monitoring into treatment plans for BPD and related conditions could help clinicians tailor interventions to each patient’s daily rhythm, potentially reducing impulsive episodes and improving long-term outcomes.
Of course, no single study provides all the answers, and the Bar-Ilan work invites further exploration, including replication in diverse cultural contexts. For Thailand, the next steps may involve pilot programs that test culturally appropriate versions of daily mood tracking, tuned to Thai languages, social norms, and family dynamics. Researchers could examine how such tools interact with existing therapies like dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), which already has a global footprint and is increasingly adapted in Thai clinical settings. Clinicians might explore how to integrate mindfulness-based practices with family-centered interventions, recognizing that support systems at home and in community spaces—temples, clinics, and schools—are essential to sustaining gains in emotional regulation.
What does all this mean for everyday life in Thailand? First, it reinforces a practical, humane outlook: if you or a loved one sometimes feels empty, it’s not a moral failing; it’s a signal that help and strategies are available. Second, it points toward action that families and communities can take now. Create a simple daily check-in ritual at home or in a school setting, where people share how they felt that day, what helped, and what they might need next. Encourage youth and adults to use a lightweight mood-tracking tool or journal, not to judge themselves but to understand patterns. And crucially, ensure there are clear, stigma-free avenues to seek professional support, including confidential counseling services and crisis resources.
In Thai society, where family ties and reverence for authority often shape help-seeking behavior, framing mental health as a shared responsibility can be particularly effective. The new findings remind us that compassion, accurate information, and practical tools can transform fear and shame into action and recovery. By integrating real-time emotional awareness with culturally resonant supports, Thailand can advance its mental health objectives while honoring core values of family, community, and spiritual well-being. The study does not offer a magic cure, but it does illuminate a path: a path where people, across the spectrum of emotional experience, can learn to sit with emptiness, engage adaptive coping, and find strength in support networks that are accessible, acceptable, and humane.
In short, the latest research from Bar-Ilan University invites both clinicians and everyday readers to rethink emptiness not as a fringe symptom but as a common human signal that can be understood, managed, and integrated into a healthier life. For Thailand, the message is clear: embrace real-time understanding of emotions, empower families and communities with practical tools, and strengthen pathways to care so that emptiness becomes a prompt for care rather than a precipice into impulsivity. The cultural bridge is already there—Thai values of care, restraint, and collective well-being can guide a global science into local, lasting benefits.