I’m not trying to be mean. I’m not here to hurt anybody’s feelings. But somebody’s gotta say it — a lot of us aren’t real anymore. Not really.
We’ve become slogans. Talking points. Hashtags. We’ve wrapped ourselves so tightly in the cloth of ideology that we’ve forgotten how to be people. Not activists, not archetypes, not “representations” — people. I’m not talking about politics here, not really. I’m talking about the erosion of soul in favor of a curated identity.
I meet someone and instead of Bob or Susan, I’m introduced to a checklist. “I’m a queer, trans, Black, anti-capitalist feminist.” Or “I’m a proud white libertarian Christian.” And that’s it. That’s the intro, the middle, and the end. No room for contradiction, for complexity, for curiosity. Just one long sentence with a period stamped on the end like a warning sign: Do Not Question.
And when you do try to ask something deeper? You get canned answers, like you triggered the wrong part of a flowchart. Not “let me think about that.” Not “I’m not sure.” Just a regurgitated article, a preloaded defense, or worse — silence followed by distance.
Where did we go?
Where’s the part of us that used to hunger for connection and not just agreement? When did winning the conversation become more important than being in it?
We have brought identity politics into everything we do, and while yes, identity matters — we forgot that people are more than their politics. More than their trauma. More than their aesthetics. And when we make identity the only lens, we stop listening. We stop seeing. We stop being curious. It’s like we’re all standing on podiums yelling bullet points at each other instead of sitting down and learning how to live with one another.
And I get it. The world is terrifying and messy. Simplicity feels safe. Certainty feels like safety. But what we’re calling safety is just a padded cell of groupthink. No questions allowed. No nuance allowed. No discomfort allowed. No realness allowed.
Some of us are so out of touch with ourselves that we can’t even ask ourselves questions. That’s the saddest part. If you can’t turn inward and say, “Do I still believe this?” or “What am I afraid of?” or even just “What do I need today?” — you’re not free. You’re not awake. You’re following a script and pretending it’s a personality.
And we’re losing everything because of it.
We lost love — because love requires vulnerability and contradiction.
We lost spirituality — because that requires surrender and wonder, not certainty.
We lost homes — because everything is politicized, even our doorways.
We lost family — because nuance died, and with it, compassion.
We lost community — because listening was replaced with sorting: “You’re in. You’re out.”
We lost self — because if you are only what you believe, what happens when your beliefs shift?
And we are still losing more.
We’ve mistaken performance for purpose we see it with faceless accounts online. We’ve mistaken being right for being real. And in doing so, we’ve made ourselves emotionally, socially, spiritually homeless.
And yes — the media feeds this. The internet thrives on digestible characters and simplified stories. It encourages this flattening. It wants you to say, “I read the first paragraph, I know all I need to know.” It wants you to scroll, not sit. Swipe, not see.
But we don’t have to keep playing the game.
You can step back. You can stop reading your identity like a resume. You can stop policing every word for alignment with your brand. You can be messy. You can be wrong. You can be real. You can say, “I don’t know.” You can say, “That hurts.” You can say, “I changed.” You can be more than the talking points.
Because if we don’t reclaim our humanness, we are going to lose everything that makes life worth living. The joy. The mystery. The awkwardness. The tension. The moments where you look someone in the eyes and realize, Oh. You’re a whole world.
So this is your invitation — to be a whole world again.
Not a headline.
Not a hashtag.
Not a symbol.
Just you. Messy, contradictory, curious, breathing you.
Let’s bring that back. Before it’s too late.