People don’t use the internet anymore. They live through it.

That’s the shift no one wants to admit.

It used to be a tool. You’d log on, do something, log off. Now it’s the filter everything passes through before it becomes real. If it isn’t posted, shared, liked, or validated, it barely counts.

Dinner isn’t dinner until it’s photographed.
A thought isn’t a thought until it’s tweeted.
A feeling isn’t a feeling until strangers react to it.

And the worst part? People think this is connection.

It isn’t. It’s performance.

Everyone’s curating a version of themselves they can tolerate. Slightly sharper. Slightly happier. Slightly more interesting than they actually feel. Not fake enough to be obvious, just polished enough to be exhausting.

Then they scroll.

Through other people doing the exact same thing.

Comparing their messy, unedited lives to someone else’s highlight reel and wondering why they feel flat. Or behind. Or vaguely like they’ve missed something important they can’t quite name.

You haven’t missed anything.

You’ve just outsourced your sense of reality.

The internet feeds you what to care about, what to be outraged by, what to admire, what to envy. It hands you a personality in pieces and lets you think you built it yourself.

And people accept it. Gladly.Because thinking for yourself is harder than scrolling.

Sitting with your own thoughts is harder than being distracted.
Living your life is harder than watching everyone else pretend to live theirs.

So they stay plugged in.

Refreshing. Reacting. Performing.

Calling it connection.

It’s not.

It’s dependency with better lighting.

I should know; I’m as guilty as anyone…

Introducing Secretwomen…

People don’t actually want honesty.

They say they do. They perform it. They applaud it when it’s aimed at someone else. But the second it gets close enough to land on them, it’s suddenly “too harsh,” “too negative,” or my personal favourite — “unnecessary.”

Unnecessary.

As if truth is something that should wait for permission.

Most people don’t want honesty. They want something that sounds like honesty but has already been adjusted for comfort. Rounded off. Explained. Given just enough context so they don’t have to do anything with it except agree.

That’s why certain things do well. Not because they’re insightful. Because they’re safe.

You can read them, nod, and move on with your life unchanged.

No friction. No pause. No moment where you have to wonder if you’re part of the problem being described.

That’s the line most writing doesn’t cross.

Not because it can’t.

Because it knows exactly what happens when it does.

People don’t argue with it. Not really. They just step away from it. Quietly. Like it stopped being for them halfway through.

So most of the time, that line doesn’t get crossed. Things get pulled back just before that point. Not obviously. Just enough.

This is one of those.

There’s a version of this that goes further. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would get attention. Just enough that you wouldn’t be able to sit with it as easily.

It doesn’t belong here.

It’s on SecretWomen.They perform it. They applaud it when it’s aimed at someone else. But the second it gets close enough to land on them, it’s suddenly “too harsh,” “too negative,” or my personal favourite — “unnecessary.”

Unnecessary.

As if truth is something that should wait for permission.

Most people don’t want honesty. They want something that sounds like honesty but has already been adjusted for comfort. Rounded off. Explained. Given just enough context so they don’t have to do anything with it except agree.

That’s why certain things do well. Not because they’re insightful. Because they’re safe.

You can read them, nod, and move on with your life unchanged.

No friction. No pause. No moment where you have to wonder if you’re part of the problem being described.

That’s the line most writing doesn’t cross.

Not because it can’t.

Because it knows exactly what happens when it does.

People don’t argue with it. Not really. They just step away from it. Quietly. Like it stopped being for them halfway through.

So most of the time, that line doesn’t get crossed. Things get pulled back just before that point. Not obviously. Just enough.

This is one of those.

There’s a version of this that goes further. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would get attention. Just enough that you wouldn’t be able to sit with it as easily.

It doesn’t belong here.

It’s on SecretWomen.

Social Media Isn’t Toxic. You Are.

Social media isn’t toxic. That’s the lie people tell themselves, so they don’t have to look too closely at what they’re actually doing on it.

Platforms don’t wake up in the morning and decide to be unhinged. They don’t pick fights, post passive-aggressive quotes, or spend three hours stalking someone they claim not to care about. People do that. You do that. And then you log off, shake your head, and blame the app like it forced your hand.

It didn’t.

Social media is a mirror with better lighting. It reflects exactly what you bring into it. If your feed is full of outrage, drama, and people behaving badly, it’s not because the algorithm has singled you out for punishment. It’s because you engage with it. You click it. You watch it. You feed it. And it feeds you right back.

Then comes the performance. Everyone suddenly becomes a moral authority, a mental health advocate, a political analyst, or a victim, depending on what gets the most traction that week. Outrage is currency. Oversharing is strategy. And authenticity? That’s just another aesthetic now.

People love to say social media is damaging their mental health, while actively marinating in the exact content that makes them feel worse. Doomscrolling like it’s a job. Comparing their real lives to someone else’s highlight reel, then acting shocked when they feel inadequate. You’re not a hostage here. You’re a willing participant.

And the hypocrisy is almost impressive. The same people complaining about negativity are the ones liking, sharing, and commenting on it. The same ones calling out toxicity are in the comments section sharpening knives. It’s not exposure that’s the problem. It’s appetite.

The truth is that social media didn’t create this behaviour. It just gave it a stage. A very efficient, very public stage where people can be exactly who they are without interruption. And for a lot of people, that’s the uncomfortable part.

Because it’s easier to blame the platform than admit you might be part of the problem.

Social media isn’t toxic. It’s just honest.

Being "Real" - The New Performance

“I’m just being authentic.”

With lighting.
Editing.
And three takes.

Sure. Keep it real. 

Put those Botox and filled cheeks and lips in the camera and smile!

I wish I could be there in 50 years when they open up coffins and see a skeleton, with boobs, lips, eyelashes and a butt! 

They don't know what any of this does to you! Like smoking - my mother started smoking when she was in hospital. Pregnant with me!! My Cigarette went through the wards handing them out! Yeah. It'll calm your nerves!! Now they discovered it was deadly. So, they invented vapes. Same thing! 

The weight loss drugs... Everybody is on it! Even my sister and brother! Personally, I'd rather be a fat fuck.

Stupid people. Be happy as you are! Because I don't think fake lips or a frozen face is going to be the magic pill of happiness!

True Crime Isn’t Curiosity. It’s Entertainment.

Let’s not dress it up.

True crime isn’t about justice. It’s not about “understanding.” It’s about watching something awful from a safe distance and calling it interest.

We binge it. We follow it. We wait for the next episode like it’s a series—because it is.

Someone’s worst day becomes content. A life gets reduced to a storyline. A murder becomes a hook.
And we eat it up.

Podcasts stretch details for suspense. Documentaries build cliffhangers. Comment sections fill with theories like it’s a game. Real people are dead, and we’re treating it like a puzzle.

“Obsessed with true crime” isn’t curiosity. It’s branding.

If this were really about respect, it wouldn’t sound like entertainment. It wouldn’t feel this polished. This addictive. This… enjoyable.

But it does.
Because that’s exactly what it is.