Mini essay: Confessions of a rabble-rouser in a world of pretenses
When you can't help calling it like it is.
I’ve come to believe that one of my callings in this lifetime—if you believe in that sort of thing (which I’m not sure I always do—sometimes I think life is random and purposeless, but it’s more fun and interesting to find meaning; but I digress)—is to be a feather-ruffler, a rabble-rouser, a boat-rocker.
I’ve learned that I’m just not someone who looks the other way, ignores the elephant in the room, or pretends everything is fine. I’m incapable of lying to myself or others for very long. My BS meter—for better of for worse—is off the charts.
As a kid, I made everyone laugh with my incessant “why” questions and uncomfortable observations—things that would now be deemed inappropriate in polite company. I’d question life's meaning or point out things others avoided. (I was very sexually curious but that's a topic for another day.)
Growing up, this trait caused me my fair share of trouble. Former professors or bosses called me insolent or arrogant, and have punished me for it. If a task was inefficient or just plain stupid, I was the first to point it out. If a rule was arbitrary or unfair, I’d challenge it. If a system was outdated or broken, I’d say so.
Over time, I’ve realized we live in a world of fake niceties and unspoken norms. I had to learn to soften my language, sugar-coat my deliver, wait for the “right moment,” or tip-toe through environments where dishonesty is the norm. It sucks. I wish radical honesty were embraced more openly. I’ve since learned to balance truth with pragmatism and compassion, understanding that honey often gets me further than raw, unfiltered truth. And non-violent communication is still a framework I'm practicing.
Still, I’m incapable of staying in dishonest situations for very long. I don’t overstay in dead-end or unhealthy relationships or professional roles—unless my unconscious patterns are running the show (which is another story). Eventually, I’ll name the dysfunction in the dynamic or point out what's being left unsaid, and, sooner or later, the cover will implode and the lie will be revealed.
This manifests as being the black sheep in my family—where I feel tasked with calling out dysfunctional patterns when others are overridden by their traumas or running on autopilot. I feel responsible for breaking family trauma and perhaps generational and social dysfunctions, like oppression and inequality.
On a larger social scale, I feel viscerally compelled to call out injustices, oppression, and unfairness. Sometimes, I feel so deeply that I have no choice but to compartmentalize or numb myself from the harsh realities of the world. This is part of why I write about this stuff—to process and share these (often brutal) truths. It may not go viral like a funny meme, a sarcastic reel, or a cute selfie—it may even make people deeply uncomfortble—but it's my way of pushing against the status quo.
In order to function, I have no choice but to compartmentalize and accept that there are things I simply can't—and shouldn't—try to control. That there is only so much I can have an impact on, and that I'm better off turning to or joining forces with communities or organizing that are already doing the work. I’m also aware there may be tendencies towards dissociation that I could certainly find healthier outlets for.
To the rabble-rousers of the world: I see you, I hear you, I understand you. It’s a lonely journey. You might lose friends, followers, and family members, but your voice and truth are worth it. In fact, they're desperately needed. Don’t let anyone kill your light.
You’ll absolutely be seen as controversial, too loud, too much, and perhaps angry (especially if you’re a woman) in circles that prefer the game of “love and light” and “toxic positivity.” You may feel isolated or lose connections, but know your voice matters.
This proclivity has made life harder for me, but I’ve come to accept it as part of who I am and wouldn't have it any other way. I’m here to rock the boat, even if it makes things messy, or people uncomfortable, because pretending everything’s fine isn’t something I’ve ever been able to do.