Has Everyone Lost Their Damn Minds? The Internet, Politics, and Supporting Each Other Again

It’s funny. The other day, I saw a post on Bluesky—yes, that newish social media space where all the Twitter exiles are hiding—and someone asked, “Are people who aren’t talking about politics getting any traction anymore?” I blinked at the screen and thought, Wow, what a very on-the-nose, 2025 question.

It stuck with me. Not because it was shocking. But because it hit a nerve.

Have people lost their damn minds?

What happened to supporting each other? Like actually supporting—not just “likes” and empty comments, but really showing up? What happened to conversations about life, love, grief, weird joy, or (in my case) raising a daughter with Pitt Hopkins Syndrome while juggling a million other things—including trying to keep my own mental health somewhat intact?

This isn’t a rant. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of a rant. But it’s also a reflection. A pulse check on where we are and why I think it’s time to bring back basic human decency online.

I’m Not Here for Performative Outrage 24/7

Listen, I care about politics. I do. I vote. I read. I advocate for policies that matter, especially around disability rights, health care, and special education. But I don’t think every post, every interaction, every sentence out of my mouth has to be a manifesto.

Some days, I just want to talk about what it’s like parenting a six-year-old with a rare neurological disorder.

Or why taking my RV into the woods with my husband and daughter was the reset I didn’t know I needed.

Or how I cried in the car after an IEP meeting because even winning a service feels like a battle.

I don’t want to fight with strangers in the comments. I want to build community. I want to connect. I want to remember that we’re not just avatars yelling into the void—we’re people. Some of us are barely holding it together. Some of us are raising medically complex kids while managing our own neurodivergence. Some of us are exhausted.

And yet, if we’re not constantly weighing in on the outrage of the day, we’re “checked out” or “not engaged.”

Excuse me? I’m fully engaged—with my kid’s health, insurance paperwork, accessible equipment costs, and the 47-step process to get a therapy appointment. My bandwidth is maxed out. Not posting about the latest trending drama doesn’t mean I’m asleep. It means I’m alive—in the trenches.

Supporting Each Other Shouldn’t Be Radical

It blows my mind that we’ve made supporting one another feel like a political act. I see creators, especially other moms and disabled folks, pour their hearts out online—and the silence is deafening.

Unless it’s something controversial. Then suddenly everyone’s got time to comment.

Why is it easier to argue than to encourage?

Why does vulnerability only get visibility when it’s wrapped in a trending hashtag?

This is what I want more of:

• People showing up in the comments with kindness
• Shares of real-life wins, even if they’re “small”
• Emotional honesty without having to perform rage for attention

I want the internet to be more than just a fight club with memes.

When You’re a Special Needs Mom, Everything Feels Political—But That’s Not All I Am

Raising a child with Pitt Hopkins Syndrome makes everything feel political. Every school placement, every therapy denied, every doctor who doesn’t listen—it’s all tied to systemic issues.

But I don’t want to be forced to package my experience into a digestible, rage-click-friendly post to be heard.

Sometimes, I just want to say:

• “Today was hard.”
• “Bean learned a new sign and I’m crying in the kitchen.”
• “Why does medical equipment cost more than my car?”
• “I’m lonely. Does anyone else feel lonely?”

And I want that to matter. I want it to land.

Because for people like me—moms, caregivers, disabled folks, neurodivergent women—the personal is political. But we also deserve room to just be human. To share without having to debate. To exist online without turning everything into content for outrage algorithms.

What If We Built a Community That Didn’t Rely on Drama?

What if we made space for softness? For nuance? For people who don’t have energy to scream but still want to be heard?

What if we redefined traction—not by how spicy your take is, but by how many people feel seen because of what you shared?

I’m not saying never talk about politics. But maybe we make room for:

• Disability stories that aren’t about inspiration porn or trauma
• Parenting moments that don’t require a punchline
• Honest reflections that don’t demand a debate

That’s the kind of internet I want. One where someone can say, “I’m struggling today,” and get a reply that says, “Me too. You’re not alone.”

It’s Okay to Be Tired. It’s Okay to Talk About Something Else.

Not everything has to be a hot take. Not every post needs to be strategic. Some things just need to be said.

Like:

• “I’m proud of myself for making it through this week.”
• “I miss having friends who understand what this is like.”
• “Here’s a picture of my kid being silly because today, that’s what’s saving me.”

We need space to be real. To breathe. To remember that support is not transactional, and visibility shouldn’t only come when we’re shouting.

I get that the internet is fast, loud, and messy. But maybe the fix isn’t to scream louder. Maybe it’s to listen more. To notice who’s quietly showing up and say, “Hey—I see you.”

Final Thought: More Empathy, Less Ego

I’m just a mom with a special needs daughter, trying to get through the day without losing myself in the noise. And maybe that’s what we need more of—people who are willing to show up as themselves, without the performance.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope it reminded you that you’re not alone if you feel exhausted by the online world. If you’re craving connection that isn’t algorithm-approved. If you just want a space to share without being told you’re not doing enough.

You are enough. Your story is enough. Even if it’s not trending.

Let’s bring back compassion. Let’s prioritize community. Let’s stop measuring impact by how many people we can piss off—and start measuring it by how many people we lift up.

Because supporting each other? That should never go out of style.