There’s a word people like to use when they write about someone without permission:
“Exposure.”
They act like it’s a public service.
Like turning your name into content is somehow justified if enough people click.
They pretend that publishing your photo, your story, your past — without your consent — is a spotlight, not a weapon.
But I’ve lived under that spotlight.
And I can tell you — it burns.
I didn’t ask to be exposed.
I didn’t ask to be reshaped into a headline.
I didn’t ask for parts of my life to be taken out of context, exaggerated, and thrown across search engines like they were facts.
What they call exposure, I call damage.
Because that’s what it did — to my reputation, to my mental health, to my future.
When people search for me, they don’t see me.
They see a version of me built from a narrative I didn’t write.
And no one thinks to question it — because it’s already been shared, archived, believed.
That’s the power of being first. That’s the danger of staying silent.
That’s why I write.
This blog isn’t about hiding. It’s not about escaping responsibility. It’s about reclaiming narrative control.
It’s about pushing back against systems that reward speed over accuracy, cruelty over fairness, and drama over dignity.
I’ve never been afraid of accountability — but I’ve always been against distortion.
There’s a difference between what you did and what they say you are.
And when that line gets blurred, it’s not just your story that gets lost — it’s your humanity.
So if they want exposure, they can have this:
The truth.
My truth.
In my own words, on my own terms.
Not for clickbait. Not for shock.
But because the only thing more dangerous than being misrepresented is staying silent about it.
— Calvin-Lee Hardie
Truth & Advocacy By Calvin-Lee Hardie - Inverness 