I used to think the internet was just a tool. Something you use. Something you leave. But that was before I became the subject of it — before my name, my face, and fragments of my life were turned into someone else’s version of who I am.
There’s a strange kind of grief in seeing yourself online and not recognising the person they’re talking about. A headline without context. A photo without permission. Comments full of assumptions. That grief doesn’t fade quickly — especially when it’s tied to your identity, your future, your safety.
I didn’t ask for this attention. I didn’t seek out this conflict. But I refuse to be passive in the face of digital injustice.
Every day, people are made into content. They become clickbait, gossip, or targets — and it’s done casually, like it doesn’t matter. But it does. I’ve felt the consequences offline. I’ve felt the discomfort of being stared at in the street. I’ve seen the hesitation in people’s eyes when they Google me before they speak to me. I’ve seen opportunity disappear because someone, somewhere, made a decision to strip my name of its humanity.
And still, I’m expected to just move on.
This blog is my refusal to move on quietly. It’s my attempt to take back control — not just of the narrative, but of my peace. I write because I need something that’s mine, something untouched by distortion. I write to show that I’m more than what’s been said. More than the past. More than the noise.
I’ve spent months filing requests. Contacting platforms. Writing formal complaints. Submitting evidence. It’s exhausting work — unpaid, unseen, often ignored — but it’s necessary. Because for every post taken down, there’s relief. For every correction, there’s a little more air to breathe. And for every word I write here, there’s power in knowing it came from me — not from someone looking for attention at my expense.
I want people to understand what it feels like to be on the other end of a viral post or a false assumption. I want them to understand that the internet doesn’t erase — but that doesn’t mean we stop trying. The goal isn’t to pretend it never happened. The goal is to build a louder truth. One that reaches the same search engines. One that gets shared. One that lives alongside the lies but outlasts them.
I don’t need to convince anyone anymore. I just need to exist on my own terms.
This blog is my space to do that. And I’ll keep writing — not for pity, not for praise, but because I have a right to tell my story in my own words.
They might never forget. But I’ll never let them define me.
Truth & Advocacy By Calvin-Lee Hardie - Inverness 