I got a DM the other day that caught me off guard. Not because it was mean-spirited, but because it was honest. Really honest. Someone reached out and told me that my consistent stream of positive posts felt “fake” to them. They used the word “bullshit.” They said no one is happy all the time, and seeing all that sunshine made them feel even worse when they were in a dark place.
And you know what? I sat with that message for a while. It didn’t hurt because they were wrong. It hurt because they weren’t.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: a lot of the messages I post are for me just as much as they are for you. Sometimes, they’re mostly for me. Little affirmations. Reminders. Pep talks. I grew up in the 70s and 80s, a time when the idea of living openly as a transgender woman wasn’t just discouraged; it was dangerous. Back then, we didn’t have the internet, let alone social media. There weren’t hashtags or visibility days. There were whispers , closets and silence. And if you were lucky, maybe a book or a grainy talk show segment that hinted you weren’t alone.
So when I post those bright little nuggets of positivity, it’s partly because I didn’t have them growing up. I needed someone to say, “You’re enough,” and no one ever did. So now I say it. To myself. To you. To the past version of me who still hides sometimes in the back of my mind.
But that message reminded me of something important: intention isn’t the same as impact. Even when we’re trying to lift others up, we can sometimes make them feel further down. And that breaks my heart a little.
The Reality Behind the Highlight Reel
Here’s the truth: I’m not always doing great. I have my off days. I cry. I isolate. I scroll through my feed and see people living lives I still feel miles away from. I get triggered by the same news you do. And I absolutely know the sting of seeing someone else’s “after” when you’re still stuck in your “before.”
Social media, for all its connective power, can also quietly make us feel like failures. Like we’re not moving fast enough. Not healing enough. Not pretty enough. Not passing enough. Just… not enough.
It’s like watching someone else’s highlight reel while you’re stuck in the blooper reel of your own life. And even though we all know better, we still fall into that trap sometimes. I do too. Especially when it feels like the whole internet is thriving while you’re just trying to get through the day.
That’s the thing about being trans online. We’re expected to be educators, inspirations, cautionary tales, and proof of concept all at once. And in trying to protect ourselves or each other, we sometimes put on a little more armor than we need.
I’ll be the first to admit I’ve done that. I don’t always share the rough days because, well, I’ve had enough rough days in real life. Why would I want to put them online? But I also see now that too much curated light can cast some pretty long shadows for those who feel stuck in the dark.
Why This Matters Now More Than Ever
Let’s talk about the moment we’re living in. If you’re trans in 2025, you’re probably exhausted. You’re watching your rights, your safety, and your very existence debated like it’s a trending topic. You’re seeing laws pop up that try to erase us, and you’re watching powerful people try to convince the world that we’re the problem.
And in the middle of that, you might open your feed and see a smiling selfie or a celebratory “just got ffs!” post or another glowing coming-out reel, and suddenly you feel like you missed the boat. Like you’re the only one not celebrating. Like maybe you’re not doing transness “right.”
If that’s you, I want to say this clearly: You are not behind. You are not broken. You are not failing.
Those posts are real, sure. But they’re not the whole story. Nobody posts the full truth. Not me. Not the activists. Not the influencers. And certainly not the brands that try to capitalize on our identity for Pride Month before ghosting us for the rest of the year.
Sometimes we all need a reminder that the people we admire online cry in the shower too. That they fight with their families. That they struggle with self-image and dysphoria and bills and bureaucracy and all the same stuff you do.
And sometimes, they’re just posting something happy because they desperately need to believe in happiness that day.
What I Learned From That Exchange
Back to that message I got. The one that sparked all this.
The person who sent it wasn’t trying to be mean. They were trying to be seen. They wanted to know they weren’t alone in feeling low while the world kept pretending to be high on life. And that’s a feeling I know far too well.
So if you’ve ever looked at one of my posts and felt a twinge of shame, or loneliness, or like you were somehow failing to measure up—I’m sorry. Truly. That was never my intent.
And I’m grateful to the person who had the guts to say something. Because it reminded me of something I sometimes forget: that being “positive” doesn’t mean being perfect. It doesn’t mean hiding the struggle. It just means trying to believe that light still exists, even if we can’t always see it.
From now on, I’m going to try to be a little more open about the full spectrum. Not every post, not every day—but enough that no one forgets there’s a real human behind the screen. One who’s still figuring it out. One who sometimes types affirmations with tears in her eyes.
So What Do We Do About It?
Honestly, I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. But maybe the first step is just admitting that we all feel a little off-balance in this online world we’ve built.
If you’re a trans person scrolling through a feed that makes you feel small, please remember that what you see isn’t the full story. It never is. Take a break if you need to. Mute the accounts that hurt, even if they mean well. Curate your feed like your mental health depends on it, because sometimes, it does.
Mental Health in the Scroll: When Feeds Fuel Inadequacy
It’s no secret that social media can impact mental health. But for trans users, especially youth, disabled folks, and those living in hostile regions—the effects can be intensified.
Here’s why:
- Dysphoria triggers: Seeing endless photos of bodies you wish you had, transitions you can’t afford, or milestones you haven’t reached can trigger deep emotional pain.
- Comparison culture: Watching others “thrive” can make you feel like a failure in your own journey, even if their struggles are hidden behind filters.
- Activist exhaustion: A constant stream of anti-trans legislation, violence, and trauma online can leave you feeling hopeless and emotionally depleted.
- Isolation: If no one online seems to be going through what you’re feeling, it’s easy to believe you’re alone—even when you’re not.
This is where we need a shift, not just in individual behavior, but in community norms. We need more creators willing to say, “Today was hard.” We need more reminders that healing isn’t linear. And we need to validate the full spectrum of the trans experience, not just the peaks.
If you’re someone who posts a lot of joy, keep posting. Joy is radical. But maybe, once in a while, remind folks what it took to get there. You never know who needs to hear that part.
Being Real Without Oversharing: Finding the Middle Ground
There’s no single right way to share your life online. Not everyone wants, or needs, to post about their pain. And some people find strength in showing only what uplifts them. That’s okay.
But for those who want to balance positivity with authenticity, here are a few thoughtful practices:
- Add context. A happy photo doesn’t have to be a lie, but adding a caption that acknowledges the journey behind it can ground it in reality.
- Use content warnings. Being real doesn’t mean shocking your followers with unexpected trauma. Thoughtful framing can protect others while still being open.
- Diversify your content. If you always post affirmations, consider occasionally sharing something that’s more reflective or raw, even just in Stories or Notes.
- Check in with your audience. A simple “How are you really doing?” post can open the door for more honest conversation.
- Be okay with boundaries. You don’t owe anyone your trauma. But if you’re only showing joy, be clear that it’s a choice, not the whole truth.
And if you’re an ally, a friend, or a family member watching from the sidelines, just be there. Not as a judge, or a cheerleader, or a fixer. Just as someone who’s willing to sit in the messy middle without needing a happy ending tied up in a bow.
Allies, Families, and Followers: How to Support with Sensitivity
For allies, families, and cis followers of trans creators, here’s an important reminder: trans people are not public property. If someone chooses to only post joy, that doesn’t make them fake. If someone posts their pain, that doesn’t make them unstable.
Instead of judging how someone shares their journey, ask how you can show up for them:
- Engage with intention. Comment thoughtfully, not just with praise but with presence.
- Hold space. Let your trans friends vent without trying to fix everything.
- Amplify with nuance. Share content that includes both hope and honesty.
- Be aware of timing. If someone’s struggling, maybe save your “glow-up” post for next week.
- Stay informed. Understand the climate trans folks are navigating so your empathy is rooted in reality.
The Bottom Line
Social media was never built for the complexity of our lives. But here we are, trying to use it to survive, to connect, to thrive. It’s clunky. It’s messy. And sometimes it stings when it’s supposed to soothe.
But if we can all be a little more honest, a little more tender, a little more real, maybe we can build something better. Maybe we can be the kind of online presence that helps someone feel a little less alone, even when things aren’t sunshine and rainbows.
Because I promise you, behind every glow-up photo and every brave post, there’s a story. And behind this website, these words, and this woman writing to you now, there’s a lifetime of trying to be okay, and sometimes failing.
And that’s okay too.
You’re not alone in the hard days. You’re not invisible in the struggle. You matter just as much in the mess as you do in the magic.
I see you. And I’m grateful you’re here.
