In contemporary society, there exists an unspoken rule that emotional expression in men is often met with skepticism or even ridicule. This narrative has deep-seated roots in cultural norms and deeply ingrained expectations of masculinity. The idea that sharing feelings is “gay” has become a pervasive and harmful stereotype, leading many men to suppress their emotions. This suppression can result in a range of issues, from built-up anger to lasting emotional scars. To create a healthier society, it is crucial to challenge and dismantle this narrative, encouraging men to express their feelings openly and honestly.
The stigma surrounding emotional expression in men is deeply ingrained in societal norms. For centuries, men have been expected to be strong, stoic, and resilient traits that often conflict with the vulnerability required for emotional honesty. This expectation has created a culture where men feel pressured to hide their feelings, lest they be seen as weak or effeminate. The phrase “big boys don’t cry” encapsulates this mindset, suggesting that emotional restraint is a sign of strength and maturity. This narrative has been reinforced through various media, from movies and TV shows to literature and music, creating a collective consciousness that equates masculinity with emotional detachment.
The consequences of this emotional suppression are far-reaching and profound. Men who feel unable to express their feelings often resort to other ways of coping, such as anger or aggression. This can manifest in various ways, from verbal outbursts to physical altercations. The built-up emotion, unable to find a healthy outlet, can fester and explode in unpredictable and often destructive ways. This pattern of behavior can strain both personal and professional relationships, creating a tense environment.
Moreover, the suppression of emotions can lead to lasting psychological and physical health issues. Studies have shown that unexpressed emotions can contribute to a range of health problems, including anxiety, depression, and even cardiovascular disease. The mind and body are intricately connected, and the stress of suppressing emotions can have a significant impact on overall well-being. Men who struggle to express their feelings may also have difficulty forming and maintaining deep, meaningful relationships. The inability to communicate emotions honestly can create barriers in intimate relationships, friendships, and family dynamics, leading to feelings of isolation and disconnection.
The narrative that emotional expression is a sign of weakness also affects how men perceive themselves and their masculinity. Many men internalize the idea that showing emotion is “gay” and therefore inferior or less manly. This internalized homophobia can create a cycle of self-doubt and insecurity, as men struggle to reconcile their emotions with their perceived masculine identity. This conflict can be particularly challenging for men who identify as gay or bisexual, as they may feel pressured to conform to heteronormative ideals of masculinity while also navigating their sexual identity.
To challenge this narrative and create a healthier society, it is essential to promote emotional literacy and encourage open dialogue about feelings. This involves creating safe spaces where men feel comfortable expressing their emotions without fear of judgment or ridicule. Support groups, therapy sessions, and male-focused workshops can provide a platform for men to explore and share their feelings in a supportive environment. Additionally, promoting positive role models who embody emotional intelligence and vulnerability can help redefine societal expectations of masculinity.
Education also plays a crucial role in dismantling the stigma surrounding emotional expression in men. By incorporating emotional literacy into school curricula and workplace training programs, we can equip men with the tools they need to understand and manage their emotions effectively. This includes teaching boys and young men about the importance of emotional intelligence, active listening, and healthy communication strategies. By fostering an environment that values emotional honesty, we can help men develop the skills they need to navigate their feelings and build strong, meaningful relationships.
Media representation also has a significant impact on societal perceptions of masculinity and emotional expression. By portraying men who are comfortable with their emotions and capable of vulnerability, we can challenge and redefine traditional notions of masculinity. This involves showcasing a diverse range of male characters who embody emotional intelligence, from action heroes to everyday men, and depicting their journeys with authenticity and depth. When men see themselves reflected in media in a positive and nuanced way, it can help validate their emotions and encourage them to express themselves openly.
Furthermore, it is essential to acknowledge and address the intersectionality of emotional expression and masculinity. Men from different cultural, racial, and socioeconomic backgrounds may face unique challenges and barriers when it comes to expressing their emotions. For example, men of color may grapple with the added layer of stereotypes and biases that influence how their emotions are perceived and validated. By recognizing and addressing these intersections, we can create a more inclusive and supportive environment in which all men can freely express their feelings.
The journey towards emotional honesty and vulnerability for men is not without its challenges. There may be resistance and pushback from those who adhere to traditional notions of masculinity and view emotional expression as a threat to their identity. However, by fostering open dialogue, promoting emotional literacy, and challenging stereotypes, we can create a cultural shift that values and encourages emotional honesty in men.
Ultimately, the goal is to create a society where men feel empowered to express their emotions freely and without fear of judgment. This cultural shift will not only benefit men individually but also contribute to a healthier, more compassionate society where emotional intelligence is valued and celebrated. By breaking the taboo surrounding men and emotions, we can foster a generation of men who are emotionally literate, resilient, and fully present in their lives and relationships.
Self doubt is a silent assassin that can affect anyone, especially young athletes. It lurks in the shadows, often unseen and unaddressed, and can significantly impact a child’s confidence and performance. This piece is a call to action for adults to recognize and help children overcome self doubt, ensuring they grow into confident and capable adults.
Imagine a 10 year old with a bat in his hands, eyes burning with determination. He has the swing of a major leaguer, the focus of an eagle, and the heart of a lion. Yet, when the crowd cheers and the spotlight hits, something shifts. His hands tremble, his vision blurs, and that bat feels like a lead pipe. It is not the game causing this; it is the little voice in his head whispering, “You’re not good enough.”
This is the power of self doubt. It kills dreams, crushes confidence, and steals joy from lives. Many young athletes follow familiar paths, take routine roles, and connect with the same types of people. Self doubt tells them they are not worthy, not capable, and not enough. Before they realize it, their dreams become faded memories.
Self doubt is why a talented young athlete never asks for a starting position, why someone with a heart of gold never pursues their dream team, and why many young people feel alone, both literally and metaphorically. They believe they do not deserve better, that they are not cut out for more. As a result, they settle, conform, and watch their aspirations fade.
However, self doubt is a lie — a trick of the mind without substance. It is a story we tell ourselves, and one we can rewrite. The truth is, we are enough. We are capable. We are worthy. It’s time to live as if we genuinely believe it.
Slaying this dragon, silencing that little voice, and living the life we desire starts with recognition. We must look doubt in the eye and declare, “Not today. Not ever again.”
This means stepping up to the plate when our hands shake. It means asking for that starting position even when our voices quiver. It means asking out that dream date when our hearts pound. It means riding into the unknown when the road is dark and twisted.
Adults play a crucial role in helping young athletes overcome self doubt. They can provide the support, encouragement, and resources needed to build confidence and resilience. By creating a positive and supportive environment, adults can help children develop the skills and mindset necessary to succeed both on and off the field.
Consider a young athlete eager to prove himself. He possesses skills, dedication, and the heart of a true champion. Yet, every challenge brings that little voice: “You’re not good enough. You’ll never measure up.”
He holds back, allowing opportunities to slip away because he does not believe in himself. It is heartbreaking to see his potential go to waste. Then, something clicks. He confronts that doubt and declares, “Enough is enough.” He takes on challenges, pushes his limits, and demonstrates his capability to himself and others.
Now, he is a respected leader — a beacon of strength and courage. He has shown that self doubt is a choice, a narrative we tell ourselves that can be altered. When we do this, the world opens up, and possibilities and dreams become attainable.
So, let us agree to call out self doubt when we see it, in ourselves and others. Let us support and uplift one another, riding together into the future we deserve.
We are dreamers and doers, crafting our luck. It’s time to live like it, pursuing our dreams wholeheartedly, without looking back. The road to greatness is paved with courage, and we are the bravest.
Silence that little voice, slay that dragon, and embrace the life we were meant to lead. We are enough. We are capable. We are worthy. It is time the world recognizes it. Ride on, friends. Ride on.
Remember, it’s not about being the best; it’s about being better than you were yesterday. Push your limits, challenge your fears, and prove you are a force to be reckoned with. Saddle up, rev those engines, and ride toward our dreams together. The open road is calling, and it is time to answer.
This journey is not easy. That little voice may creep back, whispering doubts and insecurities. There will be setbacks, challenges, and uncertainty. That is part of the process. Keep moving forward, one mile at a time, one dream at a time.
Create a culture where failure is accepted, risk taking is encouraged, and support is always available. Stand by one another, celebrate victories, and lift each other when we fall. That is what champions do. We ride, fall, and rise together.
Promise to chase dreams with the same ferocity we pursue the open road. Support each other, uplift each other, and never let self doubt steal our dreams again.
We are dreamers and doers, crafting our luck. It’s time to live like it, pursuing our dreams wholeheartedly, without looking back. The road to greatness is paved with courage, and we are the bravest.
Silence that little voice, slay that dragon, and embrace the life we were meant to lead. We are enough. We are capable. We are worthy. It is time the world recognizes it. Let’s make sure that our kids know it, too.
The cycle of self doubt from youth to adulthood is pervasive and often debilitating, but together we can break it.
Hidden Genius of America’s Forgotten Artists: Unveiling the Shadows of Inequality
In the heart of America, a wealth of untapped potential lies, often overlooked and undervalued. The streets of our cities are not just concrete and steel; they are canvases painted with the stories of those who have been left behind by society’s relentless pursuit of success and wealth. Among the homeless, the addicted, and the marginalized, there are artists, poets, and visionaries whose voices are silenced by the harsh realities of poverty and lack of support. The notion that success is reserved for those who “know the right people” or have financial privilege is a narrative that has robbed America of its true artistic spirit. It’s a narrative that suggests being poor makes one unfit for greatness, that being born into the wrong family or community dooms one to a life of obscurity. But the truth is far more complex and often far more tragic. What these individuals need is not just recognition of their potential, but the support of a community that values their unique contributions.
The Price of Ambition
Consider the countless individuals of all ages and races who find themselves sleeping on park benches or in crack houses. Some of these individuals could have become presidents, poets, or authors if they had been given the opportunity. Their circumstances do not diminish their potential; instead, they are merely obscured by the weight of societal indifference and a lack of opportunities. The notion that ambition and talent are sufficient for success is a myth perpetuated by those in power. In reality, success often depends on who you know, where you come from, and how much money you have. This system of nepotism and elitism, compounded by the intersection of racism and classism, has created a society where those with the right connections often overshadow true talent. It’s crucial to recognize that these systemic issues, not individual shortcomings, are the root cause of the struggles faced by many aspiring artists. Early intervention is not just necessary, it’s urgent.
The Cycle of Abuse and Neglect
Growing up in an unsupportive or abusive family environment can alienate children from the world, leaving them with zero coping skills and a profound sense of social awkwardness. For many, addiction becomes the only support system, a coping mechanism to numb the pain of a life devoid of understanding and encouragement. The cycle of abuse and neglect is a vicious one, often passed down from generation to generation. Children who grow up in such environments are at a higher risk of developing mental health issues, substance abuse problems, and a sense of isolation that can be debilitating. The lack of a supportive family structure can have long-lasting effects on an individual’s ability to form healthy relationships, pursue their passions, and achieve their full potential.
A Personal Journey
Despite the challenges, I found solace in my writing. I penned a book, ‘Miracle Uprising,’ a testament to the resilience of the human spirit even in the darkest of times. I was in a constant state of intoxication, unaware that sobriety was even a possibility. Yet, amidst the chaos, I knew I was a good writer. Writing became my refuge, a means to comprehend the world around me and to articulate the emotions that I couldn’t voice. My journey is a testament to the potential that lies within every marginalized artist, a potential that can be unlocked with the proper support and opportunities.
I had been screaming for my parents to help me become the next Elvis, because I loved playing the guitar. I yelled at them to help me become the next Shakespeare, because I loved writing. I am being figurative when I say “screamed” or “screaming.” They didn’t take me seriously, though. They were too preoccupied with their problems. We need to take our kids seriously. Their lack of support and understanding pushed me further into a cycle of self-destruction and despair.
It took me at least a decade longer to “grow up” because of the emotional neglect and lack of support I experienced as a child. I am now at a point where I’m doing crazy things, like reaching out to big celebrities on Twitter to ask them for a tweet. I feel like I am screaming out for all of the love that I was supposed to receive as a child. Maybe I needed a little more love than most kids, and that made it worse. But that’s okay, that is the entire point — being different is OK. The sooner we learn that, the better off we will be.
Now, I am promoting my books to share my story and the stories of others like me. I was once a semi-professional quarterback in the EFL from 2011 to 2015, a dream that was cut short by a Lisfranc injury. The road to recovery was brutal; I had to walk miles every day on a walking boot, a necessity after my surgery, but a burden in my homelessness. Now, at 35, I face the prospect of foot surgery once again, a reminder of the physical toll my journey has taken.
The Impact of Injury and Homelessness
My story is not unique. It is a reflection of a system that fails to support its most vulnerable members. Homelessness and injury often go hand in hand, creating a cycle that is difficult to break. For those who are homeless, access to proper medical care is usually limited, and the stress of living on the streets can exacerbate existing health issues. The physical and mental toll of homelessness can be devastating, leaving individuals feeling trapped and hopeless.
I was in and out of county prison for stupid drunken charges. The charges weren’t bad; I didn’t have an address for them to mail my court date to. This caused them to issue a warrant for my arrest. This then caused me to spend 6 weeks at Dauphin County prison due to prison overcrowding and the congested court funnel. This was just one of my stints in jail for the same ridiculous reasons. Each time, I met geniuses of all races on the streets and in jail. Their parents either didn’t have money or didn’t care about their dreams, mostly. Obviously, there are exceptions. I saw firsthand how the lack of support and understanding can lead to a life of struggle and despair.
The Stigma of Mental Health
We offer support for those already severely addicted, but we fall short in providing consistent, long-term care. We see a black man passed out under a park bench with empty beer cans and assume he is a parasite, not a person with a story, a talent, or the potential to contribute to society. The stigma surrounding mental health and addiction is a significant barrier to seeking help. Society often views those struggling with mental health issues as weak or flawed, rather than recognizing the strength it takes to seek help and overcome these challenges. This stigma is further exacerbated by racial biases, where individuals from marginalized communities are often judged more harshly and offered fewer opportunities for recovery and support.
Ending the Stigma
We need to end the mental health stigma in America. We need to recognize that racism, wealth discrimination, and the lack of support for the arts are robbing us of greatness. We are leaving behind individuals who could have become great artists, poets, or leaders. We must find a way to catch mental health and abuse issues early and provide support to every child, regardless of their race or their parents’ financial status.
The Power of Early Intervention
Early intervention is key to breaking the cycle of abuse and neglect. By providing support and resources to children at a young age, we can help them develop the coping skills and resilience they need to thrive. This includes access to mental health services, educational opportunities, and a supportive community. When we invest in our children, we are investing in the future of our society. Every child has the potential to be the next artist of love, health, or whatever their heart decides to pursue. It is our responsibility as a society to empower them, to see the potential in every individual, and to create a world where greatness is not reserved for the privileged few but is accessible to all.
Community support is crucial in providing a safety net for those who are struggling. This includes access to affordable housing, healthcare, and educational opportunities. When we create a supportive community, we not only help those in need but also enrich our own lives in the process. The arts, in particular, have the power to bring people together, to inspire and uplift, and to create a sense of community that transcends social and economic barriers. However, for many communities of color, access to these opportunities is limited, further widening the gap between potential and achievement.
The arts have always been a powerful catalyst for social change. From literature and music to visual arts and theater, the creative expressions of artists can challenge societal norms, provoke thought, and inspire action. By supporting the arts, we are investing in a future where creativity and innovation thrive. We are creating a society that values the unique perspectives and voices of all its members, regardless of their background or circumstances. This includes ensuring that artists from diverse backgrounds have equal access to platforms and resources, allowing their voices to be heard and their stories to be told.
It is time for America to recognize the actual value of its artists and to provide the support they need to thrive. This includes ending the stigma surrounding mental health, providing early intervention for children at risk, and creating a supportive community that values the arts. When we empower our artists, we are empowering the future of our society. We are building a world where greatness is not reserved for the privileged few but is accessible to all. This means actively seeking out and supporting artists from all walks of life, ensuring that systemic barriers do not silence their voices.
Conclusion
The hidden genius of America’s forgotten artists lies in the streets, on the park benches, and in the crack houses. It is a genius that the harsh realities of poverty, racism, and lack of support have been obscured. But it is a genius that is waiting to be discovered, nurtured, and celebrated. By ending the mental health stigma, providing early intervention, and creating a supportive community, we can unlock the true potential of our society. We can make a world where every individual, regardless of their background or circumstances, has the opportunity to shine. Let us empower the forgotten artists of America and see the greatness that lies within them. Together, we can build a society that values and supports the diverse voices and talents that make us truly remarkable. I hope God wakes us up one day and we stop judging people on wealth, race, and health. Yes, this means mental health, too. We rob ourselves of greatness by leaving these brothers and sisters on the streets and in their cages in prison.
Finding Purpose in the Final Quarter: Why I Write Stories That Matter
I write at my desk in the quiet hours before dawn, when my children still dream, and my wife sleeps peacefully beside me. The words don’t always come easily. Some days, they feel trapped behind a fog that grows thicker yearly. But I write every day with whatever clarity I can muster.
I write because I must because time isn’t on my side, and because stories saved me, and I believe they might save someone else.
My name is Blair Steward, and I’m racing against an invisible clock.
The Game That Gave and Took
Football defined much of my life. From the peewee leagues, where I first learned to drop back in the pocket, through high school, where dreams began to seem possible, to college and beyond, where I pursued the game with single-minded determination, I was always the quarterback. I loved everything about it — the strategy, the camaraderie, the perfect spiral cutting through the autumn air, the roar when you connect on a deep route.
I didn’t understand then the price my brain was paying with each hit, each “get back up, shake it off” moment, and each “seeing stars” that coaches dismissed with a water break. By 26, I had hung up my cleats, but the damage was already done. It wasn’t my head that did it, it was a Lis Franc fracture that I still limp with to this day. I’m 35 years old now.
The diagnosis came later: Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). The progressive brain condition associated with repeated blows to the head wasn’t just from football, though. My childhood had its playbook of trauma, with physical abuse that my young brain absorbed long before I ever stepped onto a field.
The symptoms worsen gradually — memory problems, confusion, impaired judgment, impulse control issues, aggression, depression, and eventually progressive dementia. There’s no cure, only management, only precious time to use what remains of my cognitive function.
This isn’t a plea for sympathy. It’s the context for urgency.
Stories as Salvation
Books were always my sanctuary. When life at home became unbearable, when locker room bravado felt hollow, and when the post-football identity crisis hit, stories provided both escape and understanding. They helped me make sense of my experiences and showed me possibilities beyond my immediate circumstances.
After my diagnosis, when I could no longer work a traditional job due to my cognitive challenges, I found myself returning to stories, but from the other side. What if I could create the kind of narratives that had once saved me? What if I could speak directly to young people navigating their difficult passages?
This wasn’t about building a literary career. It was about purpose, legacy, and using whatever time and mental clarity I had left to craft something meaningful that might outlast my functioning mind.
So, I began writing young adult novels centered on sports and history, stories that would entertain me while delivering the hard-earned wisdom I wished someone had shared with me. These were not morality tales but authentic coming-of-age journeys where characters face real challenges, make mistakes and grow.
The Urgency of Now
Here’s the brutal truth that shadows every word I write: I likely won’t see my children graduate from high school. The progression of my condition means there will come a time, probably sooner than most parents face, when I won’t fully recognize the beautiful family that gives my life meaning. When memory, when our shared joy will become inaccessible to me, though they’ll remain with them.
This reality creates an urgency that fuels my writing. Each story completed is a piece of myself preserved, lessons and values captured while I can still articulate them. Each book is a time capsule of the father and man I am now before the progressive cognitive decline takes that away.
My wife understands this urgency. She creates the space and time for me to write, managing more than her share of parenting duties when I’m having difficult days. She knows these stories aren’t just books — they’re a form of extended presence, a way for our children to know their father’s mind and heart even when direct communication becomes impossible.
Not Your Typical Author Marketing
This is where my approach diverges from conventional author promotion. I don’t have the luxury of time to promote my literary career through traditional channels. I can’t do extensive book tours or speaking engagements — my good days are unpredictable, and public appearances can be overwhelming for my compromised cognitive processing.
Social media marketing requires consistent engagement and strategic thinking, which becomes more challenging as my condition progresses. The standard advice to “build your author platform” assumes capabilities and timeline advantages I don’t possess.
More importantly, the audiences typically targeted by algorithmic marketing aren’t necessarily the readers who need these stories the most.
My books are written for young people at crucial crossroads, for parents and teachers looking to connect with this generation, and for anyone who feels misunderstood by conventional systems. They’re for the quietly struggling athlete, the student who doesn’t fit neatly into established categories, and the young person seeking models of authentic strength and vulnerability.
These readers aren’t always the ones most visible to publishing algorithms. They’re often found through word-of-mouth, a teacher’s recommendation, or a parent who recognizes their child in a character description.
A Different Kind of Request
So here’s what I’m asking, without pretense or marketing strategy: If you believe in the power of stories to guide, comfort, and transform young lives, consider sharing mine.
Visit www.blairsteward.com or search for Blair Steward on Amazon. Read the sample chapters. If they resonate with you, if you see value in these narratives, help them reach the people who might need them.
This could mean recommending them to a young person in your life, suggesting them to a school or community library, sharing them with parents navigating the challenges of raising teenagers or passing them along to coaches working to build character alongside athletic skills.
I’m not focused on bestseller lists or literary accolades. I’m interested in these stories reaching the specific young people who might find in them what I once sought in books — understanding, direction, and the reassurance that their path, however unconventional, can lead to purpose.
The Legacy That Matters
My four-year-old daughter and six-year-old son are still too young to read my novels, but someday they will. When they’re teenagers navigating their own complex worlds, I may no longer be able to offer real-time fatherly advice. My condition will likely have progressed to a point where our relationship bears little resemblance to what it is now.
But these books will be there. The values, lessons, and perspectives will be preserved in stories about young people finding their way. My voice, heart, andyEndymionrheartwwilll will be captured in narratives they can revisit throughout their lives.
That’s the true purpose behind my writing. The books are for young readers everywhere, but they’re also time capsules for my children — messages in bottles sent forward to a future where I’ll still be present physically but perhaps absent in the ways that matter most to parent-child relationships.
A Final Word of Gratitude
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Thank you for giving attention to the words of someone you don’t know, whose circumstances might seem far removed from your own.
Whether or not my books ever find their way into your hands or the hands of someone you care about, I’m grateful for the moments of your life you’ve shared with me through this reflection.
The progression of CTE has taught me that consciousness, memory, and identity — the very things we take most for granted — are precious and fragile. Each moment of connection, however brief, matters. Each story shared, value transmitted, and authentic exchange creates ripples that extend beyond our limitations.
So while I have this moment of clarity, while words still organize themselves coherently in my mind and find their way to the page, I’ll keep writing stories that will matter. Stories that might offer direction to young people navigating difficult passages. Stories that preserve something of my better self for my children’s future.
In the case you want to, you can find my books at www.blairsteward.com or by searching Blair Steward on Amazon. Montgomery Majors, Paperback Playbook, To Detonate a Diamond and many more are available in print and Kindle.
And if they speak to you, if they feel like stories that should be shared, I would be deeply grateful for your help guiding them to the readers who might need them most.
Thank you for your time, your attention, and your consideration.
In a world that demands constant political engagement, the radical act might be to step away entirely—and be unashamed about it.
Five years ago, I couldn’t start my day without checking three news sites and Twitter. I had notifications enabled for four political podcasts. My camera roll was filled with screenshots of outrageous statements from politicians I opposed. Polling numbers raised and fell my blood pressure. I donated monthly to campaigns and called my representatives weekly.
I was, by all conventional measures, a model engaged citizen.
I was also miserable, anxious, and increasingly unable to maintain relationships with people who didn’t share my exact political alignment.
Today, I’ve made a choice that would have horrified my former self: I’ve largely stopped caring about politics. Not entirely — I still vote — but I’ve consciously disengaged from the daily outrage cycle, the constant updates, and the cultural expectation to have passionate opinions about every political development.
This essay isn’t about convincing you that political issues don’t matter. Instead, it’s about questioning whether your constant engagement with them is serving you or the world in the way you believe it is.
The Unbearable Weightlessness of Caring
“How can you not care? These are life and death issues!”
This is the response I typically receive when I mention my political disengagement. It’s a statement designed to shame me and imply moral failure. Yet it rests on two flawed assumptions: that caring intensely changes outcomes and engagement in modern political discourse is the same as meaningful action.
Let’s examine what “caring about politics” actually entails for most Americans:
Reading news that triggers emotional responses. Sharing content that signals tribal affiliation. Arguing with strangers (or worse, family) online. Experiencing anxiety about events entirely outside our control. Developing increasingly rigid views to maintain group identity.
Notice what’s missing from this list: items that substantively change political outcomes or improve society.
The uncomfortable truth is that for most of us, political engagement is primarily performative — a way to signal virtue, manage anxiety through illusions of control, and fulfill our tribal needs. It’s emotional self-regulation masquerading as civic duty.
“But if everyone thought this way, democracy would collapse!” Perhaps. However, most arguments for universal engagement rest on an idealized version of citizen participation that bears little resemblance to what political engagement looks like in 2023.
The Attention Economy Has Weaponized Your Civic Duty
Modern political engagement doesn’t resemble the civics textbook model of informed citizens rationally debating policies. Instead, it operates more like an exploitative relationship where your attention and emotional energy are harvested for profit.
Consider these uncomfortable realities:
News organizations benefit from your outrage. Engagement-based business models promote the most emotionally activating content; your anger equals their profit.
Political campaigns weaponize fear: Most fundraising emails use apocalyptic language deliberately designed to trigger your amygdala, not inform your prefrontal cortex.
Social media algorithms amplify extremism: Moderate voices and nuanced takes don’t generate engagement; bombastic absolutism does.
Your anxiety has been monetized: Every panic-inducing push notification serves multiple commercial interests, regardless of its impact on your mental health.
What we call “staying informed” has transformed into a commercial enterprise designed to keep you in a perpetual state of agitation. The system isn’t intended to create an informed citizenry but to create an addicted audience.
“When I became politically engaged in college, I thought I was fighting the system,” explains Maria Hernandez, a former political organizer who stepped back from activism in 2021. “Eventually I realized I was just being manipulated by a different system — one that profited from keeping me outraged and anxious.”
The Diminishing Returns of Political Awareness
The most compelling reason to reconsider political engagement is its shockingly low return on investment in time, attention, and emotional energy.
Harvard political scientist Eitan Hersh calls this problem “political hobbyism” — treating politics as a spectator sport rather than focusing on activities that create actual change. In his research, Hersh found that many self-identified politically engaged Americans spend hours consuming political content but mere minutes (if any) on activities that might influence outcomes.
Think about your political engagement over the past year:
How many hours did you spend consuming political content? How much of that information do you still remember? What tangible actions resulted from this knowledge? How did these actions measurably impact any outcomes? What was the opportunity cost and emotional energy at this time?
For most people, honest answers to these questions reveal a disturbing inefficiency. We’ve been sold the idea that constant awareness equals impact, when evidence suggests the opposite. Most political information we consume is forgotten within weeks, while the anxiety it produces can last much longer.
“I tracked my media consumption for a month,” shares James Richardson, a former political junkie from Atlanta. “I was spending 15–20 hours weekly on political content. When I evaluated what came from those hours — regarding actions taken or useful knowledge retained — it was maybe 15 minutes worth of value. That was my wake-up call.”
The False Moral Equivalence of Engagement
The most insidious aspect of modern political culture is how it equates emotional engagement with moral virtue. This creates a particularly toxic thought pattern: *If I’m not constantly outraged about injustice, I must not care about it. I must be privileged and callous if I’m not anxious about politics.*
This formulation manipulates your best qualities — empathy, moral compass, and desire to help others — and redirects them toward activities that primarily serve commercial and political interests rather than creating meaningful change.
Consider a radical alternative: What if disengaging from the political outrage cycle freed your emotional and practical resources for more effective contributions to your community?
Evidence suggests this is precisely what happens. Studies of effective altruism consistently find that meaningful positive impact rarely correlates with political news consumption. The most effective change-makers often ignore daily political drama to preserve their energy for targeted action.
“I used to believe staying informed was a moral obligation,” explains Dr. Emma Chen, a psychologist specializing in civic engagement and mental health. “Now I see it differently. There’s a finite amount of cognitive and emotional capacity humans have. Using it on low-impact political consumption means it’s unavailable for high-impact direct action.”
What Purposeful Disengagement Looks Like
To be clear, political disengagement doesn’t mean becoming apathetic to suffering or abandoning all civic responsibility. Rather, it means:
Recognizing the difference between information and influence means understanding that most political content you consume has no relationship to your ability to create change.
Practicing strategic ignorance: Deliberately remaining uninformed about political dramas that you can’t influence and don’t directly affect your necessary decisions.
Redirecting civic energy to direct impact: Focusing on local, tangible actions rather than distant national outrages.
Rejecting the moral framework that equates constant awareness with virtue: Understanding that being perpetually informed and outraged is not the same as being ethical or practical.
Setting boundaries around political content: Treating political information like any consumption choice, with deliberate limitations.
Michael Johnson, a community organizer in Detroit, describes how this approach transformed his work: “I check national news once a week now, instead of hourly. I’ve redirected those hours to actual community work. My impact has increased while my anxiety has plummeted. The irony is that by ‘caring less’ about politics as a spectator sport, I’m more effective at creating actual political change.”
The Liberation of Low-Information Living
Beyond the practical benefits, there’s a profound personal liberation in stepping away from the constant political awareness our culture demands.
After reducing my political media consumption by roughly 80%, I experienced several unexpected changes:
Rediscovering common humanity: Without constantly categorizing people by their political views, I found it easier to connect across differences.
Improved critical thinking: Less exposure to tribal signaling allowed more independent evaluation of individual issues.
Mental health improvements: Significant reductions in anxiety, sleep disturbances, and rumination.
Reclaimed time and attention: Hours previously lost to outrage were redirected to relationships, creativity, and direct community involvement.
Greater equanimity: Reduced emotional volatility and reactivity in all areas of life.
These benefits aren’t unique to me. Research increasingly shows that news avoidance correlates with better mental health outcomes without necessarily reducing civic participation where it matters most.
“There’s a growing recognition in psychology that constant engagement with negative political news functions similarly to other maladaptive coping mechanisms,” explains Dr. Samuel Park, who researches media consumption and mental health. “It provides a short-term illusion of control while intensifying anxiety and learned helplessness over time.”
Finding Your Disengagement Equilibrium
Political disengagement exists on a spectrum, and finding your equilibrium requires honest self-assessment about what level of engagement serves you and others.
Some practical approaches to consider:
Audit your impact-to-anxiety ratio. Track how much time you spend consuming political content versus taking meaningful action. If the ratio exceeds 10:1, consider whether this allocation serves your stated values.
Implement strict information diets. Set specific, limited times for political content consumption rather than allowing it to permeate your entire day. Many find that 15–30 minutes once or twice weekly provides sufficient awareness without the psychological toll.
Focus locally, where impact-per-hour peaks. Research consistently shows that local civic engagement creates far more impact per hour invested than national political attention. School boards, city councils, and community organizations offer tangible influence that national political consumption rarely provides.
Practice identity-light citizenship. Develop civic practices that don’t require strong partisan identity attachment. For example, volunteer at a food bank rather than a campaign office or support issue-based community work rather than party-based activism.
“The question isn’t whether to care about your community,” notes Professor Melissa Turner, who studies civic engagement. “It’s whether constant consumption of national political content is the most effective expression of that care. The evidence suggests it rarely is.”
The Counterintuitive Path to Real Impact
The final irony of political disengagement is that it often leads to more meaningful civic contribution, not less.
When we step back from the daily political content cycle, several things happen:
Our thinking becomes more independent and less reactive. We become less likely to support policies simply because “our side” endorses them.
We redirect energy to areas where our agency can create measurable outcomes, rather than diffusing it across distant conflicts we cannot meaningfully influence.
We develop greater capacity for nuance and complexity, restoring our ability to see others as multidimensional humans rather than political avatars.
We recover mental bandwidth for creative problem-solving rather than endless problem-rumination.
“My most politically effective friends are the least politically obsessed,” observes community organizer David Lin. “They vote, they show up for important local issues, but they’re not drowning in the daily outrage cycle. That selective engagement gives them energy for action when it matters.”
Permission to Disconnect
If you’ve read this far, perhaps you’re feeling something I felt years ago — a mix of relief and guilt. Relief at the possibility of stepping away from the exhausting cycle of political consumption, guilt at what feels like abandoning your civic duty.
Consider this your permission slip to disconnect.
Your mental health is not a worthy sacrifice on the altar of political awareness. Your time is too valuable to consume information that doesn’t lead to meaningful action. Your humanity is too precious to be reduced to political positions.
Democracy needs thoughtful, energized, and effective citizens — not exhausted, anxious, and trapped in information loops that benefit media companies more than communities.
“The most radical act today might be protecting your attention,” suggests media theorist Dr. James Williams. “Deciding consciously what deserves your finite cognitive resources rather than having that decision made by algorithms optimized for engagement, not wellbeing or democratic health.”
Perhaps caring less about politics—or, more accurately, caring differently—isn’t an abdication of civic responsibility. It might help us rediscover what citizenship means beyond the endless outrage cycle that has colonized our minds, relationships, and society.
This isn’t an argument for ignorance, but for intentionality. Not for apathy, but for effective action. Not for disconnection from our communities, but for apathy, our humanity, rather than disconnection from our communities
In a world that demands your constant political engagement, choosing when and how to engage might be the most radical act of citizenship available to you. Choosing to occasionally not engage at all is the most revolutionary act of self-care.
Blair Steward 