I'm a Person, Not a News Ticker

So, I was offline for a couple of days—you know, just freewheeling through single mom life.

Two soccer games in two different cities. Making edits on a manuscript. Helping my kid hot-glue hair onto a wax museum project. And in the tiny sliver of free time I had left, I spent several hours chasing my two Houdini Labradors around the neighborhood because they’ve apparently figured out how to turn off the electric fence, and now that’s their new favorite trick.

Eventually, my kids went to be with their dad, my house quieted down, and I finally had a minute to catch up. So, I popped online, checked my messages, and started responding to anything I’d missed.

And there it was—one that had been sitting in my inbox for a while.

It started off politely enough. They told me they’d been following me for a long time, that my words resonate with them.

But then came the shift.

Because my words had resonated with them, they expected me to write about a very distressing news story—the recent discovery of hostages who had been murdered. They were devastated, understandably so, and assumed that I would share in their grief by publicly writing about it.

And because I hadn’t, they needed to express that they were deeply disappointed in me. They were confused by my silence. They felt like it was loaded—like it meant something.

Here’s the thing: I hadn’t even seen this message for a couple of days.

Because while this person was waiting for me to issue a public response to a tragedy, I was deeply engaging in my life as an actual human with big responsibilities.

And when my response didn’t arrive in whatever time frame they deemed acceptable?

“Mmm, I think I have my answer. Thanks.”

And I just…stood there for a minute. Trying to decide if I should laugh, cry, or throw my phone across the room.

Because what answer did they think they had?

That my silence about this particular moment in world events was an indication that I was okay with it? That I was choosing not to care? That I was making some kind of political statement by not immediately drafting a public response?

That’s certainly one hell of an assumption to make about a person.

So, let me give you a dose of reality.

I care, deeply, about human suffering.

I have spoken on justice, pain, and grief more times than I can count. But over the last several days, I hadn’t been tuned into the news cycle.

I had been pouring myself into the people and responsibilities in front of me.

So maybe you can understand just how crappy it felt to return online only to be judged for…I don’t even know what.

Not writing an essay I didn’t know I was supposed to write?

I’ll be honest, my response was sharp:

“It’s weird to say you think you have your answer when I didn’t answer you. I’ve been spending time with my family, and I don’t owe you a response.”

Because I don’t.

And I guess that has to be said.

But I do have a question for anyone who feels this way.:

What do you actually need?

Do you need reassurance that I believe murder and genocide are evil? That I think violence against innocent people is horrific? Do you really need me to say that?

Or is this about something else?

Because I’ve noticed that when people demand statements, it’s often less about the issue itself and more about their own emotional processing.

People want to see their own outrage reflected back at them.

They want the illusion of control in a chaotic world. They want everyone to validate their emotions in the way they expect, or else they assume the worst.

And honestly?

That’s not fair.

If I were to rush out a statement the second anything terrible happens, would that actually help anyone? Would it add anything to the conversation? Would it fix anything? Or would it just satisfy the demand for performance—for proof that I’m on the “right side”?

If I followed someone who had an immediate take on every single issue, I wouldn’t trust them. Because let’s be real—no one is an expert in everything. No one is that informed on every global crisis the moment it happens.

Speaking out on every single hot topic isn’t a sign of courage or wisdom—it’s a sign of arrogance, of a lack of discernment. It tells me they’re more interested in appearing knowledgeable than actually being knowledgeable.

And frankly, that’s dangerous.

Just because someone has a microphone doesn't mean you should trust what they're saying.

The thing is, I know my own limitations.

I’m an author, not a trained journalist.

I am informed, but I am not an expert.

And perhaps most importantly…

I am a person, not a news ticker.

I don’t believe in performative activism. I believe in thoughtful, meaningful, real engagement.

I don’t rush to speak on things before I’ve taken the time to process them. I don’t feel the need to react just because someone on the internet decided it was time for me to. And I certainly don’t accept the premise that my value as a person is measured by the speed of my outrage.

So no, I’m not going to play these reindeer games.

I will not be guilted into performance activism.

I will not be bullied into speaking on command.

I will speak when I have something real to say, and when I believe my voice adds value.

And if that’s not enough for some people?

Well.

I guess I have my answer, too.

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Hey friends,

Your presence here means the world to me. Knowing you’ve taken the time to read thoughts on empathy and human kindness reassures me that these values still resonate.

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With love and gratitude,

Mary Katherine