In an age where information zips around at light speed and stories are sketched out in 280 characters, trying to keep hold of your own narrative feels like chasing smoke. When public opinion turns on you, headlines morph into a warped, unrelenting mirror—one that shows a version of yourself you barely recognize. Holding on to your story in this post-truth landscape isn’t just a smart tactic; it’s a lifeline.
Digital media moves so fast that context is usually the first thing swept away. A snappy soundbite, a clipped quote, or a sensational moment can blow up into the new “truth,” and suddenly nuance doesn’t stand a chance. I lived this reality when the Glasgow Wonka rollercoaster went viral—not just as a business hiccup but as my personal crucifixion. The press seemed hungry for a villain, and before I knew it, I was cast as the “scam artist,” the “AI conspiracy peddler,” the “sex pest.” Those slick, clickable labels travelled farther and faster than any full story could, and they bore almost no resemblance to the real me or what actually happened.
But the real poison isn’t just false headlines; it’s the missing pieces, the details left out that would change the whole picture. If you find yourself trapped in this media whirlwind, it can feel like you’re shouting underwater—your voice so muffled, it barely makes a ripple. How do you push back when the world’s already tuned in to the static?
Here’s the secret: you don’t start by yelling louder. You begin with small, steady steps. You decide, quietly and firmly, that you won’t let the noise define you. This isn’t about spinning another slick story; it’s about patiently laying out the missing context. You pick apart the widely shared “truths,” pointing out the gaps, the biases, the half-told tales. When the AI-vaccine conspiracy line popped up, I didn’t flat-out deny AI played a part. Instead, I dug into why I used it—to explore bigger questions about belief and science. I wrote “The Billy Coull Vaccine Conspiracy That Wasn’t About a Vaccine” to peel back each layer. Sometimes you need to talk it out directly. Other times, you just live your truth so consistently that the false narrative unravels on its own.
That’s where writing becomes your compass. It’s direct. It’s real. No middleman twisting your words. Whether it’s a blog post, a personal essay, or a reflective series—like the ones in “My Truth” or “What They Got Wrong”—putting your voice out there builds an alternate current against the tide of clickbait. This isn’t about winning over every skeptic. That’s impossible once you’ve been “cancelled.” It’s about finding the handful of listeners who crave depth, the ones open to seeing the full picture. It’s for those who deserve the “full answer” Glasgow deserved—even if many aren’t quite ready.
At the end of the day, reclaiming your narrative in a post-truth era is a testament to your grit and your core values. You can’t control the headlines, but you can control your words, your actions, and the principles you stand for. It’s an ongoing push to live authentically against the distorted version of you that’s out there. And trust me—authenticity, even when it’s messy, carries a power that no amount of spin can match. It’s the daily choice to show up, not as the symbol they burned on Twitter, but as the real person you’re still becoming.