Let’s not pretend.
Let’s stop dressing our discomfort in politeness or stuffing our rage behind smiles.
The things that bother me?
They don’t just “irk” or “annoy” me.
They bruise me.
They bruise because I care.
And caring, in a world that profits from your numbness, is an act of resistance.

So, what bothers me?

Performative empathy.
People who echo buzzwords, quote activism like scripture, but fall silent when it’s time to actually show up. If your solidarity only lasts for the ‘gram, it’s not solidarity, it’s branding.

People who mistake kindness for weakness.
As if softness isn’t forged in fire. As if gentleness isn’t a choice made by those strong enough to destroy and still choose to protect.

Systems that devour the very people who hold them up.
Black women saving the world, getting paid in thank-yous and trauma. Healers exhausted. Creators exploited. We are not machines. We are not mules.

Willful ignorance.
Not the kind born of lack, but the kind people choose—because knowing would require action. And action would require accountability. And that’s just too much work, right?

Spiritual bypassing.
Telling people to “just focus on love and light” while they’re drowning in real-world injustice. That’s not healing—that’s gaslighting wrapped in sage smoke.

Gatekeeping in sacred spaces.
Those who think divinity is a private club with a dress code. Newsflash: Spirit doesn’t speak in elitism. The divine doesn’t care how many followers you have or what you’re wearing. Can you be still? Can you be true?

The way women are policed for taking up space.
Too loud. Too confident. Too sexual. Too angry. Too much. As if we were sent here to shrink ourselves into someone else’s comfort zone.

False urgency in a slow healing world.
This pressure to move on, level up, bounce back. Some wounds require seasons, not seconds. Stop rushing the rebirth.

People who see art as a luxury instead of a necessity.
We breathe because of beauty. We survive because of song, story, vision. Art is oxygen.

And lastly? Hypocrisy wrapped in charm.
People who hurt others in the name of righteousness. Wolves quoting scripture. Abusers speaking of “forgiveness” while never seeking it themselves.
What bothers me isn’t imperfection—it’s the mask. The manipulation. The rot dressed in robes.

And why do these things bother me?

Because I believe in truth.
Because I still hold hope.
Because I know we can do better.
And because even in my fury, there’s love—a love that aches for alignment, for justice, for something real.

Now you:
What bothers you? And what is that telling you about what you’re here to shift?