Fragmented Realities: The Loneliness of Unshared Context
The past week and a half has been really heavy. A lot of disturbing things about the world have been revealed - events that pull back the curtain and seem to expose how things really work. Surely, such world-changing revelations like this would leave us all in the same state of shock? The inability to think about anything else or resume life as normal? But that isn’t what’s happening, and that’s exactly what I can’t stop thinking about.
If you have no idea what I’m referring to, then you’ve already encountered exactly what this piece is about: fragmented realities.
Alone in my own feed
My feeds have become a weird collage of global horror sitting right next to funny memes and cozy baking videos. It feels so eerie and wrong, and it hasn’t been sitting well with me at all.
The worst part, though, is that I can’t talk to anyone about it.
Not because I don’t have people around me, but because this is my feed. My experience. My husband’s feed doesn’t look like this and my mum’s doesn’t. My friends aren’t seeing the same things. I’ve been steadily exposed to a particular side of the algorithm - one thats been tuning my thoughts and emotional responses over time - and it’s placed my mind in a very different space from the people physically around me.
Trying to explain it feels impossible. Imagine trying to describe a detailed episode from season four of Game of Thrones to someone who’s never seen the show. The context is missing, you have no idea who anyone is and the emotional weight doesn’t land. Each time I try to reference something I’ve seen, I’m met with confusion, concern that I’ve gone down a rabbit hole, or well-meaning advice to just put my phone away.
But if you had seen the same content I’ve seen - in the same order, with the same repetition, over the same stretch of time - you’d understand why I feel the way I do.
“In this environment, the people we connect with most easily are often not the people physically around us, but those who share our algorithm. ”
The loss of shared context
In the past, we mostly watched the same news, the same TV shows, read the same papers. We existed in a shared local community, inhabiting roughly the same version of the world. That shared cultural context made connection easy. We could understand each other because we were responding to the same events, and living in the same reality.
But now, our realities are fragmented. We each live inside a version of the world shaped by what we give our attention to. And when everyone’s attention is being pulled in different directions, our realities diverge.
In this environment, the people we connect with most easily are often not the people physically around us, but those who share our algorithm. The irony is that because of this, we’re being pulled further away from physical life in order to feel understood, and deeper into online spaces - not out of preference, but out of necessity. And when that understanding can’t be carried back into real life, experiences remain unspoken, becoming isolating over time.
Whose reality counts?
One of the most difficult aspects of this experience has been finding the courage to share my feelings on things I’ve seen and felt, only to have those reactions dismissed. I’m asked why I give certain things my attention, why I take them seriously and why I let them affect me at all. Each time that happens, it makes me feel even more isolated from the people around me, because the feelings are real to me, even if the context isn’t shared.
Reality is subjective. Two people can experience the same situation and come away with completely different interpretations, because memories, culture, trauma and beliefs shape our perspectives. Different events land differently depending on who we are and what we’ve lived through. It doesn’t make one reality more valid than another.
So maybe the first step is making it ok to talk about how what we’re seeing on our feeds is affecting us. Not every detail needs to be explained. No one needs to be convinced; there just needs to be space for someone to say, “something I’ve seen lately has affected me”, and to be met with empathy rather than dismissal.
Rebuilding common ground
Instead of trying to bridge ten invisible algorithmic gaps in a single conversation, we should aim to create overlap where we can. Reading the same books and comparing perspectives, watching the same films. Sharing articles, magazines and long pieces that encourage us to reflect and discuss rather than react. Giving ourselves shared starting points, instead of reacting from completely different contexts.
I think it also helps to talk about how we consume information, not just what we think about it. Asking questions like: where did you see that? or do you feel like your feed has changed lately? Not to interrogate or correct, but to understand context. There’s no right or wrong, especially when most of the internet is opinion at this point. But there’s context, and it’s in the context where we’ll find room for understanding and nuance rather than dismissal or defensiveness.
Reflection over reaction
We should also try to take information in more slowly. Allowing it time to settle, rather than reacting immediately. Reading full pieces instead of fragments and sitting with an idea long enough to understand it, rather than skimming past it and absorbing only emotion.
We should have real conversations, where we can hear tone and pauses, instead of sending links back and forth and assuming understanding. Screens only reward speed and reaction, not reflection.
The world is wider than our feeds
And finally there’s the physical world - the safest place at this point. It doesn’t rearrange itself around our preferences. Libraries, museums, cafes, community classes, churches, gyms - these spaces are designed for collaboration and coexistence. Surrounding yourself with strangers who live different lives and routines is the best reminder that the world is wider than our feeds.
