Realisation has a way of sneaking up on you—slow, almost imperceptible, yet wrapped tightly in the simplest form of common sense. For me, it came quietly toward the end of 2018, the moment I deliberately stepped back from social media groups, especially those sprawling Facebook communities. What began as hopeful spaces for open dialogue and genuine free speech among people with differing opinions had morphed into something far darker.

This past weekend, curiosity got the better of me, and I tentatively dipped my toes back into that digital ocean.

The calm I’d grown accustomed to over months evaporated instantly—like morning mist chased away by the harsh glare of the sun. Within hours, I was pulled into a whirlpool of toxic arguments, rife with intolerant attitudes and bitter resentments. One particular Facebook group felt less like a forum and more like a grim echo chamber—populated mostly by frustrated, angry voices, overwhelmingly white men, lobbing lazy, manufactured memes and personal attacks with the fury of children flinging custard pies. That’s where we’ve landed. Is this really the state of discourse in the UK?

We don’t talk anymore. Worse, we don’t listen. Instead, we shout louder, mock more viciously, and often seem determined to wound each other. Our nation feels splintered, like a fragile union trembling on the brink of collapse. Battles over identity rage at the extremes, while the silent majority looks away, burdened by shame and embarrassment. Meanwhile, the rest of the world watches in disbelief, trying to make sense of a once-proud country unraveling before their eyes.

And so, on that Saturday, I did something quietly radical. I switched off from the noise and digital chaos, stepped outside, and said hello to a complete stranger while walking my dog. Sometimes, that’s where true connection begins.