Caring is not embarrassing

Why our generation hides sincerity, assumes the worst and mistakes detachment for strength.

There is something strange about our generation’s obsession with looking like we don’t care. Caring has become something we hide, something we soften, something we joke about in case someone notices and decides it makes us look weak. It is almost as though the act of caring is not the problem, only the possibility of being seen caring. That is what truly scares us.

Somewhere along the way, we built an unwritten rule that the safest person is the one who feels the least. The one who appears untouched. The one who does not react or admit attachment. We perform indifference like it is armour, yet none of it is real. It is not that we don’t care. It is that we’re terrified of being the one who cares more.

Psychologically, this makes sense. Caring signals vulnerability. It signals openness. It signals emotional investment. From an evolutionary perspective, showing care exposes you to rejection, and rejection activates the same neural pathways as physical pain. Social psychologists call this impression management, the constant monitoring of how we appear to others. We fear that caring reveals too much, hands someone else too much power, or exposes us to judgment. The fear is less about emotion and more about perception. We are not afraid of feeling. We are afraid of looking like we feel.

This shows up in friendships, family dynamics, romantic relationships, almost-connections and people who once mattered deeply but drifted away. The script is always the same. When a relationship shifts or ends, we panic at the thought of looking like the person who still feels something. Being seen caring becomes more humiliating than the loss itself.

Jonathan Haidt talks about a concept he calls mind-reading in The Coddling of the American Mind, warning against it. Mind-reading is the instinct to assume the worst intentions in others without evidence. We think someone pulled away because they never cared, or because we cared too much, or because we embarrassed ourselves by being honest. But Haidt argues that these reactions are distortions, not truths. He suggests that a healthier way to relate to others is to assume benign intent unless there is clear proof otherwise. Not because people are perfect, but because assuming the worst hurts us far more than it protects us.

When someone grows quiet or seems distant for a day, we immediately assume it is about us. We imagine rejection, criticism or disinterest that was never actually communicated, and our minds sprint ahead of reality. Instead of allowing space for the possibility that they are overwhelmed, tired or dealing with something privately, we go straight into self-protection mode and flip to the “fine, whatever, I am done” mindset. It is easier to jump to anger than to sit with uncertainty, even though uncertainty is usually the more honest place to be.

This fear is also what fuels the “let them” and “fuck them” mentality. These are emotional shortcuts. They help us shut the door quickly before any feelings spill out. Rather than processing an ending, we numb ourselves with detachment or anger. Anger feels powerful. Detachment feels mature. But both are often shields, not insights. They help us avoid acknowledging that caring lingers even when a relationship ends.

But psychologically speaking, there is nothing wrong with caring about someone who is no longer in your life. In fact, it is evidence that your attachment system is functioning as it should. Humans bond. We form emotional templates for people. Our brains store memories not just as images but as emotional imprints. When someone mattered, the feelings tied to them do not immediately disappear just because the relationship changed. This is not failure. It is integration. It is your mind honouring experiences that shaped you.

Attachment researchers explain that caring after the fact is not a sign that you want someone back or that you cannot move on. It is simply the residue of connection. You can grieve the loss of what was without desiring its return. You can appreciate the impact someone had without inviting them back into your present. Caring is not clinging. Caring is remembering.

Yet we shame ourselves for this. We treat continued care as proof that we are weak or stuck. But emotional residue is not pathology. It is humanity. The real issue is not that we care. It is that we think caring makes us inferior. We believe the person who cares less wins, as if relationships are competitions rather than experiences.

All of these mindsets work together to create a world where the goal is not to feel less, but to be seen feeling less. We treat emotions as evidence that can be used against us. We forget that caring is not a confession. It is a sign that something meant something. It is a sign that we showed up honestly.

The fear of being seen caring is not about the other person. It is about what caring reveals in us. It shows that we felt something. It shows that something mattered. It shows that we have the capacity for connection in a world that constantly tells us to prioritise detachment.

We also cling to phrases like “if they wanted to, they would” because they give us a sense of certainty. It is comforting to believe that human behaviour can be reduced to a single rule, that intentions are always obvious, and that effort is always clear. But real life is never that straightforward. People want things and get scared. People care and still pull back. People mean well and still fall short. “If they wanted to, they would” turns every relationship into a test and every disappointment into a binary truth, when the reality is that most human behaviour sits in the grey.

It is another form of black and white thinking dressed up as empowerment. Letting go of this mindset does not mean lowering your standards. It means accepting that connection is complex, people are layered, and intentions are rarely as simple as we want them to be. Life becomes gentler when we stop expecting perfect clarity and start allowing room for nuance.

We forget that life is never as simple as we want it to be. Black and white thinking promises clarity, but it erases the truth that most things sit in the grey. People are allowed to be complicated. Relationships are allowed to be both meaningful and imperfect. We are allowed to care about someone and still accept that they no longer belong in our lives. Nothing real fits neatly into the categories we create to protect ourselves.

The world is far more textured than “they cared” or “they didn’t”, “I’m over it” or “I’m not”, “it mattered” or “it didn’t”. Letting go of black and white thinking does not make us weaker. It makes us more honest. It allows us to see people as they are instead of as threats to our pride. And maybe that is where the real relief lies, not in caring less, but in finally allowing things to be as complex as they actually are.

Caring does not make you weak. Hiding it does not make you strong. And being seen caring is not humiliating or embarrassing. It is human. Maybe the real strength lies in caring without shame, in assuming good intentions where possible, and in allowing endings to be sad without turning them into battles. Maybe the goal is not to stop caring, but to stop being ashamed of the fact that you once did.

If anything needs to change, it is not that we care. It is the shame we attach to being seen caring at all.

That’s all from this chatterbox today.

With love, always.

Ari <3