I have always been fascinated by social science. So this morning, while I was replying to some of the comments and questions on my post, I found myself reflecting on an old Hidden Brain podcast episode I listened to years ago about social outrage. Out of curiosity, I decided to find it and give it another listen. One line, in particular, stuck with me—especially in the context of social media: “Now I can be angry at total strangers half a world away. And my physical costs of expressing that outrage? Close to zero.”

That quote hit me all over again. It perfectly sums up what so many of us experience when we put ourselves out there online. And it’s what prompted me to sit down and write this post.

Over the past few years, I’ve become increasingly fascinated by the behavior of people on social media. Not in a clinical, detached way—but in the very real, front-row-seat kind of way that happens when you run a public-facing account.

I share home inspiration. That’s it. No soapboxes, no rants, no politics or religion—unless you count that one time I posted a photo of Melania Trump on Inauguration Day, simply because she looked like the picture of classic elegance. There was no caption, no political statement, no agenda—I just like fashion and love a good outfit—and still, I lost more than 5,000 followers in 24 hours and received a barrage of hate DMs. For a photo.

But you know what’s been way more controversial than that? My laundry room.

Yes, you read that right. My laundry room—with two washers and two dryers—has triggered some of the most unhinged responses I’ve seen to date. I’ve been called a “privileged white lady”, a gold digger, a drain on society, entitled, selfish, and even accused of “killing the environment.” Over appliances and cabinetry.

Here’s the thing: I get it. Social media is a weird space. It’s curated, it’s aspirational, and it can sometimes feel disconnected from real life. But what I’ve come to realize is that platforms like Instagram and TikTok aren’t just places for sharing—they’ve also become breeding grounds for performative outrage.

So when someone sees a picture of a laundry room and decides it’s their moment to unleash a string of assumptions about who I am, what I deserve, and how I live—it’s not really about the laundry room. It’s about the need to feel something, say something, or worse, be seen saying something.

This morning, I responded to a comment that said, “There are children dying of hunger in the United States. Maybe people who can’t feed their kids don’t want to say, ‘oh wow look what she has’ and that’s why you shouldn’t share on social media, if you’re not ready for the backlash.”

And here’s the truth: Because there’s suffering in the world, no one’s allowed to share anything good? That logic is broken. Children going hungry is a devastating reality, but trying to shame someone for sharing their own life doesn’t solve that. We never know the full story—what someone gives, what they support, or what they’ve overcome.

And honestly? If someone sees a post and their first reaction is resentment, that says more about them than it does about me. All I know is that I’m not scrolling through social media looking for strangers to tear down—and I know I’m not alone in that. I truly believe the majority of people have good intentions. But as the old saying goes: empty vessels make the most noise. And social media proves that daily.

The backlash on social media has become so irrational that people now get attacked simply for existing out loud. And while it doesn’t bother me personally, it has been an interesting social experiment to watch unfold. The same people who scream "authenticity!" are often the first to tear down anyone who actually dares to show up honestly—flaws, blessings, and all.

My account is just a home inspiration account. It’s not the floor of Congress. It’s not a news channel. It’s not a war room. It’s like flipping through a catalog—if you don’t like what you see, you can always just turn the page. No one’s forcing anyone to be here.

I’ve also had a number of conversations with other creators—and even casual observers—who’ve messaged me after seeing the behavior on some of my posts. A lot of people ask how I handle the backlash. The truth? It genuinely doesn’t bother me, but I am reflective about it. I think that’s largely due to my personality and the fact that I’ve never been someone who places much weight on the opinions of strangers. But I also recognize that’s not the case for everyone. I’ve seen firsthand how these kinds of comments can deeply affect other creators and people who share their lives online. And honestly, if I were someone who was more sensitive to that kind of criticism, I probably wouldn’t be on social media in this way.

I keep my personal account—where I share my kids and family—private. That’s off-limits for me. And my advice to anyone navigating the public side of social media is simple: if it steals your peace, it’s not worth it. Whether that means stepping back, limiting who can comment, or blocking the people who spark negative emotions—do what works for you. No one deserves to be made to feel less than, or ashamed, because someone else decided to use their bad day as an excuse to tear someone down on the internet.

So yes, I’ll keep posting my laundry room. I’ll keep sharing what inspires me, what brings me joy, and what I’ve worked hard to create. Not because I think everyone will relate—but because someone might. And that’s enough for me right now.