Let’s have a little hypothetical “fun.”

Let’s say a video is posted of a man sitting alone at a book signing. He’s an older, inoffensively white guy selling yet another self-published book about leadership and purpose. He’s seemingly polite, quiet, and definitely a little lost in the shuffle. Someone posts about how heartbreaking it is that no one showed up. And the internet does what it does best: runs with it.

Suddenly, this man becomes a symbol of resilience; the underdog author, the sweet, good guy who just wants to change a life. People rush to buy his book, repost the video, and remind each other to support struggling creatives. Because empathy matters. Articles are published about this Wonderful Man, and he humbly thanks the world for the praise, because, “The best kept secret is that if you lead with empathy at the heart of everything you do, you can and will be successful,” and that’s just the most wholesome thing a fella could (hypothetically) say, isn’t it?

Now let’s say you’re scrolling TikTok, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, and then BOOM, there he is. A familiar face you haven’t seen in awhile… Your dad. The man who cheated on your mom, moved to another country, and slowly, deliberately distanced himself from your life. The man who treated you like a cast-off remnant, at best. Imagine that feeling as a teenager. Now he’s gone viral, but not because he made amends, or because he came back to repair the damage. He’s gone viral because a stranger saw him sitting alone at a book signing and decided to film it. A poor lonely man with a folding table, a self-published book, and no line became an instant internet sensation. People are calling him brave, humble, inspiring. A quiet hero, just trying to make a difference.

And what’s the book about? Empathy. Humanity in the workplace. Finding purpose through connection.

You stare at the screen, watching your father become a symbol of values he never lived by when it counted. It’s surreal. Infuriating. Sickening. And because you still believe that honesty matters, you leave a comment. Not a rant, or a smear campaign, but a few truthful lines about who he really was to the people closest to him, because honestly, in a moment of sheer disbelief, you let your guard down and let the pain win, and you couldn’t contain the hurt and anger.

Then imagine a backlash that’s so swift and harsh, it nearly knocks the breath from your chest. This viral sensation’s new fanbase is rabid. You’re told to be kind, to keep family matters private, and for fuck’s sake, stop trying to ruin a good man’s moment! Complete strangers rally to defend a man they’ve never met, while calling you bitter for daring to speak. And imagine (hypothetically, of course) that your own father stays silent in public while threatening legal action privately for telling the truth. Just imagine how that might feel, as the world rages against you, praising this humble, sweet creature.

And to stoke the fire, let’s imagine that the person who posted the video, who sparked this whole wave of support, says nothing, even after seeing your comments, even after knowing the details. They stay silent, letting the story play out, letting you get torn apart in the comments—because the version where he’s a hero is easier, cleaner, more viral. And for a content creator, that’s dollars in their pockets…

At the expense of the real lives and feelings of people decimated by one man’s mistakes.

We can all agree that relationships are messy, and people make mistakes. Affairs happen, marriages end, people move on. Those things don’t always make someone irredeemable, but to me? Abandoning your children isn’t a mistake, it’s a choice. Hypothetically.

Maybe that hypothetical man at the table isn’t a villain. Maybe he genuinely believes his book will help someone. But if the cost of his reinvention is silencing the people he hurt, we need to ask ourselves what “leadership” and “purpose” actually mean. This is what happens when we let a single image, a short video, or a well-timed soundbite stand in for the whole story. We forget that people are layered. That the hypothetical man at the book signing table might be both things at once—someone who wrote a book he believes in and someone who caused deep, lasting harm.

But nuance doesn’t trend. Online, we move fast. We’re trained to react, to form an opinion within seconds: Heartwarming or heartbreaking. Hero or villain. Support or cancel.

We don’t pause. We don’t ask questions. We don’t sit with discomfort. And in that rush, people get flattened. Those with tidy stories rise. Those with hard truths get steamrolled.

The internet’s happy to reward a stranger for seeming sincere, without asking who that sincerity cost. It’s happy to silence a daughter because her truth doesn’t fit the narrative.

But what if we just… took a breath?

What if, before sharing the next viral story, we asked:
Whose version is this?
What might be missing?
And if someone speaks up—do I have the capacity to listen, even if it complicates the feel-good ending I wanted?

Empathy isn’t about protecting the most palatable voice in the room, it’s about holding space for the harder ones too.

The kind of humanity we keep claiming to value (online, in books, in business) requires more than just likes, shares, and slogans. It requires us to slow down, to stay curious, and to resist the urge to turn people into symbols before we know their story.

Especially when someone else is quietly trying to tell it.

But of course, this is all hypothetical. Just a thought experiment. No resemblance to anyone living, trending, or willing to threaten legal action against anyone who dares tell the truth about them.