Dysfunction is Not a Personality

How the internet turned emotional struggle into a brand—and why we need to grow beyond it.

We live in a time where being a mess is marketable. You don’t need to be stable, grounded, or emotionally mature to go viral—you just need to be relatable.

A little chaotic, a little “unhinged.” Bonus points if you can meme-fy your coping mechanisms. Triple points if you can turn your red flags into merch.

From reels that glorify ghosting people to TikToks celebrating delulu behavior and promoting trauma-dumping as radical authenticity, we’re flooded with content that paints dysfunction as a lifestyle. It can be oddly charming, aesthetic, well-curated, and quietly destructive.

Let’s be real: Usually, a good meme hits because it’s true. I love a bit of self-deprecating humor myself, and there’s something refreshing about seeing a post that perfectly names a feeling you didn’t have language for. Relatable content can offer plenty of comfort, community, and even clarity.

But…

There’s a difference between laughing at your own mess—and living in it.

I’ll be honest, I’ve done it myself. I’ve made jokes about my worst habits. I’ve shared memes that made light of behavior I probably should’ve been working on. Maybe it was a way to cope, or it was just easier than being truly accountable.

Either way, it didn’t move me forward.

There’s a growing trend of turning trauma, dysfunction, and poor relational patterns into personality traits. Terms like “hot mess” and “trauma-chic” have become part of the cultural lexicon. Dismissiveness gets romanticized, avoidance is repackaged as self-care, codependency as devotion, and emotional exhibitionism as depth.

Somewhere along the way, being disordered became a badge of honor, and we stopped reaching for growth—collecting and branding our wounds instead.

How we got here

Maybe it was inevitable after generations of silence, shame, and stigma. For so long, mental health, emotional, and relational struggles were either hidden or pathologized.

Of course the pendulum swung toward visibility, openness, and self-definition. The internet became a place where people could finally say, “This is what I’m dealing with,” and be met with validation instead of judgment.

That shift gave a voice to the voiceless, and in many ways, it saved people.

But now, we’re seeing the pendulum swing too far. The tools that once helped us name our struggles are becoming masks that stand in the way of self-development.

The danger isn’t the content itself, but what happens when we start building an identity around it. When feeling “seen” becomes a substitute for doing the work, red flags turn into punchlines—and then, into personality.

Humor can be healing, but it can also be a disguise. And the more we wrap our wounds in irony, the harder it becomes to tell where the performance ends and the truth begins. I say this as someone who will probably always bring humor into self-observation, because laughing at myself helps me stay honest.

But I’ve learned that there’s a difference between humor that reflects the truth and humor that deflects it.

When labels undermine growth

In recent years, a flood of psychological language has made its way from therapy offices to TikTok, often stripped of nuance and context. These terms can be valid, and the content around them can be incredibly helpful, especially for people who are genuinely struggling and seeking clarity.

But when these labels overtake entire identities (instead of simply providing useful information), we risk reducing ourselves to a set of symptoms, and using those labels to justify behaviors we could actually work on.

What’s more troubling is how dysfunction is often repackaged as empowerment:

• Avoidance is just “boundaries.”

• Melodrama or self-centeredness is “main character energy.”

• Entitlement is “knowing your worth.”

• Manipulation is “black cat energy.”

• Constant conflict is “care” or “passion.”

Instead of challenging us, this kind of content encourages us to feel good where we are, and defend a version of ourselves that may be rooted in pain, reactivity, or outdated coping mechanisms.

Thus, we may never ask, “Is this actually bettering me?”

Let’s be clear

Content that helps people feel seen isn’t the problem. Feeling validated by a post about your dating experiences, or realizing you’re not alone in your anxious spirals, can be genuinely therapeutic.

But content that mirrors your experience is different from content that encourages you to dig your heels in and stay there.

We’re increasingly relying on oversimplified narratives to explain away our behavior. Entire relationships get reduced to a 15-second sound bite and a diagnosis pulled from TikTok:

“He’s a narcissist.”
“She’s a psycho.”
“They’re gaslighting me.”

Maybe. But maybe it’s just easier to slap on a label than to look at the full, complicated, human picture—including our own role in it.

When we stop being curious about what’s really going on, it’s easy to fall into the trap of explaining behavior using incomplete data and memes designed more for engagement than insight. The internet might not be the best therapist, even if our favorite content creators serve up juicy, delicious validation on a regular basis.

An endless loop

It’s one thing to say, “I struggle with emotional regulation.” It’s another to meme it into: “Lol I just start fights and disappear because ✨trauma✨.”

We’re not just laughing at ourselves—we’re normalizing staying stuck, as long as it’s packaged into something entertaining.

Accountability, meanwhile, rarely trends. There’s no dopamine rush in saying, “I’ve been emotionally unavailable,” or “I’m working on the way I react when I feel ignored.”

Growth is often quiet, private, and inconvenient.

And when social media offers an endless stream of selective validation for all of our existing biases, it gets harder to tell the truth from an echo. There’s a reel, tweet thread, or image carousel for every narrative. And because the algorithm rewards repetition, it’s easier than ever before to be fed a heaping pile of everything you already believe.

Like staring into a mirror, forever.

The hidden costs of the branded struggle

When dysfunction becomes identity, and validation becomes the goal, we lose more than we realize:

• Nuance. Not everything is a red flag, a diagnosis, or a trauma response.

• Growth. We trade transformation (uncomfortable) for validation (comfortable).

• Maturity. Emotional intelligence gets buried under memes, tropes, and hot takes.

• Sense of self. If all of your insight comes from content online, then who are you when the phone is off?

We lose the plot, performing a role while forgetting that we are more than the worst parts of our story.

So where do we go from here?

If we want to move beyond performative healing and into real transformation, we have to start:

• Asking better questions: “Is this helping me grow?” “Am I being truly honest with myself?” “Is this reinforcing my existing bias or challenging me?”

• Pausing before diagnosing, dismissing, or blaming others

• Remembering that accountability and grace can coexist

• Reclaiming the part of healing that doesn’t need to be shared or on display

Inner work doesn’t always make a good meme—but it does make a better life.

Choose growth

At the end of the day, you get to choose who you become.

You don’t need to be a self-deprecating “mess” to be interesting, funny, or lovable.
You don’t need to be broken to be unique or worthy of attention.
And you don’t need to brand your pain to be seen.

Dysfunction isn’t a personality.
Disorder isn’t a brand.
Accountability is still the most underrated flex.

Choose growth, even when it’s quiet, nuanced, and offline. Because the real glow-up is becoming someone you’re proud of.

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What’s one label, trait, or behavior you’ve stopped identifying with, and why? If any part of this hit home, I’d love to hear how you’ve experienced this yourself in the comments below.