Let’s just get the elephant out of the room and offer it a seat. If you’re reading this and thinking, “Ugh, Tina? She’s a lot,” I want you to know something important: That is a completely valid feeling. I’m not even being sarcastic. Disliking me is a totally reasonable life choice, like deciding you hate cilantro or thinking that 5:00 AM runs are a good idea. I get it. I’m an acquired taste—sort of like black coffee or a very aggressive exfoliating scrub. I’m loud, I’m direct, and I have this annoying habit of saying the thing that everyone else is thinking but is too polite (or too tired) to say out loud.

We’ve all been there. We’re in a group setting—maybe it’s a work meeting, a family dinner, or a group chat that should have been muted three years ago. There’s always that one person. You know the one. They’re being rude, they’re talking over people, they’re being subtly manipulative, or they’re just being a straight-up jerk.

And what does everyone else do? They do the “Polite Lean.” They look at their shoes. They nod and smile tightly. They vent about it in a private side-bar text five minutes later.

And then there’s me. I don’t have a “Polite Lean.” I have a “Wait, are we really doing this?” face. My internal filter didn’t just break; I’m pretty sure I never had the software installed. So, while everyone else is playing a high-stakes game of “Let’s Pretend This Is Fine,” I’m the one who clears my throat and says, “Hey, so, that thing you just did? It’s actually super disrespectful. Can we not?”

I’ve realized that people don’t usually hate me because I’m wrong. They hate me because I broke the social contract of “Peace at All Costs.”

When I call out poor behavior, I’m effectively ending the comfortable silence. I’m making it awkward. And for a lot of people, awkwardness is a fate worse than injustice. * The Enablers: They’re mad because now they feel guilty for not saying anything.

• The Offender: They’re mad because they were having a great time being a nightmare until I ruined the vibe with “accountability.”

• The Bystanders: They just wanted to get through the appetizer course without a side of Truth Bomb.

I understand why that makes me the villain in your story. If you just wanted a quiet life where you could behave poorly without being checked, I am your literal worst nightmare. I am the human equivalent of a “Check Engine” light that you can’t just put a piece of black tape over.

The best part is the immediate aftermath. Once I say something, the room goes so silent you can hear a spider walking across the carpet three houses away.

I’ve had people look at me like I just set the Christmas tree on fire. But then, inevitably, about an hour later, I’ll get three separate DMs saying, “Omg, thank you for saying that, I was dying.” To which I always want to reply: “Then why did you leave me out there in the trenches by myself, Susan?!” It’s a funny cycle. I get to be the “mean” one for having boundaries, while the person being a jerk gets the “benefit of the doubt” for the tenth time this week. It’s like being the only person who points out that the Emperor has no clothes, and everyone else is just like, “Tina, shut up, we’re trying to compliment his invisible silk trousers.”

If you’re someone I’ve confronted: I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’ve probably delivered my “reality check” with a bit too much spice or at a time that wasn’t “optimal.” I’m working on it. (By “working on it,” I mean I’m trying to count to ten, but I usually only get to three).

But here’s the thing: I’d rather be the girl who made things awkward because she stood up for what’s right, than the girl who sat silently while someone got treated like garbage.

So, if you need to vent about how “difficult” I am, go for it! I’ll even give you some material to work with. But just know that if you start acting up again? I’ll be right there, ready to ruin the vibe once more.

Peace is great, but integrity is better. And if integrity makes you dislike me, I’ll take that trade every single day.