Why Saying “I Don’t Do Politics” Is Actually Silencing Your Voice and Power

Dear Diary —

Are you reading this?

Well, it’s for a reason. You came to the right place.

Maybe you’re like I was, someone who proudly said, “I don’t do politics,” like it was a personality trait. Like you were choosing peace over chaos. Soft girl vibes only. No yelling, no debates, no angry men in bad suits.

Same.

Let’s be honest.

Politics? Ugh. You may be thinking.

For years, I treated it like a group chat I didn’t ask to be added to. Too loud. Too confusing. Too many old men yelling about things that don’t make sense and somehow still ruin everything.

I used to proudly say, “I don’t do politics,” like it was a personality trait.

Like I was above the chaos. Like I was living my soft girl era and didn’t have time for debates about pipelines and budget cuts.

But here’s the thing no one tells you:

Just because you don’t do politics doesn’t mean politics doesn’t do you.

Politics decides the price of your therapy sessions (if you’re lucky enough to have them).

It decides what you’re taught in school.

It decides if your friends feel safe in their own bodies, or if people like you get heard at all.

And I didn’t fully get that until I ended up in the actual Parliament of Canada…

Yes, me. A girl who once cried over a bad hinge date

Let me guess.

You’ve probably said it before—I definitely have:

“Ugh, I don’t do politics.”

“Too complicated.”

“Too negative.”

“Ugh. Trump again on the news.”

“Too much yelling from men in bad suits.”

Same, girl.

For the longest time, I thought politics was just for people in stiff blazers yelling in Parliament, or that it only applied to people who liked arguing for sport. I thought if I cared about mental health, human rights, or my future, I could just “stay in my lane” and do the work—without needing to get political.

But then I found myself standing in the Parliament of Canada.

Talking to the actual Prime Minister.

Shaking his hand.

Looking around and realizing:

Oh. This is where change happens. This is where decisions are made that ripple into our everyday lives.

And I felt… power.

Not the ego kind. But the kind where you realize:

My voice matters here.

And so does yours.

Politics Isn’t Just Suits and Debates—It’s Personal

Politics isn’t just about elections or whatever weird drama is happening in the news today.

It’s who gets healthcare.

It’s what kids learn in school.

It’s whether we get mental health funding or whether another generation suffers in silence.

It’s the reason some people are safe and others are not.

And when we say, “I don’t do politics,” what we’re really doing is stepping away from the very conversations that shape our lives.

We’re handing the mic to someone else.

We’re opting out of our own power.

The Honest Truth? I Didn’t Think I Belonged in Those Rooms

The day I met Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, I wasn’t sure I deserved to be in the room.

I was nervous. I was shaking. I had imposter syndrome doing the absolute most.

But as I stood in that office, surrounded by people in suits and policy lingo, I remembered the reason I was there:

Mental health. The thing I’ve lived, fought for, and screamed about for over a decade.

And in that moment, I realized I didn’t need to have all the political jargon down.

I just needed my truth.

And that truth hit harder than any stat or speech.

If You Care About People, You’re Already Political

Politics isn’t about being perfect.

It’s not about having all the facts memorized or reading the entire government website (gross).

It’s about caring.

It’s about speaking up.

It’s about realizing your voice is part of something bigger.

You don’t have to run for office to make change.

But please don’t sit it out because you feel small or unsure or tired of the noise.

Because if we don’t speak up. someone else will. And they may not speak for us.

So Here’s What I Learned, From Parliament to Real Life:

You can walk into powerful spaces.

You do belong in these conversations.

And your story is your superpower.

You don’t have to know everything. You just have to care enough to not stay silent.

So next time you think, “I don’t do politics,” remember:

You already are. Every time you care. Every time you speak up.

You’re doing politics.

Now do it loud.

If You Care About People, You’re Already Political

You don’t need to know every headline.

You don’t need to watch the news 24/7 (please don’t—it’s not good for you. I’m sure the news can make a person age in a day… just kidding).

But if you care about anything; your rights, your health, your future, you can’t afford to check out.

Saying “I don’t do politics” just gives someone else permission to decide your future for you.

And let me tell you, half the people in those rooms don’t have your lived experience. But you? You have a voice. Use it. Loudly. Messily. Imperfectly.

Because that’s power.

Growing up in my family, I always heard the same phrase—

“Don’t talk about politics.”

It was like the unspoken house rule. Right up there with “no elbows on the table” and “don’t start drama at Bubbies.” Which means Grandma in Hebrew.

Politics was treated like a dangerous topic, like if you brought it up, the dinner table might catch fire.

And God forbid you had an opinion as a young woman?

Cue the eye-rolls. The awkward silence. The loud, red-faced uncle who “knows more because he watches the news.”

But somewhere along the way, that silence didn’t sit right with me anymore.

Because what I realized is: silence doesn’t protect you. It just keeps the cycle going.

Now when someone says, “Don’t talk about politics,” I say:

Watch me.

Yes, even if it means my loud brother-in-law yells that I’m uneducated.

Even if I get interrupted, dismissed, or told I’m being “too emotional” (a classic).

Because I know I’m not uneducated.

I know my voice matters.

And I know that speaking up—especially when it’s uncomfortable—is exactly how things start to shift.

As a woman. As a young person. As someone who cares.

I’m not here to be quiet just to keep the peace.

I’m here to speak for the people who haven’t been allowed in the room.

For the girls who were told to smile and stay out of it.

For the ones who still think they’re not smart enough or “political enough” to have a say.

You are.

You don’t need a poli-sci degree or perfect facts.

You need conviction. Lived experience. The courage to speak.

And in Canada, you have that right. You have freedom of speech. Use it.

Because using your voice isn’t just resistance.

It’s freedom.

And that? That’s the kind of power no angry uncle can take away from you.

Until next time,

Cry if you need to, laugh if you can, and never stop showing up, even if all you did today was survive.

With love,

Brittany

The Mental Health Girl