13/11/2025
When the Camera Turns Off
People often assume that what they see on social media is the full story, the whole truth, the complete picture. But anyone who creates content knows that life exists in two worlds. There is the world in front of the camera, and there is the world behind it. Those worlds overlap, but they are never identical.
I try to be as open and honest as possible online. I share my weight loss journey, my backsliding, my victories and my failures. I talk about racism, privilege, health, parenting, and all the messy realities of being a middle aged man trying to grow, unlearn, improve, and stay alive long enough to watch my children flourish. I let people see the real me, the human me. But even then, there are parts I keep off camera, because some things do not belong to the public.
The most obvious example is my marriage. I show moments of joy, laughter, dancing, and the beauty of our intercultural life together. What I do not show are the arguments, the misunderstandings, the difficult conversations, or the hurt feelings that happen in any marriage. Those private moments are not entertainment. They are part of the foundation of our home and our relationship, and they deserve respect. I owe my wife that privacy. The life we build together is sacred and not something I am ever willing to trade for clicks or content.
The same goes for my children. People see their smiles, their games, their dancing, their innocence. What I do not show are their struggles, their tears, their fears, or the complex emotional landscape they navigate as mixed race third culture kids. Their story is theirs, not mine. I can reflect on parenting, on my role as their father, on what they teach me every day, but I will not ever expose their vulnerability.
And then there is my own inner life. For a long time I hid the fact that I was regaining weight. I felt ashamed. I worried that being honest about my backsliding would damage the Bye Bye Fatman story, that people would lose respect for me. I was scared that showing weakness would make me look like a fraud. But over time I realised something simple.
It is the honesty that people connect with, not the perfection.
It is the vulnerability that resonates, not the filtered success.
It is the truth that matters, not the branding.
So I began to speak more openly about the struggle, the binge eating disorder, the weight gain, the mental battles, the little fat person inside my head who never stops whispering. And the response reminded me why I do this at all. People thanked me for saying what they feel but cannot say. They told me that my honesty made them feel less alone.
That is when I understood something deeper. The camera captures a version of me, but it can never capture all of me. It can show my humour, my advocacy, my thoughts, my love for Zambia, my reflections as a husband and father, my outrage at injustice, my joy in dancing, my attempts at self improvement. But when the camera turns off, reality returns. I am still the flawed man who struggles to balance everything. I am still learning, hurting, growing, doubting, trying.
Social media is real, but it is never complete.
Life is bigger than the videos.
And the most important stories are often the ones you keep for your family, your closest circle, and your own heart.
What I hope people see is not a character or a performance, but a man trying his best in public while doing the harder work in private. That is the truth behind the lens. That is the balance every creator holds.
And maybe that honesty is enough.
