In the creeping reality of another Donald Trump presidency, people keep asking me, “Cristina, what are we going to do?” The truth is, I don’t have all the answers. I’ve spent hours staring at this screen, struggling to find the right words. So, I’ll start with honesty.
I fell down the alt-right pipeline. I was an extremist. Not anymore. Haven’t been for years. I don’t talk about it much because I’m ashamed of who I was. Back then, I was angry, bitter—and if I’m honest, weak. I was looking for something to latch onto, something that made sense in the chaos. I wanted answers, and the far-right offered them. They gave me a community, a sense of belonging, and a simple narrative that made me feel like I had control over my life. They gave me the enemy I could blame, the “truth” that explained everything. And for a time, I believed it.
But I’m not that person anymore. I’ve spent years working to unlearn the lies I believed, and it’s been a long, painful process. I’m not asking for sympathy; I don’t deserve it. But I want to share my story so you can understand how people in these circles think, from someone who was once “inside.”
It’s not easy to look back and see how far I’d fallen, but I’ve come to realize that sharing this truth might help others. There are so many who are still trapped in that web of fear, anger, and false certainty. And maybe, just maybe, by understanding where I came from, we can find a way to stop this cycle and help people find a better path.
I’m not here to blame anyone for my journey. This is about how we can all do better, be better—and help each other escape the lies that keep us divided.
How It Begins
I was a typical chronically online millennial. In many ways, I still am, heh. YouTube, in particular, can be a great resource for learning new things or connecting with others. But it can also be a dangerous place, a breeding ground for misinformation and extremism, especially when someone is vulnerable. After a traumatic, abusive relationship, I spiraled into a deep depression. I was lost, unsure of who I was or how to move forward. And like many people in similar situations, I desperately sought answers—answers that would give me some sense of control or clarity. But instead of searching for the right answers, I found myself gravitating toward the easy ones.
The far-right ideology, with all its slick rhetoric, offers those easy answers. It promises a sense of certainty in a world that feels chaotic and out of control. In these circles, everything feels clear-cut: you’re either with them, or you’re against them. There’s no room for nuance, no space for personal responsibility or self-reflection. It’s an ideology built on the idea that nothing is ever your fault. Whatever struggle you face, there’s always someone—or something—to blame.
The Truth About the Alt-Right
Trump’s “Only I can fix it” slogan isn’t just about rallying against enemies or perceived threats from abroad; it’s directed straight at his followers. It’s a subtle reassurance that the people who are hurting have that easy solution, rather than facing something that can actually help. The message is clear: You’re not to blame for what’s happening to you. Everything is falling apart because of forces outside your control. And the only solution, the only person who can restore order, is the leader who understands that reality. That’s what brought you… Donald Trump.
This is especially insidious in a movement that, on the surface, prides itself on “self-reliance” and “personal responsibility.” These are supposed to be core values, yet the far-right offers little real independence. Instead, it teaches its followers to lean on a single figure, someone who will validate their fears and tell them they’re right to distrust everyone and everything around them. They offer protection from the imagined enemies, but it’s a protection built on dependence, not strength.
The truth is, the far-right is made up of people who are too afraid to move forward on their own. Some are weighed down by sorrow, like I was—others are paralyzed by fear, or consumed by anger they don’t fully understand. The far-right gives them a sense of relief, offering a framework that places blame on others and promises to fight for them. But that sense of relief comes at a steep price. It’s a false comfort that stunts personal growth and robs you of your agency. You stop questioning, stop evolving, and, in many cases, stop being able to see others as fully human. It’s not just an ideological trap—it’s a soul-deep cost, one that strips away compassion and creates an us-versus-them mentality that can feel all-consuming.
At its core, the far-right doesn’t just promise answers—it promises escape from the discomfort of facing life’s complexity. And for a while, that feels like exactly what you need. But it’s a mirage. The further you go down that path, the more you realize that the answers you’ve been given aren’t answers at all. They’re just a way to avoid the uncomfortable truth of the world, of your own pain, and the growth that’s required to truly heal.
It Consumes You
I never hated myself more than when I was in the alt-right. It wasn’t just the anger or the fear that consumed me—it was how it made me feel about myself. There’s a certain self-loathing that comes with being part of that world, a constant sense that something is inherently wrong with you. In that space, there’s no room for hope or healing. The world is viewed through a lens of perpetual negativity—everything is a threat, every moment is clouded by impending disaster. The alt-right isn’t about building anything. It’s about tearing things down, magnifying problems until they appear insurmountable. Every issue is exaggerated, twisted to fit the narrative of fear and resentment. And every solution? Always just out of reach. It’s a constant cycle of doom and disaster, an endless loop where the light at the end of the tunnel never quite appears.
Within that ideology, there’s always a new enemy to fear, always a fresh reason to be angry. Every day brings a new “threat,” something to panic over, someone to blame. The leaders of this movement know this all too well. The worst part is, they don’t believe any of it. They know it’s a lie. They know that the fears they peddle are imaginary, and yet they continue to spin their webs, trapping more people like I was. They’re not weak or misguided. They’re predators. Treat them like it.
These leaders thrive on the very fear and division they create. They know exactly how to manipulate the vulnerable, the desperate, the disillusioned. They prey on people like me, who were searching for answers but too lost to see through the smoke and mirrors. Fear becomes a commodity. It’s not just about controlling minds—it’s about keeping people stuck in a cycle of panic and uncertainty, forcing them to look for solutions in all the wrong places. They keep followers angry, afraid, and searching for scapegoats, knowing exactly how to exploit those emotions for profit and power.
It’s all a lie. The fear, the rhetoric, the “solutions” they offer—none of it is real. They don’t care about fixing the problems they claim to expose. They don’t care about the people who follow them. What they care about is control. They thrive when people are too frightened to think clearly, too desperate to seek help outside their narrow worldview. And as long as they can keep the fear alive, they maintain their power over you.
The alt-right isn’t about solving anything. It’s about keeping you trapped in fear—fear of change, fear of progress, fear of anything that challenges the narrative they’ve created. They want to control your thoughts by controlling what you’re afraid of. As long as they can keep that fear alive, they control you. And they’ll keep feeding it to you, because as long as you’re afraid, you’ll never question the lie.
The Lure of Easy Answers
Why was I hurting? Why did my abuser do that to me? Why couldn’t I stop him? These questions—these endless, aching questions—were like a weight on my chest, squeezing the breath out of me. They consumed my every thought, leaving me trapped in a cycle of confusion and pain. There are no simple answers to these questions. Healing from abuse isn’t straightforward. It isn’t linear. It’s messy, painful, and deeply personal. Each layer of healing reveals more to confront, more to understand, and more to feel. It’s a process that requires patience and, most of all, the willingness to face the raw truth, no matter how uncomfortable.
But the alt-right doesn’t make you face that complexity. They don’t want you to look inward. They offer simple, comforting lies—easy answers that claim to have all the solutions. They tell you that your pain is someone else’s fault, that you’re just a victim in a grand conspiracy, and that all your suffering is part of something much bigger than you. It’s the kind of narrative that feels safe in the moment because it offers something to hold onto when you’re drowning in uncertainty. But these aren’t real answers. They’re just traps. They give you a false sense of clarity, a temporary escape from the complexity of your own pain.
In reality, these lies allow you to avoid the hard, often excruciating work of healing. They stop you from confronting the uncomfortable truths about yourself and your past. They offer a scapegoat—a target for your pain, but in doing so, they keep you from processing it. They give you something to blame, something to focus on, but that’s all it is: a distraction. A lie wrapped in the illusion of certainty.
And lies don’t heal. They never do. They only perpetuate the cycle of suffering, keeping you locked in a state of anger and denial. The alt-right made it easy to run from my pain, to bury it under layers of hatred and fear. It was an escape, a way to feel like I had control over something when my world felt out of control. But real healing doesn’t come from those easy answers. It doesn’t come from blaming the world for your pain or latching onto a false narrative. It comes from facing the truth, even when it feels unbearable. It comes from sitting with the discomfort, the uncertainty, and the sorrow, and slowly finding the strength to move through it.
Healing is about facing your demons, not running from them. It’s about acknowledging that your pain is real, even if the world around you tries to tell you otherwise. The path to healing isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not comfortable. But it’s real. And it’s the only way to find peace.
Why the Alt-Right Won’t Engage
Here’s the truth: the alt-right doesn’t want to engage with you. They don’t want to understand, to listen, or to grow. What they want is validation. They don’t seek dialogue—they seek confirmation of their fears and prejudices. They want someone, like Trump, to echo their anxieties, to tell them their suspicions are justified, that they’re under attack—and that only he can fix it. They crave reassurance that they aren’t wrong, that their anger and frustration are not only understandable but righteous.
Engaging with opposing views would require something they’re not willing to do: self-reflection. It would mean questioning their own beliefs, looking at their worldview with honesty and vulnerability, and confronting the discomfort of uncertainty. But they’re not interested in that. It’s too uncomfortable. It’s far easier to cling to certainty, even if it’s a false one. The alt-right doesn’t want the messy, complicated truth; they want simple answers, a black-and-white world where everything fits neatly into place. They want clear villains to blame for all their troubles, and a leader who promises protection from the world they fear.
This desire for certainty, for easy answers, is the core of their movement. It’s a refuge from the complexities of life, from the ambiguities of reality. But here’s the thing: deep down, they know their worldview can’t withstand scrutiny. They know it’s fragile. They know that if they dared to honestly engage with different perspectives, if they allowed themselves to see the flaws in their beliefs, the whole thing might come crashing down. So they avoid it. They close themselves off from new ideas, from critical thinking, from growth. They keep their circle tight, surrounding themselves with people who tell them what they want to hear, not what they need to learn.
But avoiding self-reflection doesn’t make the truth go away. It just keeps you trapped in a bubble of fear and anger, where you can’t grow, can’t change, and can’t truly heal. The alt-right’s refusal to engage with the world outside of their echo chamber keeps them stagnant, stuck in a cycle of division and resentment. They would rather live in a world of lies and half-truths than confront the discomfort of realizing that their beliefs might not hold up under scrutiny. And in doing so, they not only deny themselves growth but also prevent themselves from seeing the humanity in others—trapping them in a world where everyone is either a threat or an ally, and nothing in between.
In the end, it’s not the world that needs to change—it’s their refusal to change that keeps them locked in fear.
How I Got Out
Ironically, I deprogrammed myself. My break from the alt-right came from the very place that first drew me in: YouTube. At first, I was defensive. It felt like I was betraying my own beliefs, my identity. But slowly, over time, I started to watch other perspectives. It wasn’t easy at first—there’s a certain cognitive dissonance when you start to question the very foundation of what you’ve built your worldview on. But as I watched, I began to listen, and listening made a difference. My best friend nudged me toward John Oliver, and I found myself watching, then questioning, then thinking critically about what I had been told for so long.
The truth can be uncomfortable, but it has the power to change you. The far-right thrives on a world of half-truths, misinformation, and fear. And the only way out of it is to confront the truth, no matter how difficult it may seem. Slowly, I began to see figures like Jordan Peterson for what they really are: self-proclaimed intellectuals whose arguments crumble when exposed to logic, reason, and most importantly, truth. They build their platforms by preying on insecurity, but their arguments are weak. Their narratives fall apart once you start peeling back the layers. Hate? It’s easy to blow away when faced with the truth.
But here’s the catch: the hardest part isn’t finding the truth or realizing it. It’s getting the truth to the people who need it the most. The ones still trapped in the cycle of fear, anger, and confusion. The ones who refuse to listen. That’s the most difficult part of the journey: reaching out, speaking up, and knowing that they’re likely to resist, shut down, or turn away. They don’t want to hear it. The truth is uncomfortable. It challenges their worldview, shakes their sense of certainty, and threatens their sense of belonging to something bigger than themselves.
But if we ever want to break free from the chains of hate and division, it starts with the truth. It’s a slow process. It requires patience, vulnerability, and courage. But ultimately, the truth doesn’t just set us free—it shows us the way out. The road to healing, understanding, and reconciliation might be long, but it’s worth it.
The Solution
The solution isn’t to try and change their minds directly. They’re not listening—not yet. They’re trapped in their own echo chambers, constantly reaffirming what they already believe. So the solution isn’t about convincing them in one conversation or shoving truth down their throats. The real solution is creating spaces where different narratives can reach them. We need to offer access to diverse perspectives—through media, relationships, and community. We need to show them that there’s a world outside the one they’re so fixated on.
It’s about offering a path to empathy, not engaging in endless arguments. Arguments rarely work in these situations; they only solidify defenses and increase division. But empathy? Empathy opens doors. It creates the possibility for real understanding. By sharing stories, by offering genuine connections, by showing that other perspectives are valid and valuable, we create the possibility of change. It’s not about fighting against them—it’s about gently pulling them toward something more human, more compassionate.
We can’t win them all, but we can offer a way out—if they’re willing to take it. I did. I was once lost in that space, but I found a way out. And that’s where hope lies. It lies in creating opportunities for people to step outside the bubble they’ve constructed. It lies in offering them an alternative to fear and anger—a path of growth, understanding, and healing.
But the hardest part is remembering that change doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a collective effort. It’s about reaching those who are willing to listen and creating an environment where they can grow. And maybe, just maybe, if we can offer that path, someone will take it. That’s how we make a difference. That’s how we heal not just individuals, but communities, too.
There Is Still Hope
Your loved ones aren’t lost forever. They’re still in there, beneath the layers of anger, fear, and ideology. I know this because I changed. And if I could change, so can they.
Change is slow, painful, and uncomfortable—but it’s real. It’s not something that happens overnight, and it’s not always linear. There will be setbacks, doubts, and moments where it feels like you’re not making progress. But that’s the nature of transformation—it’s messy. People can evolve and shed the ideologies that once defined them. It might feel impossible at times, but it’s not. Change takes time, patience, and, above all, empathy.
Believing that change is possible is the first step. You have to hold onto that hope, even when it seems like nothing will shift. The truth is always there, quietly waiting to be discovered. It’s often buried under layers of fear and self-doubt, but it’s never gone for good. Sometimes, all it takes is one moment of clarity—a small realization, a sudden understanding, a single interaction that sparks a shift. That’s the moment where change begins.
It’s easy to write people off when they’re trapped in harmful ideologies, to believe that they’re beyond reach. But I’ve seen firsthand that it’s never too late. If you can meet them with patience and understanding, you can help them find their way back to themselves. It’s a long road, and it might be painful at times, but the journey is worth it. Change isn’t easy—but it is possible. And that’s where hope lies: in the belief that people can grow, that they can shed old beliefs and find new truths. That’s what keeps me going.
My Apology
I’m sorry I didn’t share this sooner. Maybe if I had, I could’ve helped more people before it was too late. Or maybe, just maybe, this truth came exactly when it needed to, and that’s okay too. If you have loved ones still stuck in the far right or alt-right, I encourage you to share this with them—if you think it might help. If it does, then I know my pain wasn’t for nothing.
It’s hard to watch someone you care about lose themselves to hate, fear, and anger. I know that. But please remember, it’s never too late. People can change. I changed. And it wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. If this resonates with you, if this can reach someone and offer a glimmer of hope, then it’s all been worth it.
If you need to talk, privately or otherwise, I’m here. If you found this through social media, you know where to reach me. I will try my best to help you with your loved ones, with your relatives, if you still believe there’s hope. If you need a perspective from someone who has walked away from the alt-right, someone who understands what it’s like to be trapped and then set free, I’m here for you.
I will always be here—because I know how it feels to be lost, and I know how it feels to find your way back. You don’t have to do this alone. Reach out, and we’ll take it one step at a time.