the karenification of edgard portela

when a low-trust world breaks your spirit (and your customer service smile) 😭

tl;dr: got caught taking down a barista's name like a scorned yelp reviewer, realized i've slowly turned into what i used to mock, and figured out how surviving multiple betrayals (personal, political, and pandemic-shaped) doesn't have to turn you into a karen. or at least, not permanently. 🏳️‍🌈🗒️✨

p.s. there's hope for us all, even those of us who've started collecting receipts like they're pokémon cards.

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We all know a Karen. Maybe I’m that Karen you know. Who knows.

hola mi gente -

it feels so good to be back on substack, back in your inbox… even though things have been… not good, let’s say.

today, i caught myself writing down the name tag of a barista who put regular milk in my drink when i specifically asked for oat. that's when i knew that my transformation was complete. what the fuck is wrong with me? your boy, who once gave second chances like they were free samples at costco, had finally become... that person.

but before you judge me for my slow descent into karenhood, let me take you on a journey. picture it: 2016, and i'm still that bright-eyed boricua who thought the worst thing people could do was spoil game of thrones endings. then i watched half of america choose a spray-tanned autocrat while the other half shrugged and said "it can't get that bad." narrator: it got that bad.

by 2020, i was watching my neighbors fight over toilet paper while essential workers died alone in hospitals. i watched people choose conspiracy theories over their grandmother's safety, "personal freedom" over collective survival.

by 2023, i thought i'd built up antibodies to betrayal - until a friend's bounced rent checks cleared out my savings account faster than a crypto bro's promises. fourteen thousand dollars. catorce mil. that's the price tag on my last shred of trust.

and now it's 2024, and america's chosen trump again, like an abuse victim going back for round two. turns out my trust issues have trust issues, and honestly? maybe they're onto something.

i disappeared for a bit over these past two weeks. i ghosted you harder than a tinder date who found out i still have a twilight poster. (i don’t.) and while i know you'll say "it's okay, edgard. take care of yourself" (and i love you for that), the truth is - i've missed y'all fuckers. turns out emotional isolation doesn't cure trust issues. who knew?

but… how do you find words when reality reads like a rejected black mirror episode?

how do you explain that the pandemic didn't just take lives - it took your ability to believe in people? that your friend didn't just steal your money - she stole your capacity to trust? that trump's re-election didn't just break democracy - it broke something fundamental in how i see my fellow americans?

some nights, i rifle through my memory like a desperate librarian, pulling out old trauma files labeled "edgard portela," searching for proof that survival is possible. remember surviving high school in michigan with a thick accent in english? remember coming out and losing half your family? mira, i tell myself, you've survived worse.

It’s basically this, a very, very long file cabinet with all my traumas neatly organized for remembering, lol. (Source: Bruce Almighty.)

except maybe surviving isn't the same as living.

maybe each betrayal leaves a mark, and eventually, those marks become a map of all the ways you've learned to stop trusting. the pandemic showed me how quickly people would throw others overboard. and my deadbeat roommate - who'd seen me cry and stress-eat entire boxes of goya maria cookies - taught me that even love can bounce like a bad check.

i've become what i used to mock and hate: someone who's one mild inconvenience away from demanding to speak to god's manager.

accordingly to the pew research center, 77% of americans think interpersonal confidence has worsened in the last 20 years. only 32% of people trust churches and organized religions, down from 65% in the early 1970s. and there is a 17-percentage-point gap in trust between the oldest americans (those aged 65 and older) and those under age 50 (43% vs. 26%). and if we compare it to other nations, the u.s ranks dead last among the g7 nations in trusting its government, election, judicial system, and military. this really paints a grim picture of declining social trust in the united states across not just various institutions, but interpersonal relationships.

being queer and non-binary adds another layer to this trust maze. when you're already scanning rooms for exit routes and safe faces, when you're already navigating spaces that weren't built for you, this added layer of general distrust feels like wearing a lead vest while trying to swim.

last week at flicks, i overheard two guys debating whether to split their first date bill through separate cards "just in case." at urban mo's, someone showed me their elaborate system for making sure their drink never leaves their sight. even in hillcrest - our supposed safe space - we're all living in this perpetual state of "trust but verify," heavy on the verify, light on the trust.

and yet... here i am, writing to you, trusting you with these thoughts. because maybe… just maybe - and i know this sounds ridiculous coming from someone who just admitted to writing down barista names like a serial complainant - trust isn't dead. it's just evolving.

here's what i'm learning about "dekarenifying" myself:

• first, boundaries aren't the enemy of trust - they're its foundation. like how i now have a rule about not lending money i can't afford to lose. is it sad that i need this rule? sure. but it's also allowing me to stay open to new friendships without the constant fear of financial betrayal.

• second, small acts of trust matter more than grand gestures. i'm talking about letting the barista remake your drink without filming it for your story. about not immediately assuming the worst when someone cancels plans. about choosing to believe your neighbor really did accidentally take your package and isn't running an amazon theft ring (looking at you, apartment 5).

• third, and this is the hard part - we need to acknowledge that this isn't just about individual trust issues. we're living through what sociologists call a "crisis of institutional trust," where every system we relied on has shown its cracks. the pandemic didn't create this crisis; it just gave us 4k ultra hd footage of what was already broken.

but here's the thing about being broken: you get to choose how you put yourself back together.

i'm learning to practice what i call "strategic vulnerability" - a middle ground between naive trust and complete isolation. it looks like:

• setting clear boundaries without building walls

• giving people room to make mistakes without giving them room to destroy you

• trusting patterns over promises

• protecting your peace without becoming the very thing that disturbed it

because ultimately, becoming "karen" isn't just about complaining to managers or writing down names. it's about letting fear calcify into something hard and bitter. it's about forgetting that we were all someone else before the world taught us to be afraid.

so here i am, trying to find that balance. some days i fail spectacularly - like yesterday when i left a strongly worded note on someone's windshield about their parking (in my defense, they took up two spots at trader joe's during peak hours). but other days, i manage to choose trust, even when fear feels safer.

maybe the answer isn't to trust blindly or to suspect wildly, but to trust specifically. to be selective not just about who we trust, but about how much power we give our past disappointments over our present choices.

i'm not saying we should forget the lessons we've learned. keep your receipts. document everything. but maybe - just maybe - we can do all that without letting it harden our hearts completely.

because if there's one thing being queer has taught me, it's that chosen family is built on chosen trust. and sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is choose to trust again, even when our trauma receipts are longer than a cvs receipt.

so here's to trying. to trusting. to finding that sweet spot between "trust no one" and "trust everyone." to becoming neither karen nor doormat, but something more nuanced, more resilient.

and if you see me taking pictures of license plates in the sprouts parking lot... no you didn't. ✌🏽

until next time, mi gente.

with trust issues but trying -

edgard 🧡

p.s. if you're also struggling with trust in these wild times, drop a comment below. let's be recovering karens together.

p.p.s. and yes, i did eventually delete that barista's name from my notes app and just dealt with it. did i fart a lot after? yes. (i’m lactose intolerant.) did i let it go? also yes. growth!