Respecting privacy in a digital age

ARTIFICIAL intelligence (AI) on social media feels a lot like that friend who knows a little too much about you.

It’s always watching, always learning, and always there, even when you try to duck out of sight.

We curate, crop, private, and delete, hoping to stay a step ahead, but AI keeps peeking behind the curtain anyway.

Lately, that uneasiness has turned into real anger on the social media platform X, where people are fired up over how unregulated AI tools are being used to cross serious lines.

The Grok feature has been dragged into the spotlight as users call out cases where AI is being misused to degrade women, target children, and manipulate people’s public photos to digitally ‘undress’ them, or turn them into obscene images.

What started as futuristic tech meant to be clever or helpful is now facing a hard conversation about boundaries, consent, and what happens when powerful tools land in the wrong hands.

I’ve been thinking about boundaries in a really tangible way lately, through things like photos.

When someone posts a photo of you publicly, especially without asking, it can feel small to them, but not to you.

“It’s just a picture.”

“It’s already online.”

“What’s the harm?”

But the harm shows up when that image gets shared, edited, taken out of context, or straight-up manipulated.

Suddenly something personal becomes public property, and you don’t get a say.

That’s not a technical issue – it’s a human one.

What’s wild is how easily people ignore this kind of boundary because technology allows it.

Just because you can upload, edit, remix, or circulate something, doesn’t mean that you should.

Tools don’t come with decency built in – people have to supply that part.

That’s where theory becomes real life.

A photo is not just data. It is someone’s face, body, moment, and sense of safety.

When that is taken and used in ways they didn’t agree to, it’s not being ‘sensitive’ to feel uncomfortable – it’s your nervous system saying: “Something about this isn’t right.”

And yet, people are often made to feel dramatic for speaking up.

“If you can’t handle the Internet, maybe stop posting photos of yourself.”

“Maybe don’t share your pictures at all.”

These are the same tired comments that people throw around whenever someone speaks up, especially when they are hurt, angry, or just trying to be understood.

But asking, “Please take that down,” or “I’m not okay with my image being altered or shared like that” is not fragile – it is basic human decency.

If we think about it like tools again: systems only work when consent is part of the design.

Without it, trust breaks, relationships fracture, and people pull back.

And here’s the part that matters most – needing that boundary doesn’t mean you are weak or controlling.

It means that you understand that your image, like your time or your energy, isn’t an open resource for anyone to use however they want.

Decency isn’t complicated. It’s just pausing long enough to ask: “Is this mine? Did they agree to this? Would I be okay if this were done to me?”

If someone has taken your photos, edited them, or shared them without your permission, I’m really sorry.

That is a violation, and it hurts even more when your boundaries are not respected and your voice goes unheard.

It’s not just ‘oh that sucks’; it’s someone taking a piece of you and deciding that they’re allowed to do whatever they want with it.

And that feeling sticks. You don’t just shake it off.

What hurts the most is the loss of control.

You trusted the moment, or the space, or maybe even a person.

Then suddenly it’s not yours anymore. It’s out there, twisted, passed around, laughed at, and judged.

And somehow, the world often expects you to carry the embarrassment for something you never agreed to.

That is backwards. Respecting boundaries isn’t a favour – it’s the bare minimum of being a decent human.

A lot of the shame people feel isn’t even about the image itself.

It’s about what the image represents – vulnerability.

Maybe parts of yourself you already felt unsure about: your body, your face, the way you look when you are relaxed or unguarded.

Those are the places that feel the most exposed. Not because they are wrong, but because they mattered to you.

And the worst part? Shame makes you quiet.

It makes you second-guess yourself, like you should have known better, or kept yourself smaller, or stayed silent.

But none of that is fair.

Being embarrassed doesn’t mean you messed up; it means someone crossed a line and left you holding the discomfort.

Everyone has boundaries and parts of themselves they protect.

Respecting that shouldn’t be negotiable, and talking about this openly – in a real, human way – helps put the shame back where it belongs.

Not on the person who was violated, but on those who decided consent was optional.

* The writer is a psychology graduate who enjoys sharing about how the human mind views the world. For feedback, email to [email protected].