Overshare

Hi friends, If you’re new to this newsletter, welcome. I’m Kim, and I often describe myself as an imperfect learner in this work. I’m not a cultural safety expert, an educator—or even a professional writer. Each week, I use this space a bit like a personal unlearning journal—sorting through the generous teachings I’ve received, the reflections they’ve sparked, and the discomforts and realizations that arise as I try to walk more gently and responsibly alongside Indigenous Peoples.

Sometimes, I struggle with how much to share here. There’s a kind of safety in holding back—those unspoken boundaries that professionalism often requires. But I also know that real connection and understanding often live in the unpolished moments. This week’s reflection is one I’ve held close for a long while. After a lot of sitting with it, I’ve decided to share.

A few years ago, I found myself navigating life on my own for the first time since I was 18. And let me tell you—the world had changed. I cautiously stepped into the world of online connection with curiosity and, admittedly, a fair bit of confusion.

Some close friends, worried about my trusting nature, offered the standard digital safety advice: “No last names. No addresses. Nothing searchable. Keep it vague.”

So, I did what any slightly-overthinking person might do: I Googled myself.

First up: “Kim, Nanaimo, dental.” There I was—top of the page.

Then I wondered if I should avoid mentioning my dental background and instead reference the work I do with First Nations communities. I thought that might offer some insight into my values—and perhaps make me less identifiable.

So I searched: “Kim, Nanaimo, First Nations.” Still on the first page.

And that shocked me.

How was I—a white settler woman—so visible in search results with just those three terms? Surely there are many brilliant Indigenous Kims in Nanaimo doing powerful, community-rooted work. Why weren’t they showing up?

That moment nudged me into a deeper reflection. Were search engines biased? Was online visibility yet another space where systemic inequity plays out?

Turns out, yes.

A 2019 study from the Data & Society Research Institute found that algorithms often replicate and reinforce existing social biases. Dr. Safiya Umoja Noble’s powerful book Algorithms of Oppression explores this even further, revealing how Black and Indigenous people are frequently misrepresented—or erased entirely—from search results. Visibility, even online, is political.

So what does this mean for those of us committed to allyship and cultural safety?

It means we need to be paying attention to where power shows up—even in places we don’t think to question. It means using whatever visibility or privilege we have to redirect the spotlight, to uplift others, to share the mic.

Because if I’m showing up in searches that should rightfully lead to Indigenous leaders, educators, and knowledge keepers, then I need to ask: Why? And more importantly: Who’s being left out?

These are the questions I continue to sit with—not because I have answers, but because I believe the asking itself is part of the work.

Who isn’t being seen in your digital spaces? Whose voices are being centred—and whose are being missed?

This week, I invite you to notice who shows up in your searches, in your feeds, in your inboxes. And when you have the chance, redirect the spotlight. Share the mic. Make space.

🧡 Kim