Up until the last couple of decades, one of the blessings of youth was that there was no one there to record it. The silliness and stupidity of of childhood and adolescence existed only in the fading memories of those immediately around us to listen to our immature prattling and share the often awkward years of our growth. We were, in a very real sense, shielded from revealing our immaturity and occasional idiocy from all but a chosen few, and we were left in peace to struggle toward adulthood away from public view.

But this is true no longer.

We live in the age of oversharing, and the past twenty years have been a catastrophe for a younger generation that grew up unaware that what was recorded for posterity today—and thoughtlessly shared with a global audience—might be regretted tomorrow. Setting aside the well-documented plague of mental health issues that has afflicted young people always online and the concurrent educational disaster inflicted on perpetually distracted students who can not sit still long enough to write an essay or read a book, we forget that carefully cataloguing the foolishness of youth has also shackled a generation of young adults to pasts they can neither escape nor forget.

Speaking for myself, I am eternally grateful that no one was creating a permanent record of what I thought and, worse yet, said when I was sixteen years-old and desperately trying to swagger my way toward a self-confidence that I did not yet actually feel. When I taught high school, I always took care to deal with my students with a full awareness that, despite their recent growth spurts, I was still dealing with children who typically lacked both impulse control and coping skills, so my expectations for behavior and diligence had to be tempered by reality. Thankfully, in the halcyon days of the early 2000’s, their inevitable mistakes were done and forgotten the day the detention slip was thrown in the trash can and their words and actions were lost to time—with no broader audience to pass retrospective judgment or make a cruel comment.

Typing “internet scrubbing” or a similar term into a search engine, teaches one that a great many people are desperate to cleanse the mistakes that are today enshrined online. Many (but not all) have realized that what is sitting in old profiles and posts can affect job offers, college admissions, relationships, and even one’s safety, and innumerable private companies have sprung up like spring flowers to help the newly-wary erase their former selves from public view. Unfortunately, shares and screenshots—not to mention data brokers—always leave open the possibility that what was once posted in a fit of pique or an unguarded moment will resurface like a shark emerging from the depths of the past to devour one’s present.

Now imagine you are considering a run for public office, knowing the vast industry of scouring a candidate’s past for useful dirt is laser-focused on examining your own online chronicle of the messy pasts that haunt us all. Middle school might be far away by the time you file your candidacy, but the nasty TikTok remarks you made about a classmate while sitting in the lunchroom might be floating to the surface, nonetheless. Enjoy your pointless press conference regarding why your insights into poor Tod’s character at the age of twelve were deeply unfair and now require a public apology.

It is not all difficult to think of leaders whose scandals appeared only after they had left the public stage and who would never had held their offices if social media had existed in its present form, which now acts a private sector surveillance state that neither forgives nor forgets. Just imagine JFK, he of the loose-cannon libido, attempting a run at public office if his social media history—and the social media histories of everybody he had ever interacted with—were trailing behind him like toilet paper stuck to his shoe. A record of every flirtation, dalliance, and wrong-headed romantic escapade is now available for anyone who cares to look for the salacious and stupid in the lives of the young and unwary.

Moreover, the one most essential quality of both a fully formed adult and someone who might someday be a good leader—a sense of quietude and discretion—is a life lesson that has zoomed right past those addicted to the absurd drama and trauma of a life lived online.

The anonymity and lack of accountability inherent in hiding behind a screen name also trains many unsupervised young people to believe that snark, insult, and full-scale personal attacks are appropriate responses to the disagreements that are a normal part of life. Habitually winning plaudits from one’s peers in the form of coveted “likes and shares” by launching a full retaliatory strike on someone whose values and judgments differ is not the best training for dealing with—anyone, really.

If you are ever wondering why so many young adults crash when they start their first “adult” jobs, look no further than the training they receive in the art of acting like a total jerk during their preceding decade or so of furiously flaming people on social media. Getting along with co-workers and supervisors who think differently—and compromising when necessary—should be a skill one learns before entering the workforce, and employers have shown little reticence about showing the door to those who cannot work cooperatively or act professionally.

If you learn that every difficult encounter must turn into a confrontation and constantly lead with your fists, adulthood is going to be a rough journey, and few will ever trust or like you. Unfortunately, many semi-functional young adults discover this too late (or not at all), which is a double whammy: They are fatally attracted to divisive leaders and are incapable of ever leading themselves, both of which are problems for us all.