Created by
Maddie Bautista,
Fellow, Caring Cultures 2025
Published
February 6, 2026
Who am I?
My name is Maddie Bautista. I carry the ancestry of two places across the sea: from Pangasinan in the Philippines on my mother’s side, and from Vietnam on my father’s. I was born in Saudi Arabia to two expats making a life far from home, and raised in Mississauga, Ontario. Now I live as a settler in Tkaronto, under Treaty 13, on the ancestral lands of the Anishnaabe, Haudenosaunee, Wendat, and Mississaugas of the Credit — lands cared for by many peoples, recorded and unrecorded, since time immemorial.
I came out in this city. It’s where I found friendship and survival as a Bi woman in the West End alternaqueer scene — a web of house parties, shows, dance floors, and living rooms that shaped how I understand care, kinship, and chosen family.
I carry a lot of worry for the world: the housing crisis, the rising cost of living, Palestinian sovereignty, Indigenous sovereignty. These crises feel huge, sometimes crushing. But friendship makes it possible to stay upright. Community gives me capacity. It gives me hope. It reminds me what I’m fighting for.
One small but steady way I stay connected is through a group chat called REALM. This chat holds my closest friendships. It’s where we organize, laugh, grieve, check in, and help each other survive. It’s not a perfect space — but it’s a cared-for one. And that care has shaped the thoughts I’m sharing here about radical group chat culture.
What if a group chat can be a site for a radical care culture?
Lately, I’ve been thinking: what if a group chat isn’t just a convenience or a side-channel, but a real site for care? A place where care can quietly, consistently unfold. Not the big, public kind of care that gets performed or polished for the timeline. The small, daily kind — a “how are you really?” dropped into a chaotic week. A meme that lands so perfectly it feels like medicine.
These chats aren’t flashy. They’re low-key, steady, sometimes invisible to the outside world. But inside, they make room for a kind of intimacy that feels quietly radical.
Group chats are weird little digital rooms we build together. They don’t belong to anyone. No stage, no spotlight. Just this soft back-and-forth where care can unfold slowly. And I think that’s what makes them powerful. Unlike social media, which is built for performance and visibility, group chats are built for relationships. They’re not about broadcasting. They’re about tending, like a garden.
I love that a group chat doesn’t care what time it is. Someone might drop in from another city, another timezone, just to say they made it through the day. You can come and go. You don’t have to be “on.” The care is ambient — always sort of humming in the background.
And even though the messages feel ephemeral, like they could disappear at any time, they don’t. They stay with you. They shape something. It feels casual, but something real is being built.
How to start a group chat and spread the goodness
Start small. Start weird. Start with three friends who already make you feel held, or who you’ve been texting separately in the same way. The seed of a good group chat isn’t numbers — it’s energy. It’s the feeling of, “what if we all talked here… together?”
You don’t need a mission statement. You need a shared vibe. A sense of curiosity. Maybe you say: “I wanted to make a little digital room for us.” Maybe you say nothing and just drop a gif and see what happens.
Let it be messy at first. Let people ease in. The best group chats grow like mycelium — slow, unseen, then suddenly everywhere. People fi nd their voice. Rituals take root. The space becomes its own thing.
If it feels good, people will want to bring others in. That’s when you check in. Are we open to new energy? Do we have space to hold more voices?
When new people are added, catch them. Let them know what this space is. What we do here. What we don’t. Share a little history. Share the tone. Give them space to lurk or jump in.
Growing slowly is powerful. You’re building trust, not a clique. You’re building culture, not content. A dozen people who love each other and care for each other? That in itself can be a revolution.
Start with three. Keep it strange. Let the goodness ripple.
One made a thread in the deep of the night,
Dropped in a meme and a “you alright?”
Two said “hi” with a sleepy face,
Three brought snacks to the digital space.
Four came in with a gif in hand,
Five shared dreams that they didn’t quite plan.
Six knew a check-in spell,
Seven sent links and a “hope you’re well.”
Eight made stickers from Eleven’s cat,
Nine told stories, and we liked that.
Ten gave updates from across the sea,
Eleven sang voice notes tenderly.
Twelve sent zines in the actual mail,
And suddenly we had a tale.
Of softness shared and chaos spun,
Of tiny threads that made us one.
A dozen hearts in a quiet room,
Typing “love you” through the gloom.
Start with one, then let it grow—
With time, with care, and room to flow.
Tenets for stewarding a group chat
Stewarding a group chat is different from moderating one. It is not the space for management and policing. You’re tending. It’s more relational than structural. More “are we okay?” than “are we on track?”
1. Consent is care.
Nobody should be added to a group chat without being asked. That first “hey, is it okay if I add you?” goes a long way. And once they’re in, let people know what kind of space it is. Who’s here? What’s it for? What’s the vibe? It doesn’t have to be rigid — just honest.
2. Containment is kindness.
Group chats can spiral fast. A sense of containment — knowing what this space is not for — is part of the care. It helps people feel safe. You don’t need to shut things down, just help hold the shape.
3. Go at the speed of trust.
Sometimes the chat will be on fire. Sometimes it will be quiet. Both are okay. Don’t mistake slowness for failure. Trust the rhythm. Let people dip in and out. The love can still hold.
4. Name what’s happening.
If the energy shifts, name it. If someone’s gone quiet, check in. If something feels off , say so gently. Transparency doesn’t mean oversharing — it means not pretending.
5. Make a garden, not a brand.
You’re not building a product. You’re building a place. It doesn’t have to look good or grow fast. It just has to feel real. A garden nourishes while a brand performs.
Ask before you add.
Name the space, hold its shape.
Slow is not broken.
Trust the rhythm.
Check the pulse, gently.
Say what’s true, with love.
No performance, just presence.
Build a garden.
Tending is enough.
How to organically grow a caring culture in group chat
You can’t force a group chat to become caring. But you can feed it, water it, and create the conditions where care grows.
Start with rituals. They don’t have to be fancy. A daily selfie thread. A Sunday night vibe check. A collective goodbye when someone logs off for a break. Rose, Bud, and Thorn. These small gestures make the space feel alive — like people are actually in the room together.
Over time, a shared language will emerge. In-jokes. Specific emojis that mean “I see you.” A way of saying “love you” without needing to say it outright. The tone of the chat becomes a kind of glue, something only you all understand.
Real life matters too. A group chat isn’t a substitute for connection — it’s an extension. Organize a potluck. Mail a zine. Show up for someone’s show. These moments ground the digital in the physical and make everything feel more whole.
Use the tools at hand. Most apps off er ways to organize and delight: pinned messages, voice notes, polls, calendar links, even your own sticker pack.
Caring means solidarity. Show up when someone is struggling. Boost their work. Offer help before they ask. When something hits the group hard, respond together. Mutual aid isn’t always big — it can be lunch money, a meme, or just staying close.
Group actions help the chat feel like a unit. Co-sign a letter. Mobilize around a cause. Show up at the same rally. These moments bond the group beyond conversation.
And don’t forget the check-ins. Not just “how are you?”— but birthday roll calls, mood polls, weird little formats (“what’s your weather today?”). These create intimacy without pressure.
Create a culture of exchange. Swap clothes, lend books, off er up free items. Normalize borrowing instead of buying. Build a commons among friends. It’s not just about stuff —it’s about shared resources, shared trust.
Finally, acts of service. Make a spreadsheet. Write a poem. Meme someone through heartbreak. That’s care too.
Bless this thread
of check-ins and chaos,
of memes that land exactly right
and voice notes that arrive
just when we needed a friend.
Bless the ritual selfie,
the sleepy emoji,
the “did you eat yet?” at 2PM.
Bless the unread messages,
the freedom to come back when we can,
and the knowing that someone will still be here.
Bless the friend who shares the calendar,
the one who drops the daily selfie,
the one who holds space in the fewest words,
and the one who types “that makes sense” when nothing else does.
Bless the links to collective action,
the spontaneous mailouts,
the care packages sent across time zones,
the sticker packs made just for us.
Bless the tiny acts:
tagging someone by name,
sending a heart at the right time,
knowing when to drop a gif and when to just listen.
Bless the way we carry each other.
Not always loudly,
not always in sync, but always with some kind of intention—
some kind of love.
May this Chat stay weird,
stay generous,
stay tender.
May it hold us through seasons,
through quiet spells,
through every version of ourselves
that shows up here.
Amen. Werk.
Or whatever word we use
when we mean:
I’m here.
I see you.
We’re still connected.
About the creator
Maddie Bautista (she/her) is a Bi, Saudi Arabia-born Filipina sound designer and composer based in Treaty 13, Tkaronto. In the daytime, you can catch Maddie creating and shaping sound in iconic theatres across the country – from composing original music in the earliest stages of new work development, to tuning systems with live musicians and mid-sized casts. She has created music and sound design for over 80 productions and counting across Canada, for theatres such as the Stratford Festival, Alberta Theatre Projects, The Grand Theatre, Theatre Aquarius, Soulpepper, the Tarragon, and more. After the sun goes down, she moonlights as half of xLq with Jordan Campbell – a queer pop performance duo who tours across the country with their daring, interactive theatre and bizarre, grungy drag. Maddie received 2 Dora Mavor Moore Awards for Love You Wrong Time (Outstanding Sound design and composition, and Outstanding Ensemble).
© Maddie Bautista, 2025.
All texts are published with the permission of the artist. The creation and publication of this work was made possible with the support of Canada Council for the Arts, Government of Canada, Ontario Arts Council, and Government of Ontario.