Opportunity cost is an economic term, but its most painful examples often play out in human relationships. It describes what we give up when we choose one path over another. When someone chooses to spend their time and energy hating—tracking enemies, nursing grudges, and relitigating conflicts—the opportunity cost isn’t abstract. It’s measured in friendships that never deepen, collaborations that never happen, and communities that quietly shrink around them.
This cost becomes especially visible in small communities, where social space is limited and connections overlap. LGBTQ communities are a clear example. They are often tight-knit out of necessity, formed in response to exclusion elsewhere. In such spaces, relationships are not just social; they are emotional support systems, safety nets, and sources of shared meaning. When someone positions themselves primarily as a hater—focused on who is “bad,” “problematic,” or an enemy—the damage multiplies.
Attention Is a Finite Resource
Time spent monitoring rivals, replaying conflicts, or rallying others against perceived enemies is time not spent building something. It could have gone into mentoring a younger person, organizing an event, making art, deepening a friendship, or simply resting. Hatred demands constant attention. It asks to be fed daily with new evidence, new outrage, new allies. Over time, it crowds out curiosity, joy, and growth.
In small communities, people notice where your attention goes. If it consistently goes toward conflict, others learn to keep their distance—not out of malice, but self-preservation.
How Hatred Shrinks Social Worlds
In large, anonymous spaces, being a hater can feel cost-free. There are endless new people to clash with. But in small communities, every bridge burned is a real loss. People have mutual friends. They share history. They run into each other again.
When someone defines themselves by who they oppose, they force others into a choice: take sides or step away. Many choose the latter. The result is often social isolation that feels unfair to the hater—“Everyone abandoned me”—without acknowledging the role constant negativity played in pushing people away.
The opportunity cost here is trust. Once lost, it’s slow to rebuild.
READ ALSO: When Rejection Hits Hard: Understanding and Protecting Yourself From Severe Responses
The Illusion of Moral Productivity
Hatred often disguises itself as righteousness. It can feel like action, like standing for something important. But there is a difference between principled disagreement and fixation. The first aims at improvement or protection; the second becomes an identity.
In LGBTQ spaces especially, where people are already navigating marginalization, constant internal warfare drains collective energy. The cost isn’t just personal—it’s communal. Time spent fighting each other is time not spent building safer spaces, celebrating wins, or supporting those who are struggling.
What Gets Lost Along the Way
People who center their lives on enemies often don’t notice what they’re losing until much later:
Invitations stop coming.
Conversations stay shallow.
Old friends become cautious or distant.
Newcomers sense tension and keep their guard up.
The tragedy is that many of these losses are invisible at first. They appear not as dramatic rejections, but as quiet absences.
READ ALSO: Narcissistic Injury: The Hidden Trigger Behind Vindictive Behavior
Choosing a Different Investment
“What we dislike in others is what we dislike in ourselves,” says David Woodard, LCSW. “We know the consequences of harboring ill feelings toward others. It hurts us more than it hurts them. The remedy is taking the opposite action. Practice self-compassion and see how it spreads.”
Letting go of hatred doesn’t mean tolerating harm or abandoning values. It means recognizing that obsession with enemies is a poor investment. The return is usually bitterness, not change.
The alternative is to invest in connection, creativity, and repair—things that compound over time. In small communities, especially LGBTQ ones, these investments are powerful. They create resilience, belonging, and joy that hatred simply cannot produce.
In the end, the opportunity cost of being a hater is not just who you lose. It’s who you never become, and the community that never fully forms because too much energy was spent tearing instead of tending.
