You think you’re the main character in your own body? Cute. Now try sleeping tonight knowing that over half the cells in you aren’t even you. Yeah, let that marinate.
While you’re brushing your teeth, taking probiotics, or sipping that overpriced kombucha, there’s a microscopic mosh pit happening inside you—billions of bacteria, fungi, viruses, and other freeloaders living their best lives. Rent-free.
Some scientists aren’t even calling it “you” anymore. They’re calling it them. Your so-called microbiome? Might not be human at all. Not even close.
This isn’t just about gut health or the usual yoga-influencer wellness chatter. This is about identity, sovereignty, and a biological reality that’s starting to feel like science fiction. We’ve known for a while that our bodies are a walking zoo.
But researchers are starting to pull back the curtain and ask—whose zoo is it really? And the answer? Kinda rude.
Some of these microscopic tagalongs don’t just ride along—they drive. They tweak your appetite. Hijack your mood. Flip switches in your immune system like it’s a light show. They can make you anxious, bloated, horny, sleepy, aggressive, or straight-up depressed.
Not because they love drama, but because that chaos helps them thrive. You thought your cravings were yours? Sis, that might be lactobacillus rhamnosus whispering sweet nothings about cheese puffs.
“You are not just you. You’re a host. A habitat. A walking, talking ecosystem with an identity crisis.”
And here’s the twist that isn’t a twist because it’s just cold, wet truth: the microbiome contains more non-human DNA than human DNA. Way more.
Some estimates suggest over 90% of the genetic material in your body isn’t yours. It belongs to them. Let that sink deeper than your overpriced collagen shots ever will. If DNA is the blueprint for life, then whose blueprint are you following?
These microbes have been around longer than us. They’re ancient, relentless, and deeply, intimately entangled with our biology.
Some researchers have started describing us as “superorganisms,” a term that sounds cool until you realize it means you’re more of a collective than a single entity. Like a meat-based city full of bacteria citizens. You’re less “me” and more “we.”
And the line between symbiosis and straight-up manipulation? Real blurry. Some bugs seem to help out—boosting immunity, breaking down food, producing serotonin like microscopic pharmacists.
But others? Opportunists. They’ll mess with your mind, your hormones, even your reproductive system if it gives them an evolutionary edge. One study showed that gut bacteria can influence mate preference in animals. Yeah. Let that sink in. Who you’re attracted to might be co-written by the bugs in your belly.
We’re used to thinking of parasites as creepy worms in horror movies or exotic jungle diseases. But what if the real parasite is subtler? What if it smells like sourdough starter and looks like yogurt? Some researchers are going so far as to suggest that the microbiome doesn’t just influence us—it co-creates us.
That we’re collaborative constructions, more like biological patchworks stitched together from human and non-human parts.
“We don’t carry microbes. They carry us.”
And before you think this is just about the gut, think again. Your skin, your mouth, your lungs, your vagina—every nook and cranny has its own microbial scene going on.
Some are friendly. Some are just… loitering. And others? They’re the kind of guests who trash the place and gaslight you for reacting.
The wildest part? Western science is just catching up. Indigenous knowledge systems, ancient medicine, even mystical traditions have long hinted at the idea of humans as plural, as collective beings.
But now, with petri dishes and metagenomics in hand, the lab coats are starting to whisper the same weird tune. We are not alone—even when we’re alone.
So, next time you say “trust your gut,” just remember—your gut might not be on your side. Or maybe it is. Or maybe “side” doesn’t even make sense anymore in a biological house party where no one remembers inviting the guests.
Whatever the case, it’s clear: the story of you isn’t just yours. It’s co-authored by tiny, ancient stowaways with their own scripts, their own agendas, and maybe even their own jokes at our expense. Who’s laughing now?
