Protecting My Peace Over Popularity

Why I Left Twitter (Now X): Protecting My Peace Over Popularity

I’ve mentioned this before on a previous post, but I wanted to write it out more fully now: I left Twitter—now called X—for good reason.

At first, it was a beautiful space for expression. I thrived there for a short while. My page grew steadily, and I gained a following by speaking openly about my experiences with narcissistic abuse. Given the nature of my content, it made sense that I knew a lot about narcissism and narcissists. I was simply sharing what I’d lived through—my healing journey, my thoughts, my truths.

But as my platform grew, so did the complexity of my audience.

Some people followed me to learn. Others followed me to share their own stories. But some followed me with less honest intentions. A few followed me just to argue. Others used my openness as a way to judge my life choices or psychoanalyze me without context. One person even crossed serious boundaries—attempting to monopolize my time and attention through obsessive messaging. Despite my repeated reminders that I wasn’t a counselor, they persisted until I had no choice but to block them.

I set boundaries around messaging after that. I had to. It was too bad because I got to know a lot of interesting people who actually respected my boundaries in that regard, but after a while, too many people took to messaging to cause me serious problems. So I had to reconsider.

What really struck me was how often I found myself under attack—verbally, emotionally, even spiritually. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that some people followed a page focused on healing from abuse only to then weaponize their words to abuse me. It made no sense. And then there were those who tried to stir up conflict between followers or create drama behind the scenes.

I started asking myself: Is this what I signed up for?

The truth is, no. I didn’t start my Twitter page to gain followers, compete for attention, or be dragged into virtual battles. I originally joined to promote my blog—to tell my story and to offer solidarity to others who’ve been through the same.

But Twitter turned into a battlefield.

I thought there would be camaraderie among others who also spoke about narcissistic abuse. But what I found instead was a competitive environment. Some creators treated me like a threat rather than a fellow survivor. Some used my own words against me—quoting me out of context, ridiculing my experiences, and criticizing me publicly without ever attempting to understand me. Others mimicked my page, copying my content, my image, even my voice.

It was disturbing. It was painful.

And through it all, I couldn’t help but notice how much negativity—jealousy, bitterness, and yes, even demonic energy—I was being exposed to. The deeper I went, the more toxic it became. My words were constantly misinterpreted, especially given my neurodivergence and unique communication style. I’d try to express something with care, only to find myself accused or attacked. I couldn’t win.

And I didn’t want to win. I just wanted peace.

Even the private connections I formed sometimes turned sour. Some individuals became possessive over my time and energy. Others cycled through phases I knew too well: idealization, devaluation, discard. It was triggering. It reminded me too much of what I’d already healed from.

So, I made the difficult decision to step away.

Did I grieve? Absolutely. There were people I genuinely connected with—people whose writing I admired and whose presence I appreciated. But I had to choose my peace over popularity. I had to return to the reason I started sharing my story in the first place: to heal, not to hustle.

My blog offers me that peace. It’s my sacred space, untouched by algorithms or drama. No one here is trying to compete or tear me down. If someone doesn’t resonate with my words, they can simply move on—and I’m perfectly okay with that.

I don’t need a massive following. I don’t need validation. What I need is authenticity, truth, and connection—the kind that uplifts, not diminishes.

To those I lost along the way, I still send you well wishes. To those who still walk this healing journey with me, thank you. And to anyone navigating the chaos of social media, trying to share their truth—protect your peace. You’re allowed to walk away.

I did.

And I’m better for it.