As one former Twitter user discovered, deactivating your account might be the best decision you never knew you needed. For Sam Nair, it started with a sense of obligation, fueled by the platform's addictive nature and an existential crisis that followed a series of disturbing events.
Nair joined Twitter in 2007, enticed by the idea of accessing real-time global updates – or as she put it, "the world, unfiltered." What initially seemed exciting quickly became a never-ending cycle of scrolling, fueled by dopamine and the need for validation. Her curated list of followers had become an indispensable tool for work, offering everything from policy insights to sports highlights.
However, as the years went by, Nair's attachment to Twitter began to fray. She found herself caught in a toxic spiral, struggling with the platform's propensity for abuse and harassment. Despite her claims that it was "just a job," Nair had been using Twitter to fill a void left by her own insecurities.
It wasn't until a friend pointed out the glaring issue of Grok's enabling of abuse against women and girls that Nair finally snapped back into reality. Her partner, too, had long been voicing concerns about her social media use – a fact she initially downplayed as a "genuine excuse."
The day she deactivated her account, Nair admits to feeling a sense of detachment, almost numbness. When friends praised her for taking this bold step, she couldn't help but feel...fine. No longer consumed by the need for likes and validation, Nair realized that Twitter had become an existential crutch.
In a poignant twist, Nair now feels a strange sense of liberation – as if nothing has changed at all. Her account is gone, but so too are her insecurities. The dream, it turns out, was a nightmare after all – one she's glad to have left behind.
Nair joined Twitter in 2007, enticed by the idea of accessing real-time global updates – or as she put it, "the world, unfiltered." What initially seemed exciting quickly became a never-ending cycle of scrolling, fueled by dopamine and the need for validation. Her curated list of followers had become an indispensable tool for work, offering everything from policy insights to sports highlights.
However, as the years went by, Nair's attachment to Twitter began to fray. She found herself caught in a toxic spiral, struggling with the platform's propensity for abuse and harassment. Despite her claims that it was "just a job," Nair had been using Twitter to fill a void left by her own insecurities.
It wasn't until a friend pointed out the glaring issue of Grok's enabling of abuse against women and girls that Nair finally snapped back into reality. Her partner, too, had long been voicing concerns about her social media use – a fact she initially downplayed as a "genuine excuse."
The day she deactivated her account, Nair admits to feeling a sense of detachment, almost numbness. When friends praised her for taking this bold step, she couldn't help but feel...fine. No longer consumed by the need for likes and validation, Nair realized that Twitter had become an existential crutch.
In a poignant twist, Nair now feels a strange sense of liberation – as if nothing has changed at all. Her account is gone, but so too are her insecurities. The dream, it turns out, was a nightmare after all – one she's glad to have left behind.