Olivia had made a habit of starting each morning with the kitchen window flung wide. In early spring the air was crisp, a soft glow settled on the sill, and from the neighbours garden the muffled chatter of early walkers and a brief warble of a robin drifted in. While the coffee drummed on the stove, she switched on her laptop and, as first thing, opened Telegram. Over the past two years the channel had become more than a work tool; it was her informal diary of professional observations. She posted tips for colleagues, answered followers queries, and untangled common pitfalls in her fieldalways politely, never preaching, with a patient tolerance for other peoples mistakes.
Her weekdays ran like clockwork: video calls with clients, document checks, endless emails. Even in the brief pauses between tasks she slipped back into the channel. New messages appeared steadilysomeone asking for advice, another thanking her for a clear explanation of a tricky issue. Occasionally a follower suggested a topic for the next post or shared a personal anecdote. By now the community felt like a genuine support hub, a place for swapping knowhow.
The morning unfolded smoothly: a handful of fresh questions under her latest post, a couple of thankyou notes for yesterdays piece on legal nuances, a colleague pinging a link to a fresh article on the subject. She jotted down a few ideas for future posts, closed the tab with a small smile, and braced herself for a jampacked workday.
At lunch Olivia returned to Telegram during a short break after a call. Her eyes snagged on a sharp comment beneath her newest posta strangers name, a cutting tone. The author accused her of unprofessionalism and dismissed her advice as useless. She tried to ignore it, but an hour later another similar barb appeared, followed by more from different usersall written in the same accusatory, contemptuous style. The accusations echoed: alleged errors in her material, doubts about her qualifications, sarcastic jabs about theories from a theorist.
She replied to the first remark with measured facts, citing sources and laying out the logic behind her guidance. Yet the tide of negativity swelled: fresh comments now charged with accusations of dishonesty and bias. Some messages hinted at personal dislike, others mocked the very way she wrote.
That evening she tried to shake the mood with a walk. The sun was still hovering above the rooftops, the air was gentle, and the scent of freshly cut grass from the communal lawns drifted on the breeze. Still, her thoughts kept looping back to the phone screendraft responses forming in her mind. How could she prove her competence? Should she even bother proving anything to strangers? Why had a space built on trust turned into a avalanche of condemnation?
In the days that followed the situation only intensified. Every new post was plastered with dozens of identical snide comments; the handful of grateful notes and constructive questions had all but vanished. Olivia began to read each notification with a growing knot in her stomach; her palms grew damp at every ping. Late at night she stared at the laptop, trying to pinpoint what had triggered such a backlash.
By the fifth day she found it hard to focus on work. The channel replayed in her mind over and over, and it seemed all her years of effort might be reduced to a swirl of doubt. She stopped replying to comments almost entirelyevery word felt exposed, every sentence too fragile. The oncefriendly space now rang hollow, and loneliness settled in the very place that had once felt welcoming.
One evening she opened the channel settings. Her fingers trembled more than usual; she held her breath before hitting the button that disables comments. Then she typed a brief note: Friends, Im taking a weeks pause. The channel will be temporarily closed while I rethink how we interact. Those closing lines were the hardestshe wanted to explain in detail, to justify herself to her regular readers, but she lacked the strength.
When the popup confirming the pause appeared over the message feed, Olivia felt a mixed surge of relief and emptiness. The evening was warm; through the slightly ajar kitchen window drifted the scent of fresh herbs. She shut the laptop and sat at the table in silence, listening to the distant street voices, wondering if she could ever return to the work that once brought her joy.
The quiet after the shutdown didnt settle in right away. She still reached for her phone out of habit, but now there was a faint sense of release: no longer did she have to defend herself, no longer did she have to craft replies that might please everyone.
On the third day of the break the first messages trickled in. A colleague wrote succinctly: I see the silenceif you need a hand, Im here. Soon more followedpeople who knew Olivia personally or had been longtime readers. Some shared similar battles with criticism, recounting how hard it was not to take the barbs to heart. She read those words slowly, often returning to the warmest lines.
In private messages followers mostly asked, What happened? Are you okay? Their tone was caring, surprised eventhis channel had become a venue for professional dialogue and support. Olivia was struck by how, despite the earlier torrent of negativity, most now reached out sincerely, without demands. A few simply thanked her for older posts or recalled specific advice from years past.
One night a young solicitor from Manchester wrote a lengthy letter: Ive been reading you since the beginning. Your guides helped me land my first job and gave me the confidence to ask questions. That note lingered longer than the rest; Olivia felt a strange blend of gratitude and slight embarrassmentas if someone had reminded her of an important purpose shed almost forgotten.
Gradually the tension gave way to reflection. Why had strangers opinions been so destructive? How could a dozen vicious comments eclipse hundreds of calm, appreciative ones? She recalled moments when clients, demoralised after a poor experience elsewhere, found steadiness in a simple explanation shed offered. She knew from experience that support fuels forward motion, whereas criticism only drains.
Olivia revisited her earliest channel poststhose written with ease and without fear of an imagined tribunal. Back then she hadnt worried about strangers reactions; she wrote for colleagues as straightforwardly as she would speak at a roundtable after a conference. Those early pieces now felt especially alive precisely because they were free of the fear of ridicule.
Nights found her gazing out at the leafy branches beyond her window; the dense green formed a solid wall between her flat and the street. Throughout the week she let herself linger: mornings began with a relaxed breakfast of cucumber and radish from the market, afternoons featured walks along the shaded paths of the council estate, and occasional phone chats with peers filled the silence.
By the weeks end the internal knot began to loosen. Her professional community proved sturdier than the fleeting wave of negativity; friendly notes and colleagues stories restored her sense of purpose. Olivia felt a cautious desire to return to the channelbut on her own terms: no longer striving to please everyone, no longer feeling compelled to answer every barb.
In the final two days of the pause she dug into Telegrams channel settings. She discovered she could limit discussions to registered members, swiftly delete unwanted messages, and appoint trusted colleagues as moderators to help manage spikes in activity. Those technical tools gave her confidence: she now had safeguards for herself and her readers.
On the eighth day she awoke early, already calmthe decision had come without internal pressure. She opened her laptop by the kitchen window; sunlight washed over the table and the floor beside the sill. Before reopening the channel to all subscribers she posted a short announcement: Friends, thank you to everyone who supported me privately these past weeks. Im relaunching the channel, now with discussions limited to group members; the new rules are simplemutual respect is mandatory for all participants. She added a couple of lines about preserving a professional space for constructive exchange while shielding it from aggression.
The first new post was briefa practical tip on a tricky issue of the weekher tone unchanged, calm and friendly. Within an hour the first responses arrived: gratitude for the channels return, questions on the topic, short supportive comments. One colleague simply wrote, Weve missed you.
Olivia felt a familiar lightness insidea feeling that survived the heavy week of doubt and silence. She no longer needed to prove her competence to those who came only to argue; now she could direct her energy toward the community that truly valued itthe network of peers and followers.
That evening she walked again at sunset: the garden trees cast long shadows on the paved paths, the air cooled after the days sun, and the windows of neighbouring houses carried the ordinary sounds of dinner conversations and phone calls. This time her thoughts turned not to anxiety but to fresh topics for upcoming posts and ideas for collaborative projects with colleagues from other cities.
She once more sensed herself as part of something largerunshaken by random attacks, confident in her right to hold dialogue as honestly and openly as she always had.
