Olivia has made a habit of starting her morning with the kitchen window wide open. In early autumn the air feels crisp, soft light settles on the windowsill, and from the courtyard behind the terraced houses drift the chatter of early walkers and the short trill of a robin. While the coffee brews, she powers up her laptop and immediately opens Telegram. Over the past two years the channel has become not only a work tool but also a sortof diary of professional observations. She shares tips with fellow consultants, answers followers questions and unpacks typical challenges in her fieldalways calmly, without preaching, and with patience for other peoples mistakes.
On weekdays her schedule is pencilled in almost minute by minute: video calls with clients, checking paperwork, replying to emails. Even between tasks she squeezes in a glance at the channel. New messages appear regularlysomeone asks for advice, another thanks her for a clear explanation of a tricky issue. Occasionally followers suggest topics for future posts or recount their own stories. After two years Olivia has grown used to the community feeling like a genuine hub of support and experience sharing.
The morning passes smoothly: a few fresh questions pop up under the latest post, a couple of thankyou notes for yesterdays piece on legal nuances, a colleague sends a link to a fresh article on the subject. She jots down a handful of ideas for upcoming posts and, with a smile, closes the tabshe knows a busy workday lies ahead.
At lunch Olivia returns to Telegram during a short break after a call. Her eyes snag on a strange comment under the new post: an unfamiliar username, a sharp tone. The author accuses her of unprofessionalism and calls her advice useless. She decides not to react at first, but an hour later she spots several more messages of the same accusatory, dismissive style from other users. The complaints repeatalleged errors in her material, doubts about her credentials, sarcastic jabs about theoretical advice.
Olivia tries to answer the first remark politely and with evidence, pointing to sources and explaining the logic behind her recommendations. Yet the wave of negativity grows: new comments throw accusations of dishonesty and bias. Some messages hint at personal dislike or mock her publishing style.
That evening she attempts to distract herself with a walk: the sun has not yet set, the air is gentle, the scent of freshly cut grass from the lawn beyond the back gate fills the air. But her thoughts keep drifting back to the phone screen, rehearsing possible replies. How does she prove her competence? Does she even need to prove anything to strangers? Why does a space that used to feel trustworthy now erupt in a avalanche of judgment?
In the days that follow the situation only intensifies. Every new post is met with dozens of similar critical comments and snide jokes; the appreciative notes and constructive questions have nearly vanished. Olivia notices she starts to read messages with trepidation: her palms grow damp at each notification. At night she stares at her laptop for long stretches, trying to pinpoint what triggered such a reaction from her audience.
By the fifth day it becomes hard to focus on workher mind keeps looping back to the channel. It feels as if years of effort could be rendered meaningless by this tide of distrust. She almost stops replying altogethereach word feels vulnerable or insufficiently weighed. Olivia feels a loneliness inside a space that once seemed friendly.
One evening she opens the channels settings. Her fingers shake more than usual; she holds her breath before pressing the button that disables comments. She types a brief message: Friends, Im taking a weeks pause. The channel will be temporarily closed while I rethink how we communicate. The final sentences feel especially heavyshe wants to explain everything in detail or justify herself to her regular readers, but she lacks the energy.
When the pause notification pops up over the message feed, Olivia feels a mixture of relief and emptiness. The evening is warm; through the slightly ajar kitchen window wafts the scent of fresh herbs from the garden. She shuts the laptop and sits at the table in silence, listening to the street voices and trying to gauge whether she can return to the work that once brought her joy.
Olivia doesnt instantly adjust to the quiet that follows the channels shutdown. The habit of checking messages lingers, but alongside it comes a sense of ease: she no longer needs to defend, justify, or craft phrasing that might please everyone.
On the third day of the pause the first personal messages arrive. A colleague writes shortly and to the point: I see the silenceif you need support, Im here. A few more follow from people who know Olivia personally or have been reading her posts for a long time. Some share similar experiences, describing how theyve faced criticism and struggled not to take it to heart. She reads these words slowly, often returning to the warmest lines several times.
In private chats followers mostly ask, What happened? Are you okay? Their messages are full of care and curiosity: for them the channel has become a place of professional dialogue and support. Olivia is surpriseddespite the earlier wave of negativity, most now reach out sincerely and without demand. A few even thank her for older posts or recall a specific tip from years past.
One evening she receives a longer letter from a young associate in another city: Ive been following you almost from the start. Your material helped me land my first role in the field and gave me confidence to ask questions. That letter lingers longer in her memory than the rest; Olivia feels a strange blend of gratitude and mild embarrassmentas if someone reminded her of something important she almost forgot during the past few days.
Gradually the tension gives way to reflection. Why does an outsiders opinion feel so destructive? Why did a handful of nasty comments eclipse hundreds of calm, grateful responses? She recalls specific cases from practice: clients who left a previous consultant discouraged, then found confidence after a simple explanation or tip from her. She knows from experience that support fuels progress far more than criticism; it gives the stamina to carry on even when giving up seems easier.
Olivia decides to reread her earliest channel poststhose were written effortlessly, without fearing an imagined judgment. Back then she wrote for colleagues as plainly as she would speak at a roundtable discussion after a conference. Now those entries feel especially alive precisely because they were created without fear of being mocked or critiqued by strangers.
At night she watches the tree branches outside her windowdense green foliage forms a solid wall between her flat and the street. During the week she allows herself to move at a slower pace: mornings she leisurely breakfasts fresh cucumbers and radishes from the market, after work she strolls along the shaded paths of the courtyard. Sometimes she talks on the phone with colleagues; sometimes she simply sits in quiet for long stretches.
By the end of the week her internal anxiety loosens. Her professional community proves sturdier than a fleeting wave of negativity; friendly messages and colleagues stories restore her sense of purpose in the work she has devoted years to. Olivia feels a cautious desire to return to the channelbut this time without trying to please everyone or answer every barb.
In the last two days of the pause she dives into Telegrams channel settings. She discovers she can restrict discussions to registered members, quickly delete unwanted posts, or appoint trusted colleagues as moderators to help manage spikes in activity. These technical tools give her confidence: now she has ways to protect herself and her readers from a repeat of the earlier situation.
On the eighth day of the pause Olivia wakes early and instantly feels calmher decision comes without internal pressure. She opens her laptop by the kitchen window; sunlight already paints the table and a strip of floor near the sill. Before reopening the channel to all subscribers, she drafts a short note: Friends! Thank you to everyone who supported me personally and via letters. Im returning to the channel, a bit refreshed: discussions are now limited to group members; the new rule is simplemutual respect is required for all participants. She adds a couple of lines about keeping the professional space open for constructive knowledge exchange while shielding it from aggression.
Her first new post is briefa practical tip on a tricky issue of the week; the tone remains the samecalm and friendly. Within an hour the first responses appear: thanks for bringing the channel back, questions about the topic, short supportive comments from colleagues. One writes simply, Weve missed you.
Olivia feels a familiar lightness inside herit has not vanished despite the hard week of doubt and silence. She no longer feels the need to prove her competence to those who only want to argue; she can now direct her energy where it is truly welcomedin the professional community of peers and followers.
That evening she steps out for a walk before sunset: the courtyard trees cast long shadows on the paved paths, the air is cool after the days sun, and from neighboring houses come ordinary dinner conversations and the occasional telephone ring. This time her thoughts drift not to anxiety but to fresh topics for upcoming posts and ideas for joint projects with colleagues from other towns.
She again feels part of something largerunafraid of random attacks from the outside, confident in her right to hold dialogue as honestly and openly as she always has.
