Returning to Oneself
Olivia Bennett had made a habit of starting her mornings with the kitchen window flung wide. In early spring the air was brisk, the sill caught a soft spill of sunlight, and from the neighbours garden came the low murmur of early walkers and the brief trill of a robin. While the kettle boiled, she powered up her laptop and, as a first order of business, opened Telegram. Over the past two years that channel had become more than a work tool; it was a sort of diary of professional observations. She shared tips with peers, answered subscriber questions, and dissected the usual headaches of her fieldalways politely, never preachy, and with a healthy tolerance for other peoples blunders.
On weekdays her schedule was sliced almost minute by minute: video calls with clients, document checks, endless email. Yet even between tasks she slipped a glance at the channel. New messages popped up regularlysomeone asking for advice, another thanking her for a clear explanation of a tricky point. Occasionally followers suggested topics for upcoming posts or recounted their own stories. After two years Olivia had grown accustomed to the community feeling like a genuine support hub and a marketplace of experience.
Mornings passed calmly: a few fresh questions under her latest post, a couple of thankyou notes for yesterdays piece on legal nuances, a colleague sending a link to a fresh article on the subject. She jotted down a handful of ideas for future posts, smiled, and closed the tabthere was a full day of work ahead.
At lunch she dropped back into Telegram during a short break after a call. A strange comment under her new post caught her eye: an unfamiliar name, a sharp tone. The author accused her of unprofessionalism and called her advice useless. She tried to ignore it, but an hour later more similar messages appeared from other users, all written in the same accusatory, dismissive style. The complaints repeatedsupposed errors in her material, doubts about her qualifications, sarcastic jabs about theoretical advice.
Olivia replied to the first remark with a measured, sourcebacked explanation of her logic. Yet the tide of negativity grew: new comments alleged dishonesty and bias, some hinted at personal dislike, others mocked her writing style.
That evening she attempted to distract herself with a walk: the sun was still up, the air gentle, the scent of freshly cut grass drifting from the nearby park. Still, her thoughts kept drifting back to the phone screen, rehearsing possible replies. How could she prove her competence? Should she even bother proving anything to strangers? Why had a space built on trust suddenly turned into an avalanche of judgment?
In the days that followed the situation only worsened. Each new post attracted dozens of identical critiques and snickers; the earlier thankyou notes and constructive questions dwindled. Olivia began to read the notifications with a knot in her stomachher palms grew damp at every buzz. Late at night she stared at her laptop, trying to pinpoint what had triggered such a hostile reaction.
By the fifth day it was hard to focus on work; the channel replayed in her mind like a broken record. It felt as if years of effort might evaporate under this wave of mistrust. She stopped replying to commentsevery word seemed too vulnerable, too poorly weighed. A loneliness settled in the very space that had once felt friendly.
One evening she opened the channel settings. Her fingers trembled more than usual; she held her breath before hitting the disable comments button. Then she typed a brief note: Friends, Im taking a weeks pause. The channel will be temporarily closed while I rethink the format. The last lines were hardest to writeshe wanted to explain everything, to justify herself to loyal readers, but she simply ran out of strength.
When the pause notification popped up over the message feed, Olivia felt a mixture of relief and emptiness. The evening was warm; a draft of fresh garden scent slipped through the cracked kitchen window. She shut the laptop and sat at the table in silence, listening to the street voices and wondering whether she could ever return to the work that had once brought her joy.
The silence after silencing the channel was strange at first. The habit of checking for messages lingered, but now it was accompanied by a lightness: no need to defend, no need to craft perfect replies for every passerby.
On the third day of the break the first emails arrived. A colleague wrote succinctly: I see the channels quietif you need support, Im here. A handful of other messages followedfrom people who knew Olivia personally or had been regular readers. Some shared similar experiences of criticism, describing how hard it was not to take such attacks to heart. She read those words slowly, lingering on the warmest phrases.
In private messages the usual question was the same: what happened? Are you okay? Their tone was caring, curiousremember, the channel had become a place of professional dialogue and support. Olivia was surprised; despite the earlier wave of negativity, most now reached out sincerely, without demands. A few even thanked her for old posts or recalled a tip from a few years back.
One evening a lengthy letter arrived from a young solicitor in Manchester: Ive been following you from the start. Your guides helped me land my first job and gave me the confidence to ask questions. That note lingered longer than the others; Olivia felt a strange blend of gratitude and mild embarrassmentas if someone had reminded her of a purpose shed almost forgotten during the past days.
Gradually the tension gave way to reflection. Why had a handful of spiteful comments outweighed hundreds of calm, grateful replies? She recalled moments when clients, bruised by previous bad advice, regained confidence after a simple clarification shed offered. She knew from experience that support fuels progress far more than criticism ever could.
Olivia decided to reread her earliest channel poststhose were written breezily, without fear of an imagined jury. Back then she wasnt thinking about strangers reactions; she wrote for colleagues the way she would speak at a roundtable after a conference. Those early entries now felt especially alive precisely because they were free of the dread of being mocked.
Nights found her gazing at the tree branches outsidedense green foliage acting like a wall between her flat and the street. Throughout the week she allowed herself not to rush anywhere: a leisurely breakfast of cucumber and radish from the local market, afternoon strolls along the shaded courtyard paths, occasional phone chats with peers, and long stretches of quiet.
By weeks end the internal fear had thinned. Her professional community proved sturdier than a fleeting tide of negativity; friendly messages and colleagues anecdotes restored her sense of purpose. Olivia felt a cautious desire to return to the channelbut this time without the urge to appease everyone or to parry every barb.
In the final two days of the pause she dug into Telegrams channel settings. She discovered she could restrict discussions to registered members, swiftly delete undesirable posts, or appoint trusted colleagues as moderators to help when storms arise. Those technical tools gave her confidence: she now possessed means to protect herself and her readers from a repeat of the earlier drama.
On the eighth day she rose early, feeling a calm that had no trace of pressure. She opened her laptop by the kitchen window; sunlight already lit the table and a strip of floor by the sill. Before reopening the channel to the public, she drafted a short announcement: Friends, thank you to everyone who reached out personally and by letter. Im relaunching the channel with a few updates: discussions are now limited to members only; the new rules are simplemutual respect is mandatory for all participants. She added a line about keeping the professional space open for constructive exchange while shielding it from aggression.
The first new post was briefa practical tip on a thorny issue of the weekher tone still warm and helpful. Within an hour the first responses trickled in: thanks for bringing the channel back, questions on the topic, short notes of encouragement. One colleague simply wrote, Weve missed you.
Olivia felt that familiar lightness settle back inside herunchanged by a week of doubts and silence. She no longer needed to prove her competence to those who only wanted to argue; now she could direct her energy where it was truly welcomed: a professional community of peers and followers.
That evening she took another dusk walk: the courtyard trees cast long shadows on the paving, the air was cool after the days sun, and the neighbouring houses emitted the usual sounds of dinner conversations and telephone chatter. This time her thoughts drifted not to past anxieties but to fresh topics for upcoming posts and ideas for joint projects with colleagues from other cities.
She was once again part of something largerunshaken by random attacks, confident in her right to dialogue honestly and openly, just as she always has.
