Let’s be honest. For a long time, I lived for the replies. The little red notification bubbles, the dopamine rush of the perfect comeback, the subtle art of weaponized snark. Someone posted another transphobic “gotcha,” and I was ready to pounce. Not to educate, but to eviscerate.
It wasn’t even about convincing them. It was about winning. About showing the world that I could shut down hate with wit sharper than any blade they swung at me. But the thing about playing that game is that it doesn’t end. The more I “won,” the more they multiplied. And soon, the fight stopped being about truth or justice and became about staying angry enough to keep swinging.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t fighting them anymore. I was feeding them.
Hate Feeds on Attention
Every GC or TERF thrives on visibility. Their ideology isn’t about ideas. It’s about performance. They post inflammatory garbage not to start a dialogue but to watch us react. Each retweet, each quote post, each sarcastic dunk becomes free advertising for their worldview.
I used to think I was hurting them by mocking their ignorance. But I wasn’t shutting them down. I was signal-boosting their propaganda. Their follower counts grew. Their engagement climbed. My blood pressure skyrocketed. They got louder, and I got tired.
And that’s the point. Hate doesn’t want to win intellectually. It wants to exhaust you emotionally until you log off in defeat. Every second you spend arguing is a second they don’t have to defend their own hypocrisy.
When I stopped replying, something wild happened. The noise got quieter. Their posts still existed, but they no longer existed for me.
The Algorithm Isn’t Your Friend
Social media platforms don’t care about your well-being. They care about time spent and engagement, and anger is the best engagement fuel ever invented.
Every quote-tweet or outraged comment tells the algorithm, “More of this, please.” It doesn’t see context, only emotion. So, when I tore into a transphobic post, the system didn’t applaud my defense of human rights. It simply learned that I love interacting with anti-trans content.
Soon my feed became an echo chamber of hate. My For You page looked like a psychological minefield. I was waking up angry before I even had coffee.
Disengaging wasn’t about being “above it.” It was about starving the algorithm that thrived on my outrage. When I stopped feeding it, the platform stopped serving me poison for breakfast.
Rage Feels Like Purpose Until It Doesn’t
Righteous anger is seductive. It can feel like activism. You’re fighting for your community, standing up for what’s right, and refusing to stay silent. That’s what I told myself every time I hit “send.”
But there’s a difference between defending your community and screaming into the void.
The former uplifts people. The latter just wears you down.
I started noticing that I wasn’t posting to help anyone. I was posting to vent. And instead of healing, I was rehearsing pain. Every time I revisited a bigot’s timeline, I re-experienced the hurt they caused. That’s not activism. That’s masochism dressed as moral duty.
There are better ways to defend trans lives. Through education, empathy, voting, community work, or even just existing joyfully in a world that wants you miserable.
Sometimes the most radical act isn’t clapping back.
It’s laughing, logging off, and living well.
The Ego Trap of Being Right
I didn’t want to admit it, but a big part of my online fighting came from ego. I wanted to win. I wanted validation, the likes, the applause, and the “you said it” comments. Those dopamine hits made me feel powerful in a world that often left me powerless.
But it’s a trap. The more validation I craved, the more I performed. I wasn’t defending trans people anymore. I was defending my image as the clever one. My snark became my identity.
The thing about ego is that it never stays fed. You can win a thousand arguments and still feel hollow because the high always fades. But the shame lingers. You start wondering who you’re even trying to prove yourself to.
When I finally stopped chasing digital trophies, I realized how heavy they’d been to carry.
Disengagement Is Not Weakness
Let me make something clear. Choosing not to engage doesn’t mean giving up. It means choosing your peace over their noise.
We’ve been conditioned to believe that silence equals complicity. And yes, silence in the face of injustice can be dangerous. But there’s a difference between strategic silence and self-sabotage.
You don’t owe every troll an explanation. You don’t need to educate someone who’s tweeting in bad faith. You don’t have to bleed to prove your compassion.
You’re allowed to protect your energy. You’re allowed to walk away. You’re allowed to be happy.
Real activism isn’t measured by how many bigots you defeat online. It’s measured by how much joy, safety, and solidarity you create offline.
Detoxing the Digital Battlefield
A few weeks ago, I decided to stop fighting strangers on the internet. It wasn’t easy. I’d built habits, even reflexes. But here’s what’s been helping me untangle from the chaos.
- Curate, Don’t Scroll: I unfollowed every account that fueled rage without purpose. Even some trans creators who thrived on outrage cycles. I started following artists, gardeners, book reviewers, and trans joy pages. Suddenly, my feed felt human again.
- Block with Abandon: There’s no prize for enduring hate. I stopped screenshotting and started blocking. The block button isn’t censorship. It’s boundary enforcement, and boundaries are a form of love.
- Delete, Mute, Walk Away: I stopped drafting responses “just in case.” The moment I felt the urge to reply, I closed the app. Ten minutes later, the need was gone. Turns out, most online wars can be prevented with a snack and a nap.
- Replace Rage with Creation: Every time I wanted to clap back, I made something instead. A photo, a recipe, an article like this one. Creation feeds the same dopamine loop as conflict but ends in pride instead of burnout.
- Reclaim Offline Joy: The biggest shift happened when I started spending more time offline. I went to the gym, took drives, saw friends, played guitar, and watched sunsets. The real world is quieter, kinder, and far more beautiful than any comment thread.
What’s Happening Now
It’s only been a few weeks, and I’m still working on it. I still slip up sometimes and type a response I never send. But even in this short time, the difference in how I feel is incredible.
I laugh more. I sleep better. My mind feels calmer. Even my creativity has come back. The energy that used to burn out in online firefights now fuels writing, photography, and connection.
And the wildest part? The GCs and TERFs didn’t vanish, but they stopped mattering. I don’t need to “win” anymore, because their existence no longer dictates my self-worth. That’s when I finally understood something powerful. The opposite of hate isn’t love. It’s indifference.
The Ripple Effect of Disengagement
When I stopped engaging, I noticed others doing the same. Friends told me they muted entire topic threads and felt lighter. One person said my quietness made them realize how much space bigotry was taking up in their own life.
That’s the ripple effect. Not the viral tweet, but the invisible peace that spreads when you stop giving hate a platform.
When we refuse to center bigots in our digital lives, we force algorithms to center something else: joy, art, community, beauty. The conversation shifts because we shift it.
Every time a trans person chooses to post about their life, creativity, or humor instead of their trauma, we reclaim a bit more of the internet. We make visibility about living, not surviving.
Rebuilding an Online Presence That Feeds You
After I started this detox, I didn’t want to disappear from social media. I just wanted it to feel like mine again. So I’ve been rebuilding intentionally.
- Share to Connect, Not Convince: I post what makes me proud or curious, not what makes me furious.
- Celebrate, Don’t React: I uplift trans creators, artists, and activists who inspire me instead of quote-tweeting trolls.
- Stay Curious: I let myself enjoy things without worrying if they’re “on brand.” Joy is revolutionary, but it’s also allowed to be casual.
- Remember the Room: When I post, I picture speaking to friends, not an audience. It helps me stay authentic and grounded.
Social media can still be a tool for visibility, creativity, and connection. It just doesn’t have to be a battlefield.
Becoming Happier, One Scroll at a Time
I won’t pretend I’m Zen now. I still roll my eyes when I see hate trending. I still type out replies I never send. But those moments don’t own me anymore.
This change only started a few weeks ago, and I’m still perfecting it. But I can already say I’m a better person because of it. What I’ve learned is this: happiness isn’t about pretending the bigots don’t exist. It’s about denying them emotional rent. They can shout into the void all they want. I’ve moved on.
And in moving on, I found the one thing they can’t stand to see us have: peace. Because peace is power. And I choose to spend mine on living.
The Bottom Line
You don’t need to prove anything to strangers who build their identity on your pain. Your life is the rebuttal. Your joy is the argument they can’t win.
Let them scream into their echo chambers. Let algorithms chew on someone else’s outrage. Let your notifications stay quiet for once.
Go outside. Touch something real. Call a friend. Watch the sky change colors.
The world’s still turning, and it’s better when you’re not trapped in someone else’s war.
