The Ban Hammer: Starting Over After the Algorithm Killed My Online Life

No Warning. No Recourse. Just Gone.

I’ve been online long enough to have enjoyed IRC chats and watch the MySpace top 8 drama unfold. Back when emojis were still text-based and hashtags weren’t yet a corporate cash cow.

I was one of the early adopters of platforms that no longer exist. I survived the Tumblr exodus. I watched the rise and fall of LiveJournal like it was the Roman Empire.

I’ve blogged, coded, hustled, built, flopped, rebuilt, and burned out more times than I can count. I’ve been here.

But I never expected to lose everything in a matter of minutes.

What Actually Happened

I didn’t break the rules. I broke the illusion. Said the wrong truth at the wrong time, and someone tattled to the Machine. That’s all it took.

Twice.

My first Twitter account was well over a decade deep. Twenty thousand followers, years of writing, connections, conversations, content, and history—gone. Just fucking gone. I appealed. I begged. I got crickets. So I started over. Built it back. Slowly. Authentically. As always; no bots, no bullshit. Just me. 

And then it happened again.

No strikes. No email. No “Hey, this might violate our community standards, please delete it and go directly to jail.” Just a blank login screen and a message that basically said “Go touch grass, forever.” They blocked my damn phone number! Flagged me for 'Financial Fraud', all because I was calling out shills and scam artists in the crypto and retail trading space. 

It wasn’t just a ban—it was erasure. A digital execution. No explanation. No path back. Just “you’re done here.” 

Why It Matters

This isn’t just about me crying into the algorithm void. This is bigger than one account or one person. This is about control. About power. About the sanitized, curated internet that’s more interested in ad revenue and public image than truth or nuance or actual goddamn humanity.

Social media sold us the lie that these were our platforms. That we had a voice. That if we followed the rules, we’d be fine.

Spoiler: I followed the rules. I was not fine.

People lose their accounts every day. Not because they’re scammers, or trolls, or bots, but because someone got mad and reported them. Because the system is too big and too lazy to care. Because moderation is broken and appeals are a joke. Because we don’t actually own the space we’re told we “built.” We are the products in that space. Our attention and our data are sold to the highest bidders. 

What I Lost

It wasn’t just content. It was community. Conversations. People I’d supported through divorces, deaths, births, breakdowns. Art I shared. Thoughts I’d archived. DMs full of real shit, not just “haha thanks!” and emoji reacts. Decades of presence deleted like I never existed there at all.

And if that sounds dramatic? Good. It should sound dramatic. It is dramatic. If some faceless backend system can press a button and make you disappear, that should freak you out—even if it hasn’t happened to you yet.

So Who Am I, Really?

I’m a mom, a chronic illness warrior, a dog rescuer, a business owner, and, above all, a relentless rule-breaker. I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in one—because why do things by the book when the book is clearly a mess?

I’ve waited tables, worked in funeral homes, and built websites. I studied both computer science and mortuary science because why not? And at one point, I was running the tech side of things as a Director of IT. I’ve rescued more dogs than I can count, and while I’ve gotten dirt under my nails (literally and figuratively) in gardening, I’ve also dug deep within myself, learning how to keep going when it feels like my body’s betraying me.

Right now, I’m living with a chronic illness, raising a child I was told I could never have, and trying to figure out how to live my best life—without getting sucked into everyone else’s version of success. My life is loud, messy, and never on the timeline anyone else wants for me.

Guess what? That’s my fucking superpower.

What I’m Doing Now

I’m rebuilding—but this time, on my own terms.

This site? It’s mostly mine. I own the domain. The voice is mine, and the vision is mine. I write the words, I design the products, and I source everything that goes into what I sell. Yeah, Shopify hosts the shop—so technically they could yank the rug. But I really don't see them doing this. Unlike social platforms, I’m not depending on likes or begging some algorithm for attention. If they ever try to muzzle me, I’ve got backups. I’ve got receipts. And I’ll find a new digital home that doesn’t flinch when I speak plainly. If that ever happened all I have to do is set up my domain on the new spot. Point is, I’m not putting my whole identity in someone else’s pocket again.

If you’re here? you already know what time it is. This is where I start saying what I actually want to say, without worrying about who’s gonna report it or what kind of AI-bot flag or user script it's gonna trip.

What You Can Expect

I’m writing again. Sometimes it’ll be funny. Sometimes it’ll be angry. Sometimes it’ll be a deep dive into weird shit no one asked for. Sometimes it’ll just be me processing life out loud. That’s the deal.

No lectures. No fake positivity. No playing nice so the robots don’t eat my reach.

Just a voice you can’t mass-report into silence.

What I’m Not Doing

I’m not chasing clout. I’m not apologizing for being honest. I’m not toning myself down to survive a broken system that was never designed for people like me.

I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not just to stay "on brand."

And I’m definitely not shutting up.

If You’ve Been There Too…

If you’ve been banned, shadowbanned, ghosted by the algorithm, or forced to make yourself smaller to stay safe—same. I see you.

This space is for us. Loud, messy, honest, imperfect, and unfiltered. It’s for the people who never fit the mold and stopped trying to.

If you’re sick of being polite while platforms disappear you? You’re in the right place.

No chill. No leash. Let’s go!