I've broken up with Twitter

Its not me ... its you

I’ve spent almost half my life on Twitter.

I know, I know, some of you are probably nodding along with me, thinking, Same, while others are squinting at the screen, wondering how that could possibly be true. How can someone spend all those years on a platform that’s only 280 characters long? It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But it’s not the length of the posts that matter, it’s the people you meet, the things you learn, and the sense of belonging that builds itself around you like a second skin.

I joined when I was just 12, those early, heady days when fandoms felt like sacred clubs and everyone seemed to have an opinion, even if that opinion was just a GIF of a pop star pulling an awkward face. Twitter in those days was vibrant, spontaneous, messy in the best way. I can’t even tell you how many times I stayed up all night with strangers across the world, bonding over our love for obscure TV shows, late-night concerts, and the fact that we all thought Harry Styles was the coolest person on earth (a fact I still hold dear, but let’s be real, that’s beside the point).

In my late teens, Twitter felt like an extension of my personality. It was a space where I could be me that weird, book-obsessed, pop culture-obsessed, self-doubting, hyper-empathetic version of myself that didn’t quite fit into the world I grew up in. I met friends no, family from every corner of the globe, bound together by shared interests, similar passions, and a collective need to escape the smallness of our offline lives. Twitter wasn’t just an app; it was a classroom, a safe space, a museum of ideas, all wrapped up in one. I learned more about culture, art, identity, and politics there than I ever did in school. Twitter taught me about the world, about people I’d never met, from perspectives I hadn’t considered. It felt alive.

And then, something shifted.

Maybe it was gradual, like the slow fade of a once-favourite song that you now only hear in the background at a party. Or maybe it was the fact that I got older and started paying attention to how much I was taking in how much negativity was slipping into my feed, how the toxic opinions were spiralling. Either way, Twitter in 2025 is… well, it’s not the place it used to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not naive. Social media has always been messy. But Twitter today feels like a game of virtual survival. Who can shout the loudest? Who can stir the most controversy? What’s the hottest take on any given topic? The nuance and kindness that made it special are often drowned out by cancel culture and the endless parade of one-liners designed to get the most likes or retweets. It’s exhausting.

I’ve spent the last year of my life logging on, scrolling, trying to feel that same spark I used to feel when I saw a tweet from someone I admired, or when I found a thread that made me see the world in a new light. And I’ve realised, I’m just not finding it anymore. What I’m finding is noise. What I’m finding is anger. What I’m finding is… forgettable.

So, here I am, in 2025, ready to break up with Twitter.

I never thought I’d say this. I thought I’d always have a place for it in my life, as a kind of digital home, a space to vent, share, and connect. And I still love the idea of Twitter, the idea of it being a place for change, for conversation, for shared understanding. But the reality is different. The algorithm isn’t what it used to be, and neither are the conversations.

But I’m not bitter. I think I’ve outgrown it.

I’ve learned so much from those years. Twitter gave me my first taste of connection, it introduced me to people who became real friends, and it showed me how to think critically about the world. Those late-night chats about the meaning of my favourite TV shows, the debates about politics, the recommendations for books I never would have found in a bookstore, I’ll cherish all of it.

But like all relationships, sometimes things come to an end. Sometimes, it’s not that you stop loving something, but that you realise it’s not good for you anymore. And as much as I owe Twitter for those formative years, I’m ready to let go of the constant scroll, the unfiltered rage, and the endless news cycles.

It feels like a breakup. A bittersweet one. But it’s time.

I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know where all those friendships will go or if I’ll ever find another space where I can connect with like-minded people in the same way. But that’s part of growing up, isn’t it? You outgrow things. You move on, even when it feels like leaving a part of you behind.

So, goodbye, Twitter. I’ll always have the memories. But I think we’re both better off now.

And to everyone I met on Twitter who shaped me, thank you. You were part of something special. I’ll carry that with me, even if I’m no longer here to tweet about it.

About Twenty Five Reset

Hi, I’m Niamh, and everyone was right—25 really is a turning point. I finally know who I am, what I want, and my purpose… but it’s nothing like I expected.

I work in TV, but it doesn’t define me. This space is my reset—embracing the mess, reflecting, and creating again. You can expect:

• Personal Diary Entries

• Talks of the timeline (Most Wednesdays)

• Pop Culture and a lot of chats about 2000 - 2020 TV Shows

• Monthly Reports

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