Let’s talk about crabs.

I just want these goddamn crabs around me to stop pulling me back down when I try to climb out of the bucket!

That’s what I wrote in my notes for this post, and it’s the rawest, truest thing I can say about the past year. I’ve had to make some hard choices. I’ve had to burn some things down to protect my own peace. As of March of 2025, I’m no longer on Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok. I wiped them from my life. If you’ve seen anything posted about me since then, it’s from the handful of people who still have my back. Thank God for them. For my found family.

Because what happened was fucking wild. At the beginning of last year, I had maybe 300 followers. By the end, I had over 10,000 across all platforms. I did it by being me. By being authentic and vulnerable about my struggles with chronic illness, my mental health, my past trauma—all the messy, magnificent, and sometimes ugly parts of my story.

And yes, it backfired. Spectacularly.

I reached out looking for support and connection, and in return, I received a tidal wave of judgment and hate. I lost nearly every friend I had. I was ostracized and persecuted by the very “community” I thought I was building. It taught me a brutal lesson: a lot of people claim they want to lift others up, but what they really do is troll the internet and drag down anyone who dares to climb. The few people who still believe in me? They get persecuted just for their association.

I still get messages from strangers telling me how I’m wrong, or broken, or just doing life badly. So I decided to fuckin’ jet from that situation. It was not good for my health. Or for anyone else’s, apparently. The constant barrage of judgment contributed to me backing out of my biggest dreams—Moore Business Management, Moore Transport Solutions, and Moore Miracles. It’s soul-crushing how society can drag you down for daring to want more, for trying to make your dreams come true.

I’m not perfect. Far from it. But I am resilient. And I am trying. So now, I’m going to do it quietly. Because I’m sick of the performance of support that masks a deep-seated need to make ourselves feel better by tearing others down. I’m horrified by what we’ve become: a machine of the crab mentality. Drag others down so they can’t get above you. Keep them suffering with you at the bottom of the barrel.

This post is my attempt to understand what the hell happened. It’s a deep dive into the psychology of why we do this to each other. It’s for every one of you who has ever felt the claws of the crabs pulling you back down when all you wanted to do was find the sun. This isn’t about blaming specific people. This is about dissecting a broken system and figuring out how we, the Wounded Healers and misfit survivors, can build a fortress to protect our own goddamn peace.

The Vulnerability Hangover: When Being Real Backfires

So, why did being vulnerable—the very thing that’s supposed to build connection—end up feeling like I’d walked into a digital ambush? The answer lies in a concept I now call the "vulnerability hangover," and it’s rooted in some deep, often unspoken, truths about the internet.

The Online Authenticity Paradox

Let’s start with a hard truth: social media is not designed for your messy, magnificent reality. Researchers have identified what they call the “online authenticity paradox”. It goes like this: we all say we value authenticity, and we believe that to be authentic online, we have to share the good, the bad, and the ugly. But in practice, the entire ecosystem of platforms like Instagram and Facebook is built on a foundation of “positivity bias”. It’s a highlight reel, a space for curated perfection. When you show up with your raw, unfiltered, and sometimes painful truth—as I did, talking about my health, my finances, my trauma—you are fundamentally violating the unspoken rules of the space. You’re bringing a hurricane to a tea party, and it makes people deeply uncomfortable. It gives ammunition to critics who were just waiting for you to misstep.   

This is a structural problem. The platforms are built around "context collapse," a phenomenon where your boss, your grandma, your best friend, and your worst enemy are all in the same audience. Sharing your deepest vulnerabilities in that environment is like screaming your secrets in the middle of a crowded mall. You have no control over who hears it or how they’ll use it against you. My attempt to be my whole self online was a radical act that clashed head-on with a system designed for performance, not presence.   

Brené Brown, the Arena, and the Cheap Seats

This brings me to the work of researcher Brené Brown. She famously taught us that vulnerability is not weakness; it’s “our greatest measure of courage”. It’s about having the guts to show up and be seen when you can’t control the outcome. Her work was a lifeline for me, validating my choice to be open and real. When you dare greatly, she says, you sign up to get your ass kicked. You can choose courage or you can choose comfort, but you can’t have both.   

But here’s the crucial piece of her wisdom that I, and so many others, have learned the hard way. Vulnerability is not a free-for-all. It’s not about “honesty vomit” with anyone who will listen. Brown is very clear that not everyone has earned the right to hear your story. You have to be fiercely protective of your vulnerability. She talks about life as an arena. If you’re going to be brave, you have to step into that arena. And when you do, there will be critics. A lot of them. They’ll be sitting in the “cheap seats,” hurling mean-spirited put-downs from a safe distance, never once setting foot on the floor themselves.   

Her rule is simple and life-changing: if you are not in the arena also getting your ass kicked, she is not interested in your feedback.   

My mistake wasn’t being vulnerable. My mistake was being vulnerable in the wrong arena. Mass social media isn’t an arena for brave work; it’s a stadium of cheap seats. The backlash I faced was the painful, brutal process of sorting out who was in the arena with me from the sea of critics who were just there for the show. My decision to leave those platforms wasn’t a retreat; it was a strategic move to a safer arena—this blog, my LinkedIn, my inner circle—where the people in the audience have earned their seats. It was me, finally learning to curate my arena and protect my story. This is the heart of the vulnerability paradox I’ve written about: it feels risky as hell, but when practiced in a safe space, it builds the strongest, most resilient connections—a true Found Family.   

The Psychology of the Bucket: A Deep Dive into the Hater's Mind

To truly protect our peace, we have to understand what we’re up against. It’s not enough to just say “haters gonna hate.” We need to dissect the psychology of the crabs in the bucket. Why do people feel the need to pull others down? The attacks I faced weren’t just random noise; they came from two distinct, though often overlapping, sources: the anonymous, sadistic trolls, and the resentful, envious crabs from within my own community.

The Anatomy of a Troll: The Dark Tetrad

First, let’s talk about the true trolls. These aren’t just people having a bad day. Research has shown that the most vicious online aggressors often exhibit a cluster of personality traits known as the “Dark Tetrad”. Understanding this framework is empowering, because it depersonalizes the attack. It’s not about you; it’s about their internal wiring. It turns their chaotic malice into a predictable pattern.

When you’re on the receiving end, it feels personal. But when you realize you’re dealing with someone whose brain is wired to get a dopamine hit from your pain, you understand that no amount of explaining, reasoning, or pleading will ever work. Their goal isn’t understanding; it’s destruction.

The Crab Mentality: When "Community" Turns Toxic

The second group, and in many ways the more painful one, is the crabs from inside your own bucket. These are the friends, the peers, the followers—the people you thought were on your team. Why do they turn? Psychology gives us a few powerful explanations for the "crab mentality".   

First, there’s Tesser’s Self-Evaluation Maintenance Theory. In simple terms, this theory says that we often evaluate ourselves by comparing ourselves to those closest to us. When a friend or peer suddenly achieves great success, especially in an area we also value (like building a community or being creative), it can feel like a direct threat to our own self-esteem. Their success shines a bright, uncomfortable light on our own perceived failures. To protect our ego from that painful feeling, we might unconsciously try to diminish their success, downplay their achievements, or find reasons why they don’t deserve it. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to say, “They’re not that great, so I don’t have to feel bad about myself.”   

Second, there’s Relative Deprivation Theory. This is that bitter feeling of injustice that bubbles up when we see someone else getting the rewards we feel we deserve but haven’t received. My rapid growth from 300 to 10,000 followers could have easily triggered this in peers who had been working just as long without the same results (God, that sounds so conceited). It’s the "Why them and not me?" feeling that can curdle into resentment and a desire to level the playing field by pulling the successful person back down.   

This is the rotten core of the crab mentality: the destructive, non-rational belief that says, “If I can’t have it, neither can you”. It’s a mindset that ensures the collective demise of everyone in the bucket. The tragic irony is that the crabs who pull others down are also trapping themselves in a cycle of envy and bitterness, emotions that are utterly nonproductive.   

What I experienced was a perfect storm. My visibility made me a target for sadistic trolls, and my semi-success triggered the crab mentality in my peers. The two groups fed off each other. The public criticism from the “crabs” gave cover and justification to the anonymous trolls, while the trolls’ vicious attacks validated the crabs’ resentment. The line between them blurred, creating the overwhelming, multi-front persecution that made my life a living hell.

The High Cost of Connection: Your Brain on Social Media

My decision to leave was an emotional one, born of pain and a need for self-preservation. But the more I’ve researched it, the more I realize it was also a medically and psychologically sound decision. The environment I left is a documented public health hazard.

In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General issued a formal advisory highlighting the “growing concerns about the effects of social media on youth mental health”. One study found that teens who spent more than three hours a day on these platforms faced double the risk of experiencing poor mental health outcomes, including symptoms of depression and anxiety. This isn’t just about kids. Heavy social media use in adults is strongly linked to increased anxiety, depression, loneliness, disrupted sleep, body image issues, and a pervasive Fear of Missing Out (FOMO). This is the scientific backdrop to my simple, gut-level feeling that the situation was “not good for my health”.   

But what I went through was more than just the general malaise of scrolling too much. I was the target of an online mob. And the psychological impact of that is a specific and severe form of trauma. Research shows that being the victim of online harassment and cyberstalking can lead to debilitating psychological distress, including symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)—flashbacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, and panic attacks. It is directly linked to an increased risk of suicidal ideation.   

So when I talk about my “suicidal demon” being fed by the online attacks, or feeling like I’m in “constant panic and fear mode,” I’m not being dramatic. I am describing the well-documented, predictable symptoms of a person experiencing profound cyber-trauma. My response wasn’t an overreaction; it was the normal reaction of a human nervous system under relentless siege.   

Content creators are in a uniquely vulnerable position. For us, hate and harassment are not a rare occurrence; they are a daily part of the job description. One study found that over 70% of social media influencers have experienced some form of online harassment. The very thing that made me successful—my authentic vulnerability about my chronic illnesses and mental health struggles—also made me a prime target. The platforms amplified both my success and my suffering. My openness created a powerful connection with my audience, but it was also seen as a weakness to be exploited by those who get their kicks from hurting others. The online environment became an unsustainable paradox, and recognizing that was the first step toward saving myself.   

Forging Your Fortress: A Radically Resilient Guide to Protecting Your Peace

So what do we do? How do we survive in a world with so many buckets and so many crabs? The answer isn’t to become hard, to shut down, or to stop creating. The answer is to get strategic. It’s to build a fortress around your peace. This is the essence of Radical Resilience in action.

The Power of F*ckin' Jetting: Boundaries as Strength

My decision to "fuckin’ jet" from those platforms was the most powerful boundary I’ve ever set. And it turns out, it’s an expert-recommended strategy. Psychologists identify several coping mechanisms for cyber-harassment, and the one considered most beneficial for long-term well-being is called the “Moving Away” strategy. It involves avoiding the harasser, changing your contact methods, and, yes, shutting down your social media accounts. This is not an act of weakness or defeat. It is a powerful, thought-out act of self-preservation that starves the harassers of the attention they crave and removes you from the field of battle so you can heal.   

The ultimate expression of Radical Resilience isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about actively redesigning your environment to minimize it. I spent too long trying to endure a toxic system. The truly resilient move was to recognize that the system itself was broken and to walk away to build a better one. If the bucket is full of crabs, the goal isn’t to just keep climbing. It’s to tip the whole damn bucket over and find a better place to live. That isn’t escape; it’s liberation.

Curate Your Circle, Audit Your Tribe

This brings us to the core of my philosophy: the Found Family. The goal is not to be silent. The goal is to speak your truth in spaces that are safe and with people who have earned the right to hear it. This requires a ruthless curation of your circle.   

You have the power to mute, block, and unfollow. Use it liberally. Your digital space should feel like a supportive living room, not a toxic battlefield. Audit your tribe. Who makes you feel energized and seen? Who leaves you feeling drained and defensive? Invest your precious energy in the people who celebrate your authentic self, messy parts and all. This is about building a strong, resilient inner circle that can withstand the storms.   

You Are the Curator of Your Story

This is the final, most important lesson. Authenticity is not about radical transparency with the entire world. It’s about radical alignment with your own values. You are the curator of your own story. You get to decide what you share, where you share it, and with whom. That is an act of immense power.   

I haven’t stopped being authentic. I haven’t stopped being vulnerable. I’m doing it right now, on this page. But I’m doing it on my own terms, in my own house, with my own rules. My blog and my LinkedIn profile are the spaces I have chosen. They are my curated arena.

Protecting your peace is not a passive act. It is the most defiant and resilient thing you can do. It is the foundation from which all healing, all creativity, and all true connection grows. It’s how you keep fighting. It’s how you keep climbing. It’s how you find, and build, a world with ‘moore’ of what truly matters.