I crashed out on Linkedin.

I was sitting at my desk on an unexpectedly gloomy Monday morning. The weather matched the all-encompassing shadow weighing down on me as I tried to complete the task I’d set myself.

It was a simple task. I’d done it many times before.

But, this time, it felt like eating glass.

I guide a tentative index finger towards my keyboard.

It hovers over a key.

But it cannot go any further. An invisible pane of glass halts its progression.

I push and push but to no avail.

And then something breaks.

SMASH.

My face hits the desk. Blood spurts like confetti from my broken nose.

SMASH.

My forehead cracks. A crimson river snakes its way down my face.

SMASH.

My eye sockets swell, blurring my vision.

I blink.

My hands rush to my face.

My fingers search for damage.

That's interesting.

No cracks, no breaks.

Wait, what's going on?

Oh yes, I remember.

I’m just a girl, sitting in front of a blank LinkedIn post window, willing myself to write something insightful for a grand total of 12 views from the most random ragtag of humans who would most likely never want to work with me.

I realise at this moment that if I want to avoid my self-face-smashing ideation becoming a reality then I need to write the truth.

And the truth is this: LinkedIn is fucking hellhole and I hate it.

This is nothing new, I know. But fuck me, hasn’t it got SO MUCH WORSE lately?

AI slop is everywhere on the internet but LinkedIn feels like the epicentre.

It’s gobbling down AI-written trash like an insatiable baby bird swallowing its mother’s vomit.

So I wrote about that, and then dramatically declared my resignation from the platform.

LOL.

I then took myself over to the little pink square - the one we all gaslight ourselves into pretending that one of the most evil internet bros doesn’t run it - and shared a debrief on what I did and why.

Funnily enough, it resonated with people.

The irony is that the original post attracted the attention of new faces that had never interacted with me before.

And long time followers came out of the woodwork to tell me they’ll miss me, which of course sent my supposedly retired people-pleaser into an utter frenzy and almost had me declaring my return in under 24 hours.

But don’t worry, I managed to walk her back into her care home and lock the doors... for now.

So why the dramatic exit?

If you've been reading this newsletter a while, you'll know it's not the first one.

You'll know that I tend to follow a pattern: things look fine on paper → everyone says stick with it → I leave anyway because it stopped being a choice and became a should.

First the relationship. Then the business. Now, apparently, a professional networking website.

Showing up on LinkedIn has become a should.

When I took a step back, this is what I realised:

It’s not fun and that undermines one of my core values.

Everything I do orbits around one ambition: building a life that's aligned, joyful, and genuinely mine, and helping other people do the same.

Fun, humour and joy are the cornerstones. I don't tolerate situations that undermine them anymore.

(The exceptions are rare, and usually legally binding. Hello, taxes.)

There was a time I loved writing for LinkedIn - real conversations, interesting projects, actual friends made. I haven't felt that way in a long time.

And if it ain't fun, I'm not hanging around, babes.

If creators are uninspired then our audiences are, too.

“But isn't it where the clients are???” someone asked me, privately.

Sure, some of them. But the people I actually want to work with are just as disengaged with the LinkedBin as I am. They're after humanity, connection, realness.

And looking for that on LinkedIn is like looking for a squirrel at a sighthound convention. You're not going to find it. Either it's not there, or it's hiding well enough to survive the unrestrained prey drive.

There’s simply not an equal value exchange anymore.

My impressions used to be impressive. Now they're as flat as the open can of coke waiting in the fridge that I said I'd finish two days ago.

What's the point of crafting thoughtful posts for a platform that isn't showing them to anyone?

Every creator I know is saying the same thing about the algorithm. It’s no surprise that Cindy Gallop and others started Fairness in the Feed to call out what AI is doing to reach, and the bias that already disproportionately hurts women and other minorities on the platform.

Put those three things together and it's not really a mystery why I’m stepping back.

I guess all of this is to say I'm rebooting my reliance on platforms that aren't delivering on fun, inspiration, or mutual value.