Cone-Gate: When Trolling Breaks You—And You Choose to Heal Instead
Walking Away to Heal
I’ve decided to walk away from something I really cared about. But sometimes, you need to, to protect yourself on your healing journey.
What Sparked ‘Cone-Gate’
What happened in our village, I now refer to as Cone-gate — and while it may sound small to others, it unravelled something deep in me.
A Summer of Stress and Strain
In July 2023, I found myself juggling a delicate and emotionally demanding balance. My mother had just undergone a hip replacement and her mobility was severely limited. At the same time, we were finishing building work on my flat, located directly across the road from my parents’ home.
Due to the nature of the work, we often needed occasional vehicle access—deliveries, tradespeople, materials—all of which required space to safely turn and unload. My father, trying to protect and support both my mother and me while managing the mounting pressures of the build, started reserving the space outside the house using cones and a sign reading “Deliveries arriving.” Looking back, we can see how this might have been misinterpreted. In hindsight, my father admits that amidst the stress, he didn’t communicate clearly enough with neighbours about what was happening. He was just trying to keep everything afloat.
When Assumptions Turned to Accusations
Unfortunately, things escalated in a way we could never have anticipated. A neighbour took a photo of the cones and posted it on the local village Facebook group, suggesting that it was our attempt to claim a permanent parking space. Though the post didn’t name us directly, it was obvious whose house it was. The comments that followed were deeply upsetting. Strangers who had never met us began speculating, accusing, and commenting in ways that amounted to nothing short of online trolling.
The Trauma Behind the Trigger
The experience was terrifying.
It triggered a trauma I hadn’t fully processed from the Christmas before. On the night before Christmas Eve, our doorbell rang. A man I didn’t recognise stood there, red-faced and angry. He shouted that we were parked outside “his” cottage, which was in fact a holiday let. My blue badge mobility car was in question. When I tried to calmly explain that there are no assigned parking spaces in the village, he began shouting louder, threatening to slash the tyres and key the car. He moved aggressively toward me and my father, his fists clenched, spit flying as he raged. We were scared. Deeply scared.
My father, ever calm, offered to move the car. We later debated calling the police, but it was Christmas and we didn’t want to create a fuss. Still, the fear stayed with me. I never felt truly safe in our home again. And so, when that Facebook post appeared, I spiralled.
The Aftermath of Silence
I couldn’t sleep. I lost my appetite. I was physically sick. I was terrified that something like that would happen again. And when I reached out to the Facebook group moderators to explain, I was met with silence. Repeated messages went unanswered. Desperate and overwhelmed, I posted a Facebook Live video of myself crying and pleading for someone to help me understand why I was being ignored. I mentioned the moderators by their first names—not to attack them, but because I felt abandoned.
Eventually, the post was removed. But then we were banned. Not just me, but my father too—despite the fact that he never messaged anyone. We were told our behaviour was offensive and threatening. I have spent the past two years trying to apologise and make amends. But we are still banned.
What Exclusion Really Looks Like
Being disabled and neurodiverse means I often live with heightened anxiety, especially when under stress or taking medication like steroids, which can intensify emotional responses. I understand I was emotional, but what I needed was support, not punishment. What I experienced from the moderators was not protection of the group—it was exclusion of a vulnerable person in distress.
Losing More Than Just a Group
This exclusion has had real-world consequences.
For the past few years, my father, another kind volunteer, and I have run the Flushing Arts Exhibition. When no one else stepped forward, we quietly kept it alive. But without access to the local community Facebook group, I can’t respond to artist questions, promote the event, or coordinate participation. It simply isn’t viable to continue without being allowed back into that space.
A Difficult Goodbye
And so, after much thought, I’ve decided to step away. This will be my last year involved with Flushing Arts. Unless new volunteers come forward, the event may end. That saddens me more than I can express. But I have to prioritise my health and protect myself going forward.
The Heartbreak of Being Silenced
It may seem unrelated, but it is not. As someone with ties to the village over the last 40-plus years, my father and I wanted to give back. But now, it just isn’t feasible.
I again send my apologies for the upset I caused at the time. I wasn’t in my right mind — I was overwhelmed, anxious, and trying to manage too much. I understand how my behaviour may have come across, but it was never meant to be threatening or difficult. I’m especially sorry that, as a disabled person navigating high levels of internal stress, my actions were perceived that way—and that this resulted in exclusion rather than understanding.
To Others Who Feel Silenced
I love this village. I’ve grown up here. I’ve given a lot to this community. But village life is not always kind, especially when you’re disabled and struggling.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt silenced, dismissed, or unsafe because of your disability or mental health, please know you’re not alone. We deserve to be protected too.
It shouldn’t take a breakdown to be heard. But when it does, I hope we can learn to listen with compassion instead of judgement.
With care,