When the Noise Attempts to Drown Out the Mission

I did something recently that surprised even me. I deleted all Meta apps from my phone. No Facebook. No Instagram. No notifications. No scrolling. Nothing.

It started the day I attempted to launch a new page for the 3:27 Life Project. I had spent weeks preparing the first posts, crafting the story behind the Change the Narrative book series, and imagining how this tiny corner of the internet could become a place of gentleness and curiosity for families.

I clicked “publish,” set the page live, and waited for the slow, steady growth I assumed would follow. Instead, the comments arrived in a rush. Some came from what I assume were bots that blasted hostility at anything involving faith. Others likely came from real people carrying hurts far bigger than my little page. The words were sharp, dismissive, and sometimes strangely personal, even though none of it had anything to do with the project itself.

I sat there reading the threads and felt something inside of me drop. Not in fear and not in embarrassment. It was something deeper. It was sadness. Because what I saw in those comments was not anger at me, since they were all strangers if they were real people at all, but frustration toward the church, toward Christians, toward God, or toward memories that had not healed.

In that strange way that social media allegedly reveals the truth faster than a conversation can, I realized that people were not rejecting my project. Many were reacting to an experience they once had with religion or to a pain they never resolved. And the internet gives them a place to release it without ever needing to look a real person in the eyes.

I did not respond. I simply removed the page, deleted the app from my phone, and sat quietly.

It reminded me of something I learned years ago when I eventually stepped away from the traditional preventive health field. I recognized back then that the thing draining my energy was not the work itself but the environment around it. The intention was good, the message was good, and the mission was good, but the environment became so loud that I could no longer hear the heart of what I was trying to build. When I saw the same pattern emerging again, I reacted quickly. I deleted the apps and walked away. 

What surprised me most was not how quickly I pulled the plug. It was how quickly the noise stopped and my brain remembered how to breathe. My book sales did not recover quite as quickly, but we will call that a side effect.

What the Silence Taught Me

Stepping back taught me two things at once. One was lighthearted and the other was profound.

The lighthearted lesson came first. When I deleted Meta from my phone, I suddenly discovered an extra hour in my day. It was an hour I did not even know I had. It had been disappearing quietly into random scrolling, half-hearted checking, and the constant mental hum of being “on.” Removing that noise felt like clearing a bathroom drawer I did not realize was cluttered even though I open it daily for my toothbrush.

The professional lesson reached deeper. Silence allowed me to see something I had missed while the comments were flooding in. People do not lash out because they hate goodness. They lash out because they cannot find a safe place to put their pain. The internet has become a modern sanctuary for unresolved emotion. Some people carry disappointment with Christians into every conversation about faith. Some carry exhaustion from cultural wars. Others carry memories and wounds that were never healed and have nowhere else to go.

When I posted the first story for Change the Narrative, it clashed against those tender places. It was not because the story was wrong. It was because it represented hope, and hope can ache when the heart has been disappointed.

That realization brought me more compassion rather than less. It also made me pause and ask a necessary professional question. Silence showed me that I need to diversify where and how I show up online. Not every platform is a healthy ecosystem for early-stage growth. Meta may not naturally support the tone of gentleness and curiosity that I want to cultivate. At the same time, the very people I hope to serve still gather there. They scroll there. They hurt there. They are the ones carrying the stories and questions that Change the Narrative was created to address.

This leaves me with an important tension. The question is not whether I belong on Meta. The question is how I show up there in a way that feels safe for others and sustainable for me.

How do I create a digital space that feels hopeful instead of hostile?
How do I introduce stories that build trust instead of triggering old wounds?
How do I launch a page that is not overshadowed by negativity before the first child ever reads the story meant to help them?

These are the questions the silence handed back to me. They are clearer now and they carry new urgency, and I am committed to listening to them with care.

The Real Reason I Stepped Back

People often assume that stepping back from Meta must mean burnout, fear of criticism, or a desire to hide. In my case, those reactions did appear. The harsh comments triggered the same early warning signs I felt years ago in preventative health. The sadness, the tension, and the sense of emotional depletion were real, and they surfaced quickly. My instinct was to retreat, to pull back before the noise overwhelmed me. That instinct was the real reason I stepped back. It was not strategic. It was human.

What came next was clarity. My early career in preventative health was something I chose because the classes were interesting and I wanted to help people in a general sense. It was good work, but it was not shaped through prayer. It was not a conviction. It was the kind of career path you create for yourself in your twenties. And when I eventually burned out, it happened quietly and gradually because the work was self-directed. There was no deeper anchor holding me to it.

The work I am doing now is different. The 3:27 Life Project did not grow out of a career plan. It grew out of years of prayer and the unmistakable sense that God was asking me to build something gentle and honest for people who feel overlooked or silenced. It is not ambition. It is not branding. It is conviction. It is a calling that did not come from me.

That is why the reaction on Meta unsettled me so deeply. The comments did not just frustrate me. They touched an old wound, the one connected to burnout from my twenties. My body reacted as if this new work was just another self driven effort that I could simply step away from when it hurt. My instinctive pullback was familiar, and for a moment I treated this mission as if it were something I had created entirely on my own.

But stepping back is what allowed me to see the truth. The silence showed me that my emotional reaction was not a sign that I should abandon the work. It was a sign that I needed to slow down long enough to see why this work matters and to remember who gave it to me. It was a reminder that my calling does not disappear when the internet becomes loud. It steadies me when the noise tries to shake me.

So I stepped back because my instinct told me to. And I am returning because the pause revealed that the mission is larger than the moment that startled me. What happened on Meta helped me see the difference between a project I could walk away from and a calling I cannot ignore. Stepping back helped me understand myself. Stepping forward again will help me serve the people who need these stories most.

Why I Am Telling You This

Many of you have followed my work through multiple transitions. You were here during my preventative-health years, through rebranding, and now as I step into writing. Because this page has always felt like home, I want you to understand why some of my online choices may look different moving forward.

I am returning to this project with clearer direction and healthier boundaries. I will continue to post and share updates, but I will not be active in the comment threads the way I used to be. Meta will remain off my phone, and I am grateful for the hour of quiet that used to disappear into scrolling.

As I return, my presence will be more intentional. My posts will continue to focus on stories, not comment debates. Comments will be filtered so families see only what encourages them. Honest questions about faith will stay, because that is the whole point. What will be removed are the non-constructive, hostile comments that help no one. Engagement will be thoughtful but not constant. My goal is to protect the tone that makes this project meaningful.

Meta can be a doorway, but it cannot be the home base. The real work will continue in conversations, mentoring moments, living rooms, classrooms, church basements, and the quiet places where a child picks up a story and feels seen.

Why I Am Not Opening a Separate Page for the 3:27 Life Project

Originally I thought Nadeau Ministries and The 3:27 Life Project needed separate pages so the messaging would stay clean and organized. But the truth is simple. I need my people. You know me. You know my history, my voice, and the heart behind what I build. Launching a new page felt like starting from scratch in a place that did not yet understand the mission. Staying here keeps me grounded and connected to the community that has supported every step so far. For now, all updates for both Nadeau Ministries and The 3:27 Life Project will remain on one Meta page: Nadeau Ministries.

The Mission Is Still the Mission

Children need honest stories. Adults need safe ways to share their past. Families need gentler conversations about faith, doubt, and resilience. If stepping away helped me protect that mission, then the silence was necessary.

I am here, writing and building, and I am grateful you are walking with me. Sometimes you step away to hear more clearly. Sometimes the silence is exactly what strengthens the work you were meant to share.