I've spent most of my life living with a mother who never seems to run out of things to say.
She talks, repeats questions, explains things nobody asked her to explain, and sometimes insists she isn't talking while I'm literally listening to her talk.
I've written about how exhausting it can be to live with someone whose conversations never seem to end. I've written about repetitive noises, caregiving, family relationships, and what happens when you can't get five minutes of peace and quiet in your own home.
I even started an entire website devoted to understanding compulsive talking and the emotional consequences of living with it.
I called it Talkaholism.org.
So when I finally decided to join Reddit and participate in discussions with people experiencing similar problems, I thought it might be interesting to hear what other people had to say.
I registered the username u/talkaholism.
I wasn't trying to advertise my website. I hadn't even linked it to my Reddit profile. I'd simply added a link to my Reddit account in my blog's footer and figured I should probably become an actual participant rather than leave visitors staring at an empty profile.
I wanted to talk to people.
Reddit apparently took one look at my username and decided I'd done enough talking already.
My first two comments were removed within seconds.
Both of them.
In two different communities.
And if that weren't ridiculous enough, Reddit later invited me to jump back into the conversations it had just prevented me from joining.
I swear, you couldn't make this stuff up.
The Woman Who Lives With Too Much Talking Finally Finds a Place to Talk
One of the reasons I started Talkaholism.org was that I wanted to understand why everyday conversations in my family can become so exhausting.
My mother has talked excessively for as long as I can remember.
She'll ask a question, receive an answer, and return to the same subject minutes later. She'll interrupt me while I'm doing something that requires concentration, then explain why whatever she wanted to say was important.
Sometimes I'll ask her to stop talking for a little while because I'm overwhelmed.
Her response?
"I'm not talking."
Which is fascinating, considering the sound coming out of her mouth.
And whenever I try to explain how repetitive talking and noises affect me, the conversation often becomes another lengthy explanation about why I'm supposedly too nervous or sensitive.
So much for getting a little silence.
Over the years, I've learned that other people experience similar frustrations, particularly adults caring for aging parents or living with family members who struggle with anxiety.
Some describe parents who ask the same questions over and over.
Others describe family members who narrate everything they're doing, interrupt constantly, or have difficulty recognizing when someone else needs quiet.
And some caregivers describe feeling so overwhelmed by repetitive sounds that they become angry with people they genuinely love.
Reading their stories can be a strange combination of comfort and sadness.
Comfort because you're not the only person experiencing something difficult to explain.
Sadness because you recognize how exhausted the other person must be.
That's why I wanted to participate in Reddit discussions.
Not to sell anything.
Not to collect followers.
Just to tell somebody, "Oh my God, I know exactly what you're talking about."
Apparently, that was asking too much.
My First Reddit Comment: Gone Before Anybody Could Read It
The first discussion I wanted to respond to was in r/CaregiverSupport.
Someone was struggling with repetitive sounds and constant talking while caring for a family member.
Now, if there's a subject I know something about, it's that one.
I've spent years caregiving, and I've experienced intense irritation from sounds that other people might barely notice.
My mother's whispered self-talk is one example.
She'll whisper while she's cooking or doing things around the house, sometimes narrating her activities in a barely audible voice.
The strange thing is that I can watch ASMR videos featuring deliberate whispering and find them relaxing.
But hearing my mother whisper to herself in the next room?
Some days, I feel like my nervous system has filed a formal complaint.
I wanted to share that experience with another caregiver because I know how isolating it can feel.
People sometimes assume that becoming angry over repetitive sounds means you don't love the person making them.
But those are two different things.
You can love someone and still be overwhelmed by the sounds they make.
You can recognize that someone isn't deliberately trying to irritate you and still feel desperate for silence.
And you can be a dedicated caregiver while occasionally wondering whether it's possible to move into a soundproof refrigerator.
I thought a Reddit discussion about caregiving and repetitive sounds would be the perfect place to connect with someone who understood.
So I submitted a comment.
And almost immediately, Reddit removed it.
[Removed by Reddit]
Well, that was encouraging.
I wasn't insulting anyone. I wasn't advertising my website. I wasn't trying to start an argument.
I was attempting to participate in a conversation about something I'd spent years experiencing.
But apparently, Reddit wasn't interested.
Fine, I thought. Maybe that particular community has strict rules for new accounts.
Surely another discussion would be different.
Famous last words.
Attempt Number Two: Apparently, Talking About Talking Is Also Forbidden
My second attempt was in r/AgingParents.
Someone was describing a mother who kept reopening conversations about things that had already been discussed and settled.
Oh, I knew this one.
I've had entire conversations with my mother in which we've discussed something, reached a conclusion, and moved on.
Or so I thought.
Ten minutes later, she's back with another question about the same subject.
When I point out that we've already discussed it, she tells me she's "just asking."
Yes, Mother.
And I'm "just answering."
Again.
For the fifth time.
Sometimes I wonder whether she actually needs another answer or whether asking the question temporarily relieves whatever anxiety prompted it.
I don't know.
I only know that certain conversations in my house have more reruns than a television station showing the same sitcom every evening.
So I figured this was another opportunity to connect with someone experiencing a familiar problem.
I submitted a comment about my experiences.
Reddit removed that one, too.
Within seconds.
[Removed by Reddit]
At that point, I began wondering whether the platform had developed some sort of advanced technology capable of recognizing that I was trying to say something.
Was it detecting that I had copied and pasted text?
Was it evaluating how my comment was written?
Was there something suspicious about an account called Talkaholism commenting on discussions about excessive talking?
Or did Reddit simply have a personal objection to my existence?
Obviously, I don't know.
New Reddit accounts can encounter automated filtering, and individual communities have their own rules about participation.
My account was brand-new and had no established comment history or meaningful karma.
Those are plausible explanations.
But I couldn't tell from the removal notices exactly what had triggered the system.
All I knew was that I'd tried to join two conversations and had been removed from both before anyone could respond.
Which was especially funny considering that I'd spent much of my life wishing someone in my house would occasionally stop talking.
Now I'd found an entire website willing to make sure I did.
Reddit's Comment Insights: Congratulations on Your Tremendous Success!
After both comments disappeared, I decided to investigate.
I opened my Reddit profile and found the two comments still listed in my activity history.
Both displayed the same message:
[Removed by Reddit]
Underneath each one, Reddit offered an option to view its insights.
Naturally, I clicked.
I wanted to know whether anyone had actually seen what I'd written before Reddit sent it into the digital trash can.
And that's when things became truly ridiculous.
The insights for one deleted comment showed:
Views: 0
Upvotes: 1
Upvote Ratio: 100%
Replies: 0
I stared at the screen.
Apparently, my comment had achieved a perfect approval rating without being read by a single other person.
The one upvote was the automatic upvote Reddit gives you for your own comment.
So there I was, sitting on a 100% approval rating from an audience of absolutely nobody.
I was my own biggest fan.
My only fan, actually.
And considering my comment had already been removed, perhaps my last fan as well.
But Reddit wasn't finished.
At the bottom of the insights page, underneath all those breathtaking statistics, appeared a cheerful invitation:
"Jump back into the conversation."
Complete with a button that said:
"Go Now."
GO WHERE?!
BACK TO THE CONVERSATION YOU JUST THREW ME OUT OF?!
I couldn't believe it.
Reddit had removed my contribution, recorded zero views, and then encouraged me to return to the very discussion where I apparently wasn't welcome.
It reminded me of those automated customer-service systems that hang up on you and then send a survey asking how satisfied you were with the experience.
Five stars.
Would definitely recommend being ignored again.
The Irony of Being Silenced on an Account Called Talkaholism
I keep coming back to the username.
Talkaholism.
Of all the names I could've chosen, I picked the one associated with excessive talking.
I could've accepted one of Reddit's bizarre autogenerated usernames.
Something like NervousPotato6824 or SuspiciousTurnip93.
But no.
I wanted something recognizable, something connected to the subjects I was interested in discussing.
So I chose Talkaholism.
And the first thing that happened was that I was effectively told to stop talking.
Twice.
It would almost be poetic if it weren't so annoying.
I also couldn't help noticing a peculiar contrast with my everyday life.
At home, I sometimes struggle to end conversations that have gone on far too long.
Online, I couldn't even start one.
My mother can repeat the same question ten times without any difficulty.
I leave two comments on Reddit, and the system immediately decides enough is enough.
If only Reddit could come over and moderate my living room.
Actually, on second thought, I'm not sure I'd want that.
Knowing my luck, it would remove my replies and leave my mother's monologues untouched.
She'd finally have a captive audience with absolutely no opportunity for rebuttal.
And believe me, that's not an experiment I'm eager to conduct.
Am I Banned From Reddit?
As far as I can tell, no.
My account still exists.
I can access my profile.
I can see the comments Reddit removed.
And I haven't received evidence that my account has been permanently suspended.
That's an important distinction.
Having comments removed isn't necessarily the same as being banned.
Reddit uses automated moderation and spam-detection systems, and communities can restrict contributions from accounts that are too new or haven't established enough karma.
Some communities also have rules about AI-generated content, promotional links, and other types of participation.
I understand why those systems exist.
Nobody wants a discussion overrun by spam, fake accounts, advertisements, or people posting the same promotional message in dozens of communities.
But automated filters can also catch people who are genuinely trying to participate.
And when that happens, the experience can be pretty discouraging.
Especially if you're new to the platform and don't know what you've done wrong.
In my case, I wasn't even trying to promote Talkaholism.org.
I hadn't linked the website in my comments.
I hadn't added it to my Reddit profile.
I had simply joined discussions that were relevant to my experiences.
And both attempts disappeared almost immediately.
Maybe it was my account's age.
Maybe the communities had stricter requirements than I realized.
Maybe some other automated signal triggered Reddit's filters.
I don't know, and I'm not going to pretend I do.
What I do know is that the platform's little invitation to jump back into the conversation was probably the last thing I wanted to see.
I wasn't about to keep submitting the same comments repeatedly just to find out how many times Reddit could remove them.
Two rejections in a matter of minutes seemed sufficient.
Even my mother usually allows me to finish a sentence before interrupting.
Well.
Sometimes.
Why I Wanted to Participate in the First Place
Underneath all the ridiculousness, there's a serious reason I wanted to join those discussions.
Living with someone who talks excessively can be difficult to explain.
To outsiders, it might sound like a minor inconvenience.
So your mother talks a lot.
So she repeats herself.
So she asks too many questions.
What's the big deal?
But when those behaviors happen day after day, year after year, they can affect your ability to concentrate, rest, work, or simply enjoy some quiet time.
And when caregiving responsibilities are involved, it can become even more complicated.
You might feel guilty for being irritated.
You might worry that other people will think you're unkind.
You might wonder why sounds that seem harmless to everyone else can provoke such intense frustration in you.
Sometimes you don't need another expert explanation.
You need to hear from someone who understands what you're experiencing.
That's one of the things I appreciate about personal discussions online.
People can say things they might hesitate to say to friends or family members.
They can admit they're exhausted.
They can describe feeling resentful.
They can acknowledge that they love a parent while also struggling to live with them.
And other people can respond without pretending there's a simple solution to every complicated family problem.
That's what I'd hoped to find on Reddit.
Not an audience for my website.
A conversation.
Preferably one in which I was actually allowed to participate.
When Technology Has a Better Mute Button Than Your Family
The more I thought about the experience, the funnier it became.
I've spent years trying to explain to my mother that sometimes I need a little silence.
Just a few minutes without questions, commentary, explanations, or whispered narration from another room.
She doesn't always understand why that's important to me.
And yet Reddit managed to enforce complete silence on me without so much as a conversation.
No lengthy explanations.
No repeated questions.
No arguing about whether I was actually talking.
Just:
[Removed by Reddit]
Efficient, I'll give them that.
Perhaps a little too efficient.
But I also realized something else.
Being prevented from participating in a conversation is irritating even when it's only happening on a website.
Imagine what it feels like when you repeatedly experience some version of that in your own home.
When you're interrupted.
When your thoughts are dismissed.
When attempts to explain how something affects you become another argument.
When the other person always seems to have the final word.
Of course, being filtered by Reddit isn't equivalent to living for decades in a difficult family dynamic.
I'm not suggesting it is.
But the experience gave me a surprisingly funny reminder of something important.
Most people want opportunities both to speak and to be heard.
Sometimes we want conversation.
Sometimes we want silence.
And sometimes we simply want to finish what we were saying without someone—or something—deciding for us that the discussion is over.
So What Happens to My Reddit Account Now?
For the moment, I'm leaving those deleted comments alone.
I'm not going to chase after them, rewrite them repeatedly, or attempt to outsmart whatever automated system might have flagged them.
I'll verify that my account is in good standing, learn the rules of the communities I'm interested in, and participate when there's an appropriate opportunity.
And if Reddit continues refusing to let me speak?
Well, I suppose I can always come back here and write about it.
At least on Talkaholism.org, I get to finish my own sentences.
Usually.
Unless my mother walks in and asks what I'm doing.
Then I may have to explain why I'm writing about a website that won't let me comment on posts about mothers who talk too much.
Which will probably lead to a lengthy discussion about why I shouldn't be writing about any of this in the first place.
And eventually, she'll ask what I'm doing again.
By then, I'll have forgotten where I was in the article.
Honestly, the possibilities are endless.
Final Thoughts: A Talkaholic's Daughter Gets Told to Be Quiet
I joined Reddit hoping to connect with people who understood the strange, exhausting, sometimes absurd reality of living with excessive talking, repetitive questions, and complicated caregiving relationships.
Instead, I experienced something entirely unexpected.
I was silenced.
Twice.
Within minutes of joining two conversations.
And then the platform congratulated me on my 100% upvote ratio and invited me to jump back into discussions where nobody had been allowed to read my comments.
You have to admire the absurdity.
I started Talkaholism.org because I wanted a place to write honestly about what it's like to live with someone who never stops talking.
Then I registered a Reddit account under the same name.
And Reddit immediately decided I should stop talking.
Maybe one day I'll build enough account history to participate without my comments disappearing into the void.
Maybe I'll eventually have a real conversation with someone who's experiencing the same frustrations.
And maybe, someday, someone other than me will actually get to upvote one of my comments.
Until then, I suppose I'll have to enjoy my perfect 100% approval rating.
One upvote. Zero readers. Two removed comments.
Not bad for my first day.
And Reddit, if you're listening, I have just one small request.
The next time you remove my comment, please don't invite me to jump back into the conversation.
That's like locking somebody out of a party and then shouting through the door, "Come on in! Everybody's waiting for you!"
Although, considering my username, perhaps I should've expected some resistance.
After all, I'm the woman who created a website about people who can't stop talking.
And apparently, Reddit is the first place I've encountered that knows exactly how to shut one up.
My mother could learn a thing or two from them.
On second thought, please don't give her any ideas. 😭
Have you ever joined an online community only to have your very first contribution mysteriously removed? Or have you experienced the opposite problem—living with someone who never seems to run out of things to say? I'd love to hear your experience. You can share your thoughts through the Talkaholism.org contact page.
This is a personal, humorous account of my experience with Reddit. I don't know why its automated systems removed my comments, and I haven't received evidence that my account was suspended. The experience described here reflects what I saw on my own account.
