Stop Liking and Commenting on a Girl’s Photos and Thirst Traps.

That sentence pissed me off the first time I read it.

It popped up on my feed like an insult. Sharp. Condescending. Like it was talking directly to me—like it knew exactly what I was doing at 1:17 a.m., thumb hovering over my phone, heart racing over a photo that wasn’t meant for me and never would be.

I told myself it was harmless.
A like is just a like.
A comment is just support.

But that’s a lie I repeated so often it started to sound true.

I followed her the way people follow sunsets—quietly, obsessively, pretending it wasn’t devotion. Every post felt like a chance. Every story felt personal. When she uploaded a photo and the caption was vague, I imagined it was meant for someone like me. When she posted something revealing, I felt chosen just for seeing it.

So I liked.
I commented.
Fire emojis. Compliments. “You look amazing.” “Stunning.” “Wow.”

She never replied.

Still, I kept going.

I told myself consistency mattered. That eventually she’d recognize my name. That one day my comment wouldn’t be buried under hundreds of others. I didn’t realize I was training myself to beg without asking.

Then one night, I saw it clearly.

She posted a thirst trap—perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect confidence. I liked it instantly. Commented without thinking. Then I watched the notifications roll in.

Hundreds of men. Same words. Same emojis. Same hunger dressed up as admiration.

And suddenly, I wasn’t special.
I was inventory.

That sentence came back to me again:
Stop liking and commenting on a girl’s photos and thirst traps.

Not because it’s wrong.
But because it’s costing you something.

Every like was a tiny withdrawal from my self-respect. Every comment was a quiet announcement that my attention was free, unlimited, and disposable. I was showing up daily for someone who didn’t know my voice, my struggles, or my existence beyond a number on a screen.

I wasn’t interacting.
I was auditioning.

The hardest part wasn’t stopping.
The hardest part was admitting why I was doing it in the first place.

I wanted to be seen.
I wanted to matter.
I wanted connection without risk.

So I settled for illusion.

I stopped that night. No dramatic unfollow. No angry speech. I just… didn’t tap the heart. Didn’t type the comment. I sat with the discomfort and realized how much energy I’d been leaking into places that gave nothing back.

Nothing bad happened.
The world didn’t end.
She didn’t notice.

But I did.

I noticed how quiet my phone felt.
How much space suddenly existed in my head.
How weird it was to not chase validation from pixels.

That sentence isn’t about controlling women.
It’s about reclaiming yourself.

Because attention is currency.
And too many of us are spending it on people who never planned to pay us back.

So yeah.
Stop liking and commenting on a girl’s photos and thirst traps.

Not because she doesn’t deserve admiration—
but because you deserve better than disappearing in a crowd that was never looking for you in the first place.