It started with a tweet.
Not just any tweet, either — the kind you write, delete, rewrite, delete again. Then finally hit send, even though something in your gut tells you not to.
Back in 2017, Rory McIlroy was reeling after missing the cut at the U.S. Open — again. Cue Steve Elkington, a former PGA Champion, who hopped on Twitter to suggest McIlroy was “bored” with golf and coasting on his past success. Harmless jab? Maybe. But to Rory, it cut deep. Especially because it wasn’t from some anonymous troll. It was from someone who’d actually been there.
“If it was written by a media member or something I could let it slide… but a former player that has won a major and been successful? That’s sort of why it got to me,” McIlroy said later. He ended up replying with a screenshot of his Wikipedia page and a reminder that his earnings were closer to $200 million, not the $100 million Elkington claimed.
That moment may have gone viral — but for Rory, it was the tipping point.
“Change my password. Don’t tell me what it is.”
After the dust settled, Rory did something pretty unexpected.
“I gave my wife, Erica, my phone and my Twitter and told her, ‘Change my password to something else and don’t tell me what it is.’”
That’s how seriously he took it. One snide comment, one moment of weakness — and suddenly the emotional weight of social media just wasn’t worth it anymore.
He didn’t just delete the app or mute notifications. He locked himself out of his own account. Intentionally.
Because for all the perks that come with fame, there’s no filter for hate. Even a four-time major champ can get rattled. Especially when the noise comes from people who should know better.
Why the Hate Hits Hard
It’s easy to think that athletes should just “shake it off.” Ignore the noise. But Rory explained the deeper cost — how social media started messing with his sense of self.
“If I shoot 65, I’m a good person. If I shoot 75, I’m a bad person.”
He wasn’t being dramatic. He was being honest. And painfully relatable. Because when your worth starts getting tied to a scorecard — or a status update — things unravel quickly.
We like to think we’re immune. But when your phone is constantly reminding you what strangers think of you, it doesn’t take long before you start to believe them.
Less Scrolling. More Sanity.
By 2021, Rory was openly connecting the dots between mental health and social media — especially in the world of professional sports.
“I think one of the big reasons why people are talking so much about mental health right now is because how prevalent social media is. There is a correlation there.”
The decision to log off wasn’t just about silencing critics. It was about reclaiming a bit of emotional balance. “Once I removed myself from social media,” he said, “it was the start of me feeling a lot better about who I was.”
No more dopamine rollercoasters from praise and criticism. No more checking his mentions after every round. Just…less noise.
The Tools We Don’t See
Rory doesn’t exactly scream “self-help guy.” But over the years, he’s quietly built what he calls a “mental toolbox.” A set of strategies to deal with stress, pressure, and yes — the online hate.
Deleting Twitter wasn’t weakness. It was a flex.
Because real mental strength isn’t about proving you can take more punches. It’s knowing when to step out of the ring.
“You can have all the success and money in the world,” he once said. “It’s not going to make you intrinsically happy.”
Still in the Spotlight, Just Not in the Comments
Rory might’ve stepped back from Twitter, but that doesn’t mean he’s tuned out entirely. He still deals with media pressure — still gets the occasional tabloid spin. And sometimes, he skips press conferences after tough rounds.
But he’s also made peace with his right to draw that line.
“I feel like I’ve earned the right to do whatever I want to do,” he said after one skipped media session at Oakmont. Fair enough.
He’s not ducking responsibility. He’s choosing boundaries.
For Anyone Scrolling Through the Hate
Rory’s story isn’t just about a famous golfer logging off Twitter. It’s about recognizing when something starts doing more harm than good — and doing something about it.
He didn’t win a battle with Elkington that day on Twitter. He lost something more important: his sense of control over the conversation.
So he stopped trying to win.
And weirdly enough, that might’ve been the biggest win of all.
“Once I removed myself from social media, it was the start of me feeling a lot better about who I was.” — Rory McIlroy