Full transparency. Or a story you never asked for.
Once upon a time four years ago, I bought a domain name for a project I had burning in my bones, but not the courage to fully pursue.
I also didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say, I was too compromised on every level. Relationally, occupationally, and emotionally. I had not disentangled my identity from my unprocessed experiences to the degree that I could speak freely. It would require a lot more reflection to reach that point.
A close relative of mine who had skills in website development offered to help. Said relative also had very strong beliefs that conflicted with my lived experiences. Irreconcilable differences would be the operative term here, but me in my state of denial and longing for connection roared past the red flags.
Four years later, that is today, I finally grew the balls to try to figure out my own website that I had been paying for. A project that took the backseat to losing my fiancé and raising our beautiful girl.
Trying to untangle said relation’s “help” broke my fragile mom brain that comprises of exactly two cells when it wants to work. Not only am I not a developer in any sense of the word, I had to admit to my limitations. I don’t think the customer support team ever wanted my explanations, but here they are for your pleasure:
First memo: Simply put; I am a simple creature. I’m a writer, not a developer. My (relation) must’ve done some things on the back end, and for as much as I’ve tried I cannot resolve the issues. I just want to write, to publish. I do not want to look down the barrel of an existential crisis every time I try to do something simple on here. It’s not you, it’s me. And my psycho relation that wished to sabotage my every move towards independence of thought and expression.
Second (last) memo: You guys are great. And frankly I’m in no position to issue constructive criticism. I am literally too stupid and technologically inept for services of this degree of sophistication. With much love and gratitude, I depart. Might I be on a few shots of vodka and my very last withering nerve? Yes, but that is not your fault. I bit off more than I could chew, and my mom brain is raging.
Flatter me, look past the pathetic self-sabotage for a second. There is a lesson in this. Please, let me pay the dumbass tax this time. Firstly; don’t trust someone with your dreams or expression when it poses an existential threat to their dogma or identity. Secondly; if you ever start a project and pay good money for it, please make sure you are skillful enough to un-fuck any fuckery that might’ve taken place in the event you trust the wrong person with it.
It seems painfully obvious now, but I do wish I’d had a little birdie in my ear to say; “use your brain, stupid, or you’ll pay”. In stress and cash. Except I did have said voice; it was my intuition. And I ignored it. Because no sacrifice at the time seemed too great when all I wanted was love and acceptance. Even at a cost.
Illegal Musings 