aka That Time I Tried to Fix a Button and Accidentally Blew Up My Life (Again)
“Sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.” – Unknown
It started so simply.
All I wanted to do was fix a button on my website. You know, the one that smugly sat there doing absolutely nothing. “I’ll just sort out the links,” I said. “Tidy up a few pages,” I said. Innocent enough, right?
What followed was a full-blown unraveling.
A weekend swallowed whole by invisible menus, ghost pages, rogue headers, and a layout so wonky it looked like it had been designed during a full moon with Mercury in retrograde. I yelled at my laptop. I swore at my AI helper (sorry, friend). Every instruction I followed—written in perfectly plain English—acted like I’d asked it to do quantum physics. There was always a glitch to be found. Always a thread to pull.
And still… I persisted.
The house? Neglected.
Meals? Forgotten.
Sanity? Hanging by a single HTML line of code. (What does that even mean, my friends? I don’t know. But it felt dramatic and vaguely techy—so I’m going with it.)
In the end, I ended up with something sort of working. Not what I envisioned. Not what I lost. But something. And you know what? That’s enough. Because sometimes, pulling the thread doesn’t end in perfection—but in progress.
A Bit More Chaos Than Expected
At one point, I had three browser tabs open, all promising to tell me “how to align my header.” None of them worked. One involved code that looked suspiciously like ancient Greek. Another suggested I reset the entire site (again?!) and the third just said “clear your cache,” which I’ve now learned is the tech equivalent of “have you tried turning it off and on again?”
First, I questioned my life choices. Then my sanity. Then the very existence of the internet. And honestly? It all boiled down to one thing: WTF was I thinking?
Maybe this whole blog was just an elaborate excuse to wear great shoes (even if they are in my dreams) and write dramatic metaphors.
The Thread I Buried (Until It Unravelled Me)
Several years ago, I was given a task at work with a strict two-hour deadline. My ADHD brain couldn’t wrap itself around it. The instructions were vague, and nothing about it made sense. So I did what I thought was right: I asked questions. Logical ones. Necessary ones.
In doing so, I tugged at a thread that exposed some very uncomfortable truths within the organisation.
The result? I was physically assaulted.
In front of others.
Witnessed by many, and reported by no one—including me.
Because that’s what you do, right?
“Oh well,” we say. “That’s just that person.”
How often do we excuse people’s rotten behaviour because it’s easier than confronting the storm?
I shoved it down. Put on a brave face. “Moved on.”
Except I didn’t. Not really. That thread stayed there, unspoken and unresolved, until it re-emerged years later during my burnout. It became one of many silent unravelings I could no longer ignore.
The Threads We Bury
I’m not alone in this. So many of us have internalised the idea that keeping the peace is more important than protecting our wellbeing. We smooth it over, take the blame, push it down—until the day we can’t anymore.
And the truth is, we’re not meant to carry things alone. Especially not shame that was never ours to begin with.
What I’ve Learned (So Far)
We all have threads that threaten to undo us. Some we tug at ourselves—curious, hopeful, maybe a little impulsive. Others unravel on their own, when we least expect it.
But here’s what I want you to know:
Don’t panic. Breathe In! Breathe Out! & Keep going.
You don’t have to fix it all in one go. You don’t have to put it back together perfectly. And you certainly don’t have to bury it just to keep things neat on the outside.
Unravelling is a Form of Becoming
Threads are funny things. One tug and you either fix a hem… or unravel the whole outfit. But sometimes things need to unravel. The old version of ourselves—the one that stayed quiet, didn’t question, held it all together—isn’t meant to stay forever stitched in place.
If You’re Holding the Thread
So if you’re standing there, thread in hand, wondering whether to tug—take a breath. Be gentle. Be curious. And know that whatever comes undone, you have the courage (and the creativity) to rebuild it your way.
🧵 Thread Management Tips
- Take a breath. The world doesn’t end when a button breaks or a truth emerges.
- Get curious, not critical. Ask yourself why that thread is tugging at you now.
- Don’t minimise your experience. If something hurt, it matters.
- Ask for help—but ask safe people. The ones who don’t flinch when things fall apart.
- Rest, rebuild, repeat. You don’t need to sew your life back together overnight.
📓 Journaling Prompt:
What thread have you been too afraid to pull?
What would happen if you followed it—with compassion instead of panic?
How would your life feel if you let yourself unravel a little, just enough to rebuild with intention?
💬 Over to You
I’d love to hear your story.
Have you ever pulled a thread and watched everything fall apart (or fall into place)? Or maybe you’re holding one right now, unsure whether to tug or let it be.
Whatever it is, know this: you’re not alone.
The threads we follow—messy, painful, brave—often lead us home.
“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.” – Akshay Dubey
The Japanese art of Kintsugi teaches us that broken things aren’t something to hide—they’re something to honour. By filling the cracks with gold, it transforms damage into beauty, and turns what once seemed ruined into something more valuable.
Learn more about the philosophy of Kintsugi here — and maybe consider the cracks you’re learning to live with, too.
