Facebook Broke My Heart: A Cautionary Tale

So, I got banned from Facebook. And not that 30-day Facebook jail nonsense. I’m talking permanently-disabled, black-balled, can’t-even-create-a-new-account banned. And not to be cheesy or overwrought, but I’m kind of devastated.

The thing is, you don’t get to plead your case. There are no humans you get to talk to. You’re not the customer. You’re the product. And if the robots think you’re damaged goods, out you go.

I think my downfall was a fraudulent login on my old, barely used, legal name account. It got flagged first. But then my Aurora account got caught up in the fray and it’s all been downhill from there. I know, you’re not supposed to have more than one account and you’re supposed to use your real name. Mea culpa.

Only you don’t get to have your hand slapped and promise to follow the rules. To reason that your pen name is more your legit identity than what’s on your driver’s license. To point out that Aurora has her own wikipedia page and entries in the Library of Congress and surely that counts for something. You just get banned.

Ten plus years of memories, the official Facebook page for the Ithaca College School of Business (that is my responsibility to manage), my primary means of connecting with most of my readers–all gone. The ability to create a page for the coaching business I’m launching? Gone. A friend’s father passed away and I didn’t even know.

I’ve gotten several emails from folks worried something was wrong with me or worse (at least in some ways) that I just decided to block them. It’s been lovely to hear from people and horrifying to know that I basically ghosted readers, fellow writers, family members, and friends.

So let me state for the record: it’s not you, it’s me. Well, not me. You know.

I miss you and I love you and I want to know what’s going on in your life. I want to share what’s going on in mine–the foodie adventures, the dogs, the DIY mishaps, and of course, the books.

So, moral of the story?

Don’t put all your eggs in the Meta Basket. It’s not a utility or a public service; it’s a company with an increasingly dodgy reputation and set of business practices. I hope it doesn’t happen to you, but be warned that it can.

In spite of it all, I haven’t given up. I’ll keep trying to plead my case, or find a back door, or go viral and get reinstated without a peep. But in the meantime, come say hi on Instagram or Twitter or (if I can get over my cameraphobia) TikTok. The community of queers and writers and creatives I’ve found on social media means the world to me. I really do miss you.