When Founders Do Customer Support: Pain, Growth, and the Power of Distance

Picture this, my heart’s racing as I sit here at 2:17 AM, the laptop screen casting a lonely glow across my dark room. I’ve been wrestling for 47 minutes—47 long, agonizing minutes—trying to chase down a bizarre bug a user stumbled across while bulk publishing to Instagram with Postly. My desk is a mess: five browser tabs open, three test accounts blinking at me, YouTube tutorials I poured my heart into for users earlier today, and a Slack thread buzzing with my dev team’s desperate guesses. I’m typing a reply, my fingers trembling, trying to blend tech fixes, a shoulder to lean on, and a plea for peace all in one.

My cat, Sir Fluffington III, glares at me from the bed, his eyes screaming betrayal—why’d I abandon the warm blankets for this torture? I feel you, buddy.

As the founder of Postly, I’ve worn every hat under the sun—backend coder, UI dreamer, marketing hustler, community hype man. But customer support? It’s the one that rips at my soul. Every email, every chat bubble, feels like a judgment on my life’s work, a rollercoaster of hope and heartbreak.

When "Can You Help?" Feels Like "Can You Survive?"

It sounds so simple: a user’s struggling, you swoop in, they’re grateful. But in reality? It’s a gut-wrenching dance, part detective, part therapist, all fight-or-flight.

One moment’s burned into my heart: a user cried out about a “catastrophic, business-ending bug” while cross-posting from TikTok to Instagram. My chest tightened, panic rising. I begged for a screenshot—nothing. I sent a Loom video, poured my energy into a guide—silence. I offered a Zoom call, ready to drop everything. Three days later, a casual “Oh, it resolved itself.” My heart, still pounding, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The whiplash—accused of shattering a life, then ghosted—left me reeling, tears stinging my eyes.

Why Every Complaint Feels Like a Tiny Heartbreak

I carry every single one of our 150+ Trustpilot reviews like scars on my heart—don’t ask why I’ve memorized them, I just have. The kind ones lift me up, but the negatives? The lies, the half-truths, they claw at me, driving me to the edge. Why the hate, the hurt, when all we’ve done is bleed to help? I’ll be honest, Postly isn’t perfect—I’m not perfect—but the venom cuts so deep I can barely breathe.

One still haunts me, a wound that won’t heal. A man built his business with Postly, then sold it. He slammed us with a 1-star review, his words like a punch to the gut, all because canceling his subscription wasn’t a breeze. I felt so small—our kindness in grandfathering his legacy plan, spelled out clear as day on his plan page, twisted into hate. All he had to do was reach out, a quick chat or email, and we’d have held his hand through it. He was paying just $10 a month, and then—here’s the kicker—he sneered we’re “so cheap” we hid cancellation to trap people. My heart sank; tears welled up. How did our affordability, our mission to lift him up, become a crime?

The Stranger Advantage: Why Distance is a Superpower

I’ve wept enough to learn this truth: support needs kind, steady strangers, not a founder’s fragile heart.

These support heroes are my angels:

• They face “YOUR APP RUINED MY LIFE” and whisper back, “Let’s fix this, together,” calm as a breeze.
• They ask for logs, screenshots, without a tremor in their pulse.
• They smile through the 17th “How do I connect Instagram?” question, saving me from crumbling.

Ghosts, Rage, and the Emotional Boomerang

The exhaustion hits hardest when users scream for help, then vanish into the night.

User: "THIS IS BROKEN! FIX IT NOW!"

Me: "I’m here, I swear. Can you share a recording or hop on a call?"

User: [Ghosts for 3 days]

User Returns: "WOW. STILL BROKEN. WORST SUPPORT EVER."

It’s a dagger to the chest, like defusing a bomb while they yell, “Don’t touch the wires!”

I’ve poured my heart into Loom links, begged for live calls, recorded walk-throughs with shaky hope. Sometimes, it’s still not enough. And still, I fight on, tears and all.

The Flip Side: The Gold in the Chaos

But here’s the raw, beautiful truth: in the mess, in the pain, there’s growth waiting to bloom.

I’ve cried, then built Postly’s best features from the angriest feedback. Rage hides treasures, if you’re brave enough to dig.

Some users turned into friends, blessing me with their names, their loyalty. I fumble, pretend I recall every one, my heart swelling with gratitude.

Others spent days with me, sharing dreams and tips—borrowed from other tools, sure, but I embraced every spark with open arms.

• A grandmother’s note brought me to tears: Postly lets her share recipes, her hands too shaky to write. I sobbed, unashamed.
• A power user gifted us a 10-page Google Doc, bursting with ideas. We built 70% of them, and I mailed her a crown—she’s our queen.

When Angry Users Come Calling

Here’s the truth they don’t tell you when you build something from scratch: It’s the angry users who teach you the most.

This person cared enough to test. To compare. To report what we missed. They didn’t ghost us. They didn’t quietly uninstall. They yelled.

And you know what? That’s a gift.

I’ve learned this in the most painful way: Angry users are not haters. They’re hopeful.

They want us to be better. They believe we could be better. They just don’t know how to say it gently.

So now we fix what we can. We can’t rewrite LinkedIn’s or TikTok’s API. But we can:

• Show warnings in the composer when limits are mismatched
• Add live, platform-specific tooltips based on content type
• Improve our failure messages when posts are rejected
• Update our guide the minute anything changes

The Founder’s Feedback Survival Kit

Gratitude as Armor: I thank every user, even when their words sting. It shields my weary soul.

Wisdom Filter: Not all feedback’s a gem—some are quirks. If I chased every one, Postly’d wash your car and serenade your parrot.

North Star Discipline: I cling to my vision. Flashing neon UI themes? I said no, heart steady—clarity’s my guide, not chaos.

The Raw Truth & A Plea

Customer support as a founder is noble, but it’s a storm—stretching my empathy, threatening to shatter me, yet growing Postly through the tears.

To founders: Protect your heart. Hire brilliant support souls. Stay near, but not raw—your spirit’s worth saving.

To users: Behind every chat is a beating heart, sometimes mine, the one who built this dream. A sprinkle of kindness, a breath of patience—it carries me further than you know.

(And yes, I’m still fueled by coffee and a stubborn, shaky hope.)