There are breakups. There are situationships. And then there’s watching seven years of your work and 17 years of your existence disappear overnight because they-who-shall-not-be-named decided to yeet me off the planet across ALL platforms (all. personal. all. professional).
I’m talking hundreds of thousands of posts, seven years of milestones, the receipts of everything I’ve built. Gone. Just like the situationship that ghosts you but still watches your stories. (you know the one).
At first, I was devastated. Then furious. Then devastated all over again, sometimes in the timespan of like a minute or three. Then… there have been. moments of being weirdly relieved? Does that make me sound insane? Because maybe, just maybe, 31-year-old me (the one still figuring out who she was, escaping DV, raising two kids alone, who just graduated from college finally, the one who would’ve killed for a clean slate) finally got her wish.
What Actually Happened (a.k.a. My “Situationship” With Meta)
Let’s face it. We all know you want the tea. So the tea, I shall give. Back before boudoir, back before this version of me existed, back WAYYYYYY the fuck back when I was great friends with a shit ton of anglers from the sportfishing industr… I worked for a firearms publishing company. And because I was 20-something, underpaid, and didn’t know better, I ran their ads through my personal account. That left a nice permanent flag on me… Which future me had no idea would be a problem. GUESS WHAT.
Fast forward to now: I’m exhausted, life is chaos, and I used AI to draft a late-night post (we allllll know we do it). Insert the wrong combo of words + those fun old flags = system decides I’m basically an international criminal. No warning. No appeal that mattered. Just: goodbye, everything. We tried. Believe me. I fucking triiiiied to get it back. I’ve had so much help, and have so many paths into back doors that a lot of people don’t know exist. But it wasn’t enough. And it’s all gone.
So yeah. Turns out, my situationship wasn’t with a man… it was with an algorithm based on AI + automatic filter reviews of all posts put up into the Metaverse. And like every reallllllllly bad situationship (not the mid level ones, just those absolutely effed ones), it ended in me being blocked for something I didn’t even do.
What Was Lost
This is the part that actually hurts. It wasn’t just some feed. It was:
- The full history of LRP, from baby steps to full-grown studio.
- Years of clients’ love notes, tagged photos, comments, and memories.
- My personal account… is gone. Which means the messages, the posts, the connections… all erased.
It’s like losing a time capsule, except instead of burying it in the ground, Facebook launched it into the sun. And let’s be honestly real… it wasn’t just seven years of LRP. It was seventeen years of my existence online. Seventeen years of me becoming who I am now, of surviving the kind of shit people don’t always walk away from. Rarely walk away from.
It was the posts of me graduating while being both mom and dad, with a 4.0 and two masters degrees. It was my kid’s milestones, the messy in-betweens, the proof that I was still standing when life kept trying to knock me flat. It was my friendships, my heartbreaks, the bad jokes I posted to cope when everything felt impossible. It was the bad decisions… but god, it was so many good ones too. The best ones.
It was receipts. Proof that I didn’t just survive: I rebuilt, over and over, even when the odds were absolute fucking trash.
What Survived
Here’s the good news: we still have every single photo I’ve ever taken. Every raw. Every final. Every ounce of magic that actually matters… safe. Because I don’t let other people hold my art hostage. And our group? That’s still there too.
What I lost was the pretty packaging. The history. The breadcrumbs that showed how far we’ve come. And yeah, that stings. But maybe we needed to stop looking back anyway.
The Joke’s On Them
Honestly? Maybe this is what 31-year-old me needed. A forced clean slate. A giant cosmic do-over. Don’t we all secretly wish we could burn down the cringey archives of our past and start fresh?
Well. The universe handed me the match. Didn’t even make sure I had sage, mind you.
And if there’s one thing trauma taught me, it’s this: you either laugh through the pain or let it crush you. So here I am, laughing at the absurdity of it all, while also crying in my cold brew and building a whole new empire from the ashes. Classic me.
The Plan From Here
I’m rebuilding. Bigger, sharper, and with less dependence on platforms that can pull the rug out whenever they feel like it.
- We’re moving conversations into spaces we control… within reason.
- We’re doubling down on in-person connection, community, and events.
- We’re keeping the art alive… because they can’t erase that. Ever
How You Can Help (Because I Finally Have To Ask)
Here’s the part I hate: asking for help. But if you’ve ever wanted to support, now is the moment. Follow the new pages. Yes, the new ones, because the old ones are toast:
Join the community group. This is where most of the behind-the-scenes, first launches, and just really escaping the real life shit happens.
Get on the mailing lists. Social media can (and did) disappear overnight. Email is where you’ll actually hear from me no matter what:
- Regular list: DIY Spa Day Guide
- Spicy list: Naughty N00dz
Bookmark the hub. www.LanoraRonee.com is where the real info will live, safe from algorithms and account suspensions.
And of course: show up. Come to Babes Day. Book your session. Share a post, invite a friend, or just keep the conversation alive in the group. Every single action matters. Community is what makes this work, and community is what I need more than ever. If you’ve ever thought, “I’ll book someday,” or “I’ll share later,” this is your sign that someday is now.
xo,
S
