I Built TYFF in My Bathtub. Then I Almost Didn't Launch It.
The Bathtub
I built TYFF in one week. In my bathtub.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Laptop on a board. Phone against the shampoo bottles. Water going cold because I forgot I was supposed to be relaxing.
That's where my brain works. Always has. Don't judge.
I had an idea. I had AI. I had a week. So I built it. The whole thing. Quiz, Spice Wall, brand, framework. Done.
Then I went abroad for a month.
Running Away from the Ship Button
I told myself it was a break. That the site just needed small tweaks. I'd come back fresh. Launch with energy.
Lie.
I left because I was done building and terrified of publishing.
Building is safe. Nobody sees it. It's pure potential. The second you ship, that potential turns into something people can ignore. Or laugh at. Or not care about at all.
So I sat on a finished thing for a month. Told myself I was polishing.
I was hiding.
Coming Home to Doubt
Got back. Opened the laptop. Didn't want to press the button.
Who cares about another platform?
What if nobody shows up?
A spice metaphor for failure. Really, Nadine?
What if I build a thing about failure and the thing itself fails? That's not even ironic. That's just embarrassing.
Classic. All the thoughts. Right on schedule. They show up every time. Right before the moment that actually matters.
Knowing that doesn't shut them up though.
My Four-Year-Old, Marcus Aurelius, and a Ski Slope
Here's what got me to launch. It wasn't a coach. Not a TED talk. Not a LinkedIn quote.
It was my daughter.
We were reading her Marcus Aurelius book — yeah, the Ryan Holiday one for kids. She loves it. She doesn't know she's reading Stoic philosophy. She just likes the stories.
Then the next day, ski lesson. And she was doing what kids do. Full meltdown before the hill.
Her friends told her it's dangerous. She was scared to fall. "I can't, Mama."
And I said the thing. The parent thing. The thing that comes out of your mouth before your brain catches up:
"You don't have to be good at it. That's the whole point. You get to learn something totally new. But if you never try and never fall, you'll never know."
Straight out of the book we read the night before. She didn't notice. I did.
She went down the slope. Fell. Got up. Went again.
And I stood there in my ski jacket thinking:
I am telling my four-year-old what I'm too scared to do myself.
I'm building a platform that says failure is how you grow. And I won't risk failing with it.
Come on, Nadine.
So I Shipped It
Went home. Opened the laptop. Didn't think. Didn't rewrite the about page again. Didn't check the fonts one more time.
Pushed it live.
The doubts didn't leave. They're here now. They're telling me this post is too personal and that the bathtub thing is weird.
Don't care. Shipping anyway.
Because my kid got on skis and I read her Marcus Aurelius and somehow that combination made me realise I was being ridiculous.
Here It Is
TYFF. Thank You For Failing.
Built in a bathtub. Almost killed by overthinking. Saved by a four-year-old who doesn't know what Stoicism is but practices it better than I do.
If you've got a story — something that broke, something that flopped, some moment where it all went sideways — I want to hear it.
And if you're sitting on something you built, something you're scared to put out there — stop polishing. It's done. You know it's done.
Ship the thing.
— Nadine