Why We’ve Been Quiet

You may have noticed that we’ve been a lot quieter lately than in the past. Or maybe you haven’t noticed and assumed we were somewhere in the algorithmic universe.

But we’ve been pretty quiet these days.

Fewer newsletters, less frequent posts in the Feed, and a lot more reposts than original content in our Stories.

What’s changed?
This past October, my big brother, John, died suddenly and tragically. We were 18 months apart in age and incredibly close to each other.

His death has hit me hard. There is a cavernous ache in my heart. It stretches on for eternity, reaching into the furthest depths of the universe, constantly scanning every available wavelength for a semblance of his frequency.

I’ve been so lost.

You don’t know it, but you’ve been holding my hand for the last few months.
PS Post has helped keep me going. It has helped my grieving journey to fill orders, see the sweet messages you write, and hear from you about how we’re helping you better connect with loved ones. Filling orders brings me so much joy. Communicating with you, our customers and Instagram community, brings me joy. Our team is crazy talented, yes, but they’re also deeply kind, good, funny, and overall wonderful people. Meeting with them each week offers comfort in routine, productivity, and friendship. Talking to new people about what we do and seeing their enthusiasm actually gives me energy.

John would be happy knowing that. He never missed an opportunity to tell me how proud he was of me and of PS Post. He kept every single card I mailed him on a bookshelf in his entryway so he would see them right when he walked in the door of his house.

It’s been 8 months now.
Lately, it’s been harder and harder to do all the things I need to do to run a business and be a functional, grieving person. I’ve been trying to catch up but feeling like I keep falling further and further behind.

Our co-founder, Cait, reminded me recently that I never really took a break after John died. In the Immediate After, the PS Post team swooped in seamlessly to support all our sales, technical issues, and order fulfillment needs while I took a few weeks to grieve. I started attending a grief group with horses, kept a regular therapy schedule, and stepped back some, but mostly I kept working. In The Before, we had been ramping up business sales for the holidays and had a few big orders in the queue, started a major dev project, and had a few new holiday & general marketing campaigns in the works. Our team roles, scope, and time capacities all changed. So I kept going. It was equal parts auto-pilot, distraction, duty, and escape.

I thought I was working my way back up to my previous pace. In reality, I have been comparing my performance to an unattainable standard of who I was in The Before. Instead of building up my stamina, I’ve been unintentionally draining myself of it trying to play catch up.

But the simple truth is that grief has stolen my heart and my energy.
I feel as if a chunk of my soul has been cleaved off. I’ve been stumbling around, trying to keep up with business as usual while hemorrhaging a trail of blood.

So why am I sharing all of this with you?
We started PS Post to make it easier for you to make meaningful connections – both on special occasions and in the everyday – so more people feel seen, loved, and appreciated.

But how can we make it easier on you if we’re not making a meaningful connection with you in the first place?

You deserve to hear from us. Not just posts that remind you of moments to send a card, explain product features, or offer discounts, but also ones that share what life is teaching us about relationships, and the power of relationships – speaking to the heart of why we do what we do. And lately, we’ve let you down by not delivering on our end.

But vulnerability is a powerful way to build or deepen a relationship, so we’re hoping that you’ll understand as we take our time getting steady on our feet again.

You seem to appreciate the honesty in our card collection and the ways we talk about life. We appreciate you.

So here I am, sad and covered in scars. Saying this is where I am, I hope you can understand.
Thank you for being here and being real alongside us.

Most gratefully,
Keller Anne

P.S. Thank you for sharing your time and heart in this moment. I’m so grateful for you.