Behind the BRUH: Fleas, a Vacuum, and a Startup

People imagine startups happening in glass offices. Mine has been happening on a carpet I have vacuumed so many times the pattern is starting to look tired.

I want to write these diaries the way things actually are, because I think the polished version of founder stories is part of why so many people feel like failures. Here is the unpolished version.

The fleas

We got a flea infestation. If you have never dealt with one, the thing nobody tells you is that it is not a single event. It is a schedule. You treat, you wash, you vacuum, you wait, you vacuum again, and then a week later you see one and your stomach drops because you know what the next two weeks look like.

I have two dogs. They did not ask for any of this and they do not understand why they are getting baths and why the vacuum keeps chasing them around. So there is a whole second job of just reassuring them. Sitting on the floor with a dog who is convinced the world has become hostile, telling him he is fine, he is good, we are almost done.

Bedding out. Bedding in. Every soft surface treated. Every corner where the carpet meets the baseboard, which is exactly where they hide. I would finish a round at eleven at night, put the vacuum away, and then remember I still had a support email to answer and a bug someone reported in the app.

What actually happens next

Here is the part I want to be honest about, because it is the emotional center of all of this.

I am not going to pretend the signup numbers are where I hoped. They are not. Some nights I open the dashboard after everything else is done, and there is that small drop in my chest, because in my head there were supposed to be more people here by now. I pictured a busier place. I pictured local boards filling up in cities I have never been to.

And still, every single time, something in me says the same short sentence. Do not give up. Keep pushing.

So I do. With the vacuum still warm and a dog asleep against my leg, I open the laptop.

Why a few real people still matter

There is a version of this where I let the number be the whole story, and that version quits. But when someone actually signs up for BRUH, that is a real adult who typed their email in because they want to find people to do things with. That is not a metric. That is a person who is a little lonely and decided to try something.

I keep thinking about that. If BRUH helps a handful of people find a crew, that is a handful of people whose weekends look different. I do not need permission from a growth chart to think that is worth building.

Community also just takes time. Every place that ever felt alive to me, a shop, a group chat, a bar with a regular table, was empty first. Somebody sat in that empty room and kept showing up. I am trying to be that person for this thing.

The unglamorous list

A real day, in no particular order:

• Vacuum, treat, wash, repeat.
• Feed the dogs, walk the dogs, apologize to the dogs.
• Answer the email that says a verification step failed.
• Fix the thing that broke because I fixed a different thing.
• Write copy for a page nobody has visited yet.
• Refresh the signups. Feel the drop. Keep going.
• Family stuff, which does not schedule itself around product work.

None of that is a story anyone tells at a conference. All of it is the actual job.

What I have learned from the floor

Progress is not the same as momentum. On the slow weeks I stopped asking whether BRUH was taking off and started asking whether it was better than last week. Usually the answer was yes, by a little. A clearer signup flow. A safer way to show location. One less confusing screen. That was enough to keep the day from being a loss.

Chaos and building can share a room. I used to think I needed a clean environment and a clear head to do good work. I do not have either of those right now, and the work still happens. Somewhere between the third load of laundry and the second bath, I stopped waiting for conditions to be right.

Being tired is not a sign you are doing it wrong. It is just information. Some days it means push a little. Some days it means close the laptop and be a person who has dogs and a household and a body.

Where this leaves me

The fleas will end. The vacuum will go back in the closet. The dogs will forget the whole thing happened, which is one of the best qualities dogs have.

BRUH is still here. It is still 18+, still about platonic friendship and not dating, still built for adults of every gender who want a real crew nearby. Growth is slower than I hoped. I am still committed.

If you are reading this from your own version of the floor, doing your own version of vacuuming at midnight while trying to build something, keep pushing. That is not advice. That is just the sentence that keeps working on me.