Channeling Grief

What I learned about grief when I sued Meta and won

“I’m not a bad person. I just made a mistake,” said the man who sat down next to me on the bench. He was in his early 20’s and looked a bit nervous. We were sitting just outside the courtroom.

“Excuse me?” I said. Why was this perfect stranger bothering me? This was not the time.

“I’m not a bad person. I just made a mistake. That’s why I’m here.”

What kind of mistake? Did I want to know? I forced a smile and made eye contact. “I’m sure you’re not a bad person. But why are you telling me this? I’m not the one suing you.”

It was early June, and I’d flown into SFO to appear at the San Mateo Small Claims court. I held a flimsy folder that contained my letter and a couple of printed screenshots. Would it be enough?

Why would Meta, a $1.7 trillion company, even show up for me?

I was very late to engage with Meta. I only began posting regularly on FB and Instagram in 2024, about two years after my son Henry was killed. I used these channels to connect with grieving parents and to share my Substack: Channeling Grief.

I worked as a B2B marketing writer, but I’d never written in the first person. I didn’t feel I had anything to say. Then Henry died in an accident on his first day of college. Suddenly, I wanted to write about how very different my world looked without Henry. And I wanted to give Henry a voice by sharing stories about his quirks and humor, his kindness and intellect. Social media could help me introduce Henry to more people.

Then, last December, Meta shut down my accounts. One minute I was posting about Grieftastic and the next I had an alert on my screen letting me know, “All your information will be permanently deleted.” Did that include the contact details for the grieving parents I’d met online? Did that include the photos of Henry I’d posted?

I’m not 100% sure how this happened. I may have been hacked. I may have violated a community standard on one of my FB groups. There was no way to reach out and ask for details.

For a few months, I did nothing. For a grieving parent, even a small setback can feel overwhelming. Grief brain often gets in the way. Meta’s algorithm had decided my accounts shouldn’t exist – what did that say about me?

Then I imagined Henry saying, “Mom, Meta is evil. You shouldn’t even be posting on that site. But if it’s important to you, stop complaining and do something.” Henry was an idealist and he loved Reddit.

So I began to search for answers. Eventually, I found hundreds of fellow travelers on Reddit. They’d had their accounts shut down and wanted to share their sorrow or fury. I found posts like:

Have been crying endlessly last night, got my account disabled permanently

Moving On

Is there hope?

How Ironic FB wants YOU to verify if YOU'RE real, but uses AI to ban people.

Reading these posts felt like sitting in a grief support group. I could relate to the pain and loss. People also shared tips on how to file a small claim against Meta. I took down the instructions, sent a letter by registered mail, and filed with the San Mateo Small Claims Court.

It was almost 1:30 when the bailiff addressed the people standing outside the courtroom. “Before you enter the court, please find the other party in your lawsuit and share your documents with them.” Several groups formed, and people began exchanging paperwork.

No one here looked remotely like a Meta employee. I moved towards the bailiff. “I don’t think I completed my forms correctly. They’re probably not going to come today.”

“Wait a bit longer.” Did he know something I didn’t?

I stood at a high table near the glass walls. How long should I wait? Why did I even come?

Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in a polo shirt moving towards me. Could it be? Was this actually?

“Here’s your guy,” said the bailiff.

“Hi, I’m from Meta.” The man speaking to me was neatly dressed, probably in his 30’s.

“You’re actually from Meta?” He nodded. I grabbed his hand and shook it. “Thank you so much for coming.”

He smiled, friendly as can be. “So we agree your accounts were hacked and we can help you get them restored.” Could this be working?

“Are you a lawyer?”

“No, lawyers aren’t permitted in small claims court. But I work for Meta’s legal team.”

“I can’t believe it. I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“Yeah. We’re trying to establish a customer service team to reduce the caseload. But for now, my team spends lots of time at small claims court.”

“How often are you here?”

“We’re here at least once a week.”

My jaw dropped. Meta was paying him to show up for people like me? For such a huge company, this didn’t make sense. What a waste of time and money. It was obvious that customer service was not a priority.

“We sent you an email, but you didn’t respond.”

“You sent me an email?”

We shuffled into the courtroom. I logged into my email account and asked for his help. After a few minutes, he located the message. It was sent after I filed my claim. Interesting. The filing had driven their response.

“Just respond with two new email addresses and we can restore your accounts.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

I was expecting something a bit more dramatic. I wanted to point at the Defendant and ask, “What kind of company cancels the account of a grieving mother?”

Instead, we asked the judge for a 30-day continuance. I flew home and responded to the email messages. About a week later, both my FB account and Insta account were restored.

I hadn’t just restored my accounts. I’d restored the voice I’d found through my writing.

I never did find out what mistake that young man had made, but I hope he recovered from it.

The next day, I posted on Reddit, “I took Meta to small claims court last week and won.”