How I experienced the 5 stages of grief while learning HTML & CSS, and why it wasn’t a bad thing
Like so many journeys of self-discovery, it began with a liberal arts undergrad going back to school. I was floundering around New Orleans post-college—working in kitchens, a head shop, and eventually the public library—when I realized I only had a few good years left before the big 3-0.
Panicking, I confided in my coworkers. They said things like, “Go to library school! The time will pass anyway!” Aggressively cheerful and oddly fatalistic. Clearly a passionate bunch. (But in all seriousness, librarianship was and still is a strange and lucky combination of my interests.)
Well, let’s go I guess?
Denial
I’m late to sign up for classes because what’s a late-bloomer crisis without procrastination? One of the few classes left with open seats was Information Architecture. I clicked “Add to Cart” like I was impulse-buying a lot of vintage nail polish (current hyperfixation).
Fast forward a few weeks: I’m reading the syllabus and realize this is a crash course in HTML and CSS.
What a coincidence! I actually do know some HTML. When I was eight, I was obsessed with Neopets.
(Pause for Millenial flashback and Thousand-Yard-Stare)
Yes, your Neopets are starving. No, you don’t remember your password. You don’t even have access to that email anymore! How does it feel to be an irresponsible pet owner?
On Neopets, there was a forum feature called the Neoboards, and you could use HTML to change the appearance of your text when posting. The gist of my experience using HTML was copying code from other users and replacing the hex code.
Me at 5th grade graduation, probably wondering when it would be over so I could go back to Neopia.
Anger
A graduate degree program where I actually have to learn something? Excuse me?
I thought grad school was where overachievers went to delay adulthood. But no—this class had modules, assignments, and words like “semantic tags.”
Our professor kindly reminded us this wasn’t for Computer Science majors, but that only made it worse. All the modules came from websites anyone could access for free and the reading assignments sounded suspiciously like they were written by AI.
I slogged through attribute lists and element definitions, wondering when the fun would start.
Bargaining
If I finish this assignment, I can get Starbucks.
If I take notes today, I can do the exercise on Monday.
If I don’t do the exercise, I’ll just do it before it’s due next week.
The internal negotiations were intense. In the end, I would do everything in one sitting before the deadline- notes, exercises, and graded assignments. Was I actually learning or just regurgitating?
Depression
The professor wisely linked us to code checkers that told us exactly what was wrong. In theory, this was great. In practice? I still couldn’t figure out what was broken.
It reminded me of being a “gifted” kid who was bad at math. The cognitive dissonance I experienced at twelve due to this premature labeling still sticks with me today. When things don’t come easily, I don’t just think the task is flawed—I assume I am. It can’t possibly be a typo. I actually have to make this minor hiccup a part of my entire personality for the rest of my life. Yes, something must be fundamentally wrong with me.
Acceptance
After accepting that I was a fundamentally flawed failure, the whole process became... kind of fun?
I graduated from W3Schools to deep dives on Stack Overflow. I found myself reading decade-old posts by desperate small business owners trying to add media queries to their websites. Did they ever figure it out? Who knows. But I was invested. One breadcrumb led to another. Eventually, things started clicking. Like YouTube in 2008, the long buffering time was over—the video was playing.
I was getting 100% on my assignments. I built a 3-page website for my final project, and it actually worked.
Learning is magical, actually
All jokes aside, learning HTML and CSS has been more useful—and more intellectually satisfying—than my entire undergraduate degree… which says more about me and my choices than the degree, to be fair.
I know I’m not alone. There are so many of us out here: adults with imposter syndrome who grew up being told we had “so much potential,” only to become over-anxious perfectionists in a world that rewards grit more than giftedness.
So here’s the real lesson: Don’t underestimate yourself.
Break the code. Fix it.
Do the thing. (*Gen Alpha cringe*)
Resources
My creation, in all her glory. It’s no Squarespace masterpiece, but I made it with my own two hands. Something something honest work.
