What Learning Linux Means to Me
This isn’t really a story about learning Linux. It’s a story about learning to trust technology again after it broke me — and finding a quieter, more autonomous way to compute that actually supports my brain, my nervous system, and the kind of internet I want to live in.
Before the cyber attacks, I hated code. It hurt my head to look at it. I couldn’t tell if it was the complexity, my dyslexia, or my inattentive ADHD — probably all three. And after the attacks, when I was forced into the role of accidental system admin while gathering evidence for the police, I resented every line of it. I genuinely couldn’t understand how people did this for a living. It felt mentally punishing.
But something shifted when I slowly began interacting with technology again. It wasn’t a brave or intentional decision — it was necessity. Windows made me feel exposed, noisy, and constantly watched. I couldn’t tell what was normal telemetry, what was creepy-but-legal, and what might be malicious. So I stubbornly moved to Linux, starting with “baby Linux” (Zorin). And to my surprise, I fell in love. It showed me a kind of freedom and accessibility I didn’t know I could have in my working environment.
The Mainstream Tech Experience
Learning Linux hasn’t been about becoming more technical. It’s been about becoming more autonomous — removing the fear and the barriers between me and the machine, and choosing a quieter, more neurodivergent-friendly way to compute.
On Windows, I spent hours tweaking settings for privacy and function, only for one update to undo everything or break the machine entirely. The ads, the paywalls, the widgets, the constant stimulation — it was overwhelming. And from my non-technical standpoint, I felt dependent on Microsoft because I didn’t believe I had any other option. Linux looked scary, inaccessible, and far too technical for someone like me.
I was wrong.
Discovering Linux
My biggest regret is not moving to Linux sooner. The transparency, the sense of building my own tools, the feeling of shaping a system around my executive functioning instead of fighting against it — it was transformative.
For years I relied on productivity apps and digital tools that drained my bank account and did nothing for my ADHD or dyslexia. Some probably made things worse. But by taking my time with Linux, I built an entire executive-function support kit from scratch.
Zorin gave me my first taste. As I grew more confident, I moved to Fedora Workstation, where I work now. It reminds me of powerlifting: slow, steady, repetitive mastery. What you put in, you get out. And over time, it compounds.
Autonomy as a Nervous System Experience
I’ve reached a point where I prefer working from the terminal. Graphical apps now do to my brain what code once did — they overstimulate me, fatigue me, and make my head ache. The terminal, by contrast, feels peaceful. My nervous system settles in the quiet, low-stim environment I once avoided.
I work calmer. I work more efficiently. I get a spark of joy every time a command I wrote turns into a working tool. Most importantly, I feel safe. I feel private. I no longer feel like a sitting duck the way I did on Windows.
This has been a huge part of my healing from the cyber attacks — the fear, the humiliation, the loss of identity, the sense of being digitally exposed. Linux helped rebuild my trust in technology.
The Quiet Computing Philosophy
Exploring Linux and building command-line tools naturally led me to the quiet-internet movement. I found people creating indie websites, reclaiming digital balance, and choosing tools that respect attention and privacy.
It made me wonder: what if I learned HTML and built a simple site that lived alongside my simple Linux workflows? Seeing the craft in other people’s indie sites — the care, the personality, the slowness — made me want to learn it too.
I didn’t want to chase algorithms anymore. I didn’t want to contribute to the noise through digital marketing. I wanted to join the quiet rebellion.
My Personal Shift
Linux changed my relationship with technology. It gave me agency, freedom, and privacy. It rebuilt my confidence. Each tool I create in the terminal rebuilds something in me too.
I no longer live in a state of vigilance. I feel in control. This is me reclaiming the digital autonomy that was once stolen — my voice, my tools, my identity. The attacks were meant to cause psychological harm, and for a while, they succeeded. But rediscovering technology in healthier, quieter ways is helping me reclaim everything I lost.
Closing
Many people have been hurt, pressured, or overwhelmed online — not always by attacks, but by the noise, the scrutiny, the constant exposure. I believe more of us could find trust and enjoyment in the digital world again by stepping away from the loud systems and choosing quieter pockets of the internet. It’s a way of reclaiming agency — choosing autonomy over optimisation.