I’ve been part of the WordPress community for 20 years. A decade of that was spent actively contributing to the plugin directory—building free tools, supporting users, answering support threads at midnight, fixing bugs on weekends.
And in one careless moment, I lost all of it.
Not because I tried to cheat the system. Not because I built malicious code. Not because I abandoned my users.
But because I didn’t proofread a README file before I committed it, I hired an outside expert to optimize my text.
What Open Source Meant to Me
When I started contributing plugins to WordPress.org, it wasn’t about building a business. It was about being part of something bigger than myself.
WordPress had given me so much—a career, a skillset, a way to solve problems. Contributing back felt like the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
I remember the first time someone left a 5-star review on one of my plugins. They wrote: “This solved a problem I’ve been struggling with for weeks. Thank you for making this free.”
That feeling? That’s what kept me going.
Not the download counts. Not the active installs. The knowledge that somewhere, someone’s day was a little easier because of code I wrote and shared freely.
Building a Contribution Legacy
Over 10 years, I built 13 plugins. Some were small utilities. Others were more complex solutions to common WordPress problems.
I didn’t just write the code and disappear. I maintained them. I responded to support threads. I fixed bugs reported by users. I added features people requested.
I took pride in keeping my plugins updated with the latest WordPress versions. I made sure they followed coding standards. I ran them through security checks.
This was my contribution to the ecosystem that had given me so much.
The WordPress.org profile that showed those contributions—thousands of support replies, regular updates, years of active maintenance—that was my identity in the community.
I was someone who showed up. Someone who cared. Someone who gave back.
The Mistake That Erased It All
I hired someone to help optimize my plugin README files for SEO. They used AI to improve the descriptions and keywords.
I didn’t review the output carefully before committing it to the repository.
The automated optimization reintroduced a trademark violation I’d been warned about before. Twice before, actually.
Within 24 hours, all 13 plugins were closed. My account was suspended indefinitely.
A decade of contribution history—gone.
Thousands of support thread replies—inaccessible.
The trust I’d built with users—severed.
All because I didn’t take five minutes to proofread a file.
The Weight of “Unintentional”
I keep saying it was unintentional. And it was.
I wasn’t trying to violate trademark guidelines. I wasn’t trying to deceive anyone. I wasn’t trying to game the system.
But “unintentional” doesn’t undo the impact.
The Plugin Review Team—all volunteers—had to review my violations multiple times. They had to send warning emails. They had to document the pattern. They had to make the decision to suspend my account.
I created work for volunteers who were already donating their limited time to maintain a directory that benefits thousands of developers like me.
My unintentional mistake intentionally wasted their time.
That’s what I’m struggling to forgive myself for.
What Hurts the Most
It’s not losing the plugins themselves. The code still exists. I can host it elsewhere.
It’s not even losing access to the platform. There are other ways to distribute WordPress plugins.
What hurts is losing my place in the community.
I can’t respond to support threads anymore. I can’t help users who are stuck with issues in my plugins. I can’t participate in the collaborative process of open-source development on that platform.
The WordPress.org community was where I belonged. It was where I contributed. It was where I mattered beyond just my day-to-day work.
And I threw that away by being careless.
The Support Threads I Can’t Answer
There are users out there right now who might be experiencing issues with my plugins.
They might go to WordPress.org to post a support question. They might expect the developer who’s been responsive for years to help them.
And I can’t.
Not because I don’t want to. Not because I’ve abandoned the plugins. But because I violated guidelines and lost access.
Those users didn’t do anything wrong. They trusted free, open-source tools I provided. And now they’re left without the support they deserve.
That keeps me awake at night.
The Community I Still Care About
The irony is that I still deeply care about WordPress and its community.
I still believe in open source. I still believe in contributing freely. I still believe in the collaborative spirit that makes WordPress special.
But I’m no longer welcome in the primary space where that happens.
I can still use WordPress. I can still build with it. I can still participate in forums and Slack channels.
But that badge of being a plugin author in good standing on WordPress.org? That symbol of contribution and trust? That’s gone.
And it was entirely my own doing.
The Anger I Directed Wrongly
When I first received the suspension notice, I was angry.
I argued that it was just ONE plugin causing problems. I pointed out that my other 12 plugins had clean records. I suggested the punishment didn’t fit the crime.
I even made bitter comments about “playing God” and invoked “karma” when moderators defended the decision.
I’m ashamed of that now.
Because my anger was misdirected. I wasn’t angry at the Review Team or the guidelines or the system.
I was angry at myself.
Angry that I’d been careless. Angry that I’d ignored warnings. Angry that I’d let down the community I cared about.
But it was easier to lash out than to sit with that self-directed anger.
The volunteers enforcing the guidelines didn’t deserve my bitterness. They were protecting the directory and its users. They were doing exactly what they should do.
I was the one who failed the community, not the other way around.
What I Lost Beyond the Plugins
When I think about what’s gone, it’s not just code or distribution:
- Credibility: Being a trusted plugin author carried weight. That credibility took years to build and disappeared overnight.
- Voice: I can no longer participate in discussions about plugin development from the position of someone actively contributing.
- Connection: The relationships formed through support threads, code reviews, and community interactions—those channels are closed.
- Purpose: A significant part of my identity was tied to being a WordPress contributor. Without that, I feel unmoored.
- Legacy: I wanted my plugins to be my contribution to the WordPress story. Now they’re just a cautionary tale.
Sitting with Responsibility
There’s no villain in this story except my own carelessness.
WordPress.org gave me a platform for 10 years. They asked only that I follow their guidelines.
I was warned explicitly when I violated those guidelines. Twice.
The third violation came with consequences that were clearly stated: indefinite suspension.
Those consequences arrived exactly as promised.
I can’t claim ignorance. I can’t claim the system failed. I can’t claim I was treated unfairly.
I was given more chances than I deserved, and I squandered them through negligence.
That’s hard to accept, but it’s the truth.
The Question That Haunts Me
Would I have been more careful if this were a paid contribution to a proprietary platform?
If I were submitting to the Apple App Store or the Chrome Web Store, would I have double-checked everything before hitting submit?
Probably.
And that realization stings.
Did I take WordPress.org for granted because it was free and open? Did I treat volunteer reviewers with less respect than I would have treated paid gatekeepers?
I don’t want to believe that about myself. But my actions suggest otherwise.
I treated the most generous platform—the one that asked for nothing but compliance—with less care than I would have treated a commercial entity.
That’s backward. That’s wrong. And that’s on me.
What Open Source Deserves
Open source deserves contributors who treat it with respect.
Not just in code quality, but in process. In diligence. In honoring the guidelines that make shared spaces work.
The WordPress plugin directory is a commons. It only functions because thousands of developers follow the rules, and volunteers enforce them consistently.
I failed to be a good steward of that commons.
I took more than I gave back. I created problems for volunteers while claiming to be a contributor.
Real contribution isn’t just writing code. It’s respecting the ecosystem. Honoring the guidelines. Making the maintainers’ jobs easier, not harder.
I forgot that. Or maybe I never fully understood it.
The Apology to the Community
To the WordPress.org Plugin Review Team:
Thank you for the decade you let me participate. Thank you for the warnings I didn’t heed seriously enough. Thank you for maintaining a free platform that enabled my contributions.
I’m sorry I wasted your volunteer time on repeated violations.
I’m sorry I responded to enforcement with anger instead of accountability.
I’m sorry I treated your work with less care than it deserved.
To the users of my plugins:
I’m sorry I can’t provide the ongoing support you deserve through the official channels.
I’m sorry my carelessness disrupted your ability to get help.
I’m sorry I let you down.
To the broader WordPress community:
I’m sorry I failed to live up to the values of open-source contribution.
I’m sorry I took the privilege of participation for granted.
I’m sorry I became a cautionary tale instead of a positive example.
What I’m Learning About Contribution
Real contribution requires humility.
It requires recognizing that being allowed to participate in an open-source community is a privilege, not a right.
It requires honoring the time of volunteers who make that participation possible.
It requires treating guidelines as sacred boundaries that protect everyone, not obstacles to work around.
It requires caring as much about process and compliance as about features and functionality.
I intellectually understood these things before. But I didn’t live them.
Now, having lost the ability to contribute in the space I valued most, I understand them differently.
Understanding through loss is painful. But maybe it’s the only way some lessons stick.
Moving Forward Without a Map
People ask what I’ll do now.
I can host plugins elsewhere. I can contribute to WordPress in different ways. I can participate in other open-source communities.
But right now, I’m still processing the loss of belonging.
WordPress.org wasn’t just a distribution platform for me. It was my connection to a community I loved. It was how I gave back to something that gave me so much.
Losing that feels like losing part of my identity.
Maybe that’s melodramatic. These are just plugins. This is just software.
But for those of us who care deeply about open source, it’s never “just” anything. It’s about connection and contribution and being part of something meaningful.
And I’m grieving the loss of that.
To Other Contributors
If you’re maintaining plugins, themes, or any open-source projects, please learn from my failure:
Take the guidelines seriously. Not as obstacles, but as the framework that makes shared spaces possible.
Respect volunteer time. Every careless mistake creates work for people who are donating their effort.
Review everything before you commit. Automation is a tool, not a substitute for attention.
Treat warnings as the gift they are. Someone cared enough to give you a chance to correct course. Honor that.
Don’t take access for granted. The platforms that enable your contribution are privileges that can be revoked.
And most importantly: Remember that being a contributor isn’t just about code. It’s about being a good community member.
I failed at that. Don’t make the same mistake.
What I Hope This Story Does
I’m not publishing this for sympathy. I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.
I’m publishing this because maybe—just maybe—another developer will read it before they make a similar mistake.
Maybe someone will get a warning email and, instead of just fixing the immediate issue, will build systems to prevent it from happening again.
Maybe someone will pause before automating a process and think: “Should I verify this manually?”
Maybe someone will treat volunteer reviewers with the respect and care they deserve from the start.
If this story prevents even one person from losing their place in a community they love, then something good came from my failure.
Final Thoughts
I’m still a WordPress developer. I still believe in open source. I still want to contribute.
But I’m no longer a WordPress.org plugin author in good standing, and I have no one to blame but myself.
That’s a hard truth to sit with. Some days I handle it better than others.
What I know is this: The WordPress community gave me a decade of opportunity to contribute. I should have honored that with more care.
I didn’t. And now I’m learning to live with the consequences while figuring out what contribution looks like from outside the walls I built myself out of.
If you’re still here, thank you for reading. For witnessing this moment of reckoning. For letting me be honest about failing at something that mattered.
I don’t have answers. I don’t have a redemption arc yet. I just have the truth of what happened and the hope that sharing it might help someone else avoid the same pain.
That’s all I have to offer right now.
And maybe that’s enough.
If you’ve lost access to a community that mattered to you through your own mistakes, I’d love to hear your story. Not for advice or solutions—just for the reminder that failure and regret are part of the shared human experience of trying to contribute and sometimes falling short.