Understanding the Gaslighting of Technology: A Therapist's Perspective on Digital Disconnection

As a therapist and small-business owner who works almost entirely from iPads, I’m often forced to interact with systems that quietly don’t support the tools I actually use. That’s not a minor annoyance—it’s a real source of stress, pain, and self-doubt for many people who rely on technology. This post is about naming that pattern for what it is: gaslighting.

You’ve probably seen the phrase:

“This experience is not optimized for your device.”

On the surface, it sounds harmless. Technical. Neutral. Maybe even polite.

But let’s translate that into plain language:

“We chose not to support your device, but we’d prefer you think the problem is you.”

That’s not just annoying. That’s gaslighting.

And it’s not an accident. These are choices made by executives and product leads, wrapped in soft language so you’ll question yourself instead of the system.

When “Not Optimized” Really Means “Not Welcome”

Imagine trying to verify your business on a platform you need to participate in modern economic life. You’re using a current-generation iPad, a totally mainstream device. You follow the prompts, hit record, upload your verification video, try to tap the next button—and nothing happens.

Refresh the page

Try again

Try “Optimize” / “Desktop” / “Mobile” modes

Try it in another browser

Same silent failure. No error message. No acknowledgement. Just a dead button and a vague hint that “this experience is not optimized for your platform.”

What’s the message under this message?

You’re doing it wrong.

You’re on the wrong device.

If you were a “real” user, you’d be on the preferred setup and everything would work.

In reality, you are doing something perfectly reasonable: running a legitimate business from a device that marketing materials everywhere claim is a “full computer replacement.”

They are the who decided not to support where you live. But the language disguises that choice. It makes a deliberate design and resourcing decision sound like a minor technical footnote. That’s gaslighting.

Euphemisms That Move the Blame

Corparate tech culture is full of phrases that exist to protect brands from owning the impact of their decisions. A few greatest hits:

“Not optimized for this platform”

“Some feature may be limited”

“We’re simplifying the experience” (translation: we removed something you rely on)

“We’re sunsetting legacy options” (translation: we decide your use case doesn’t matter enough)

Notice what all of these have in common: they avoid saying who made the decision, they aviod saying what will break, and they aviod owning the human cost of that breakage.

Instead of a clear statement line, “We do not support iPad for business verification; you will need a desktop or laptop,” we get “This feature is best experience on a desktop.” Instead of, “We removed this function because it wasn’t profitable to maintain,” we get, We’ve streamlined the experience.”

The result is that you can spend hours trying to debug yourself: Is it my browser? My device? My setting?” You’re running into a wall someone else made and then painted to look like a hallway.

These Are Executive Choices, Not Random Bugs

It’s tempting to treat these problems like unfortunate accident — Just some messy code that nobody had time to clean up. But behind every “not optimized” experience, there are decisions. Which platforms get full QA and development resources, which devices are officially supported, which bugs get prioritized and which get quietly ignored, and whether to say plainly, “We don’t support X”, or bury that truth in fine print and euphenism.

Those decisions are made by product managers who define what “supported” means, engineering managers who decide where developers spend thier time, and corporate executives who sign off on which user groups matter and which ones are expendiable. When they choose not to support iPad, or older phones, or assistive technology’s, it’s rarely because it’s impossible.

And instead of owning that openly, they wrap it in language that makes you question yourself. That’s not just technical design. That’s ethical design — or the lack of it.

The Stress Tax on People who Rely on Tech

For anyone who relies heavily on computers and smartphones — especially people who run a small business, manage health, benefits, or finances online, don’t have the option to “just go use a desktop,” or live just chronic pain, fatigue or limited energy — this isn’t just a mild inconvenience. It’s stress tax.

Every broken interface and every dishonest euphemism adds to that tax: extra tine spent trying to make a system work that secretly never will on your device; emotional energy poured into self-doubt (“What am I doing wrong?”); increase pain or fatigue from having to repeat steps, troubleshoot, or switch tools; and business delays when verifications don’t go through, forms won’t submit, or payments quietly glitch.

And when you finally discover the truth — “Oh, they just don’t really support iPad” — it often comes from a support article or forum thread that makes it sound like the most natural thing in the world. Not a failure on their part. Just a “know limitation.”

In other words: “We decided you weren’t worth designing for, any we’ll say it like the weather.”

Words matter. If you’ve ever felt a little crazy dealing with this, it can help to do your own translations.

“Not optimized for this platform” ->”We didn’t bother to make this work properly on your device.”

“Some feature may be limited”->”Important function might be broken, and we decided that was acceptable.”

“Best experienced on desktop” ->”we built this assuming you own a desktop and we’re not going to accommodate you if you don’t.”

“We’re simplifying the experience”->”We took control away from you and we’ve hoping you’ll call that simplicity.”

Your’re not being dramatic when you react to this. You’re responding to a real pattern where corporate language is used to obsure responsibility and normalize exclusion.

No More Quiet Self-Blame

The effect of all this corporate newspeak is that users learn to blame themselves: “I must be behind the times.” “Maybe I’m expecting too much.” “I guess I should just buy the device they want me to buy.”

But you don’t exist to serve their product roadmap. Their products exist to serve you. And when it doesn’t that’s not a personal failing. It’s a design and values choice.

You’re allowed to get angry about it. You’re allowed to name it as gaslighting when language is used to distort reality. You’re allowed to push back in support tickets and feedback forms with clear, direct words: “This is not ‘not optimzed’; it is nonfunctional on iPad. Please either support this platform or say clearly that you do not.”

You’re also allowed to set boundaries with your own time and energy: decide how many minutes you’ll fight a broken system before you stop; refuse to keep troubleshooting once it’s clear the problem is on their side; and choose tools and companies that speak plainly about what they do and don’t support.

The Ask: Honest Language, Honest Support

No software can be everywhere, for everyone. Trade-offs are real. o every company can support every device and every browser. But the minimum that ethical tech demands is simple: say clearly what you don’t support instead of pretending it “might work”; stop using “not optimized” as a shield when a platform is effectively unsupported; and recognize the human cost of every vague error message and dead button. Ever one of those isn’t just a but—it’s someone’s afternoon, someone’s pain level, someone’s business.

Until that changes, a lot of us are going to keep feeling excuse what is named here: not just frustrated by technology, but gaslit by the corporations that control it.

If this kind of thing has worn you down, you-let not alone. A lot of my clients are already carrying stress, pain, or burnout before they even open a laptop or pick up an iPad. Part of therapy with me is naming where systems are failing you—not the other way around—and finding ways to protect our time, energy, and self-respect in the middle of all of this.