For the last almost three weeks, I have embarked on a journey I wish on no one. My Facebook account was hacked and stolen. The hacker was able to remove my phone number and email address, leaving me with no way to recover. Not to mention Facebook support is garbage. Literal garbage. There is no support. This violation has left me feeling very anxious, unsafe, and distrustful. Not sure if you saw Inside Out 2, but I was Anxiety at the end of the movie where she was spinning around the console. My mind was racing and my head spinning. Being an app down on my phone, I still spent some days with double the amount of time in front of my phone for the better part of a week, each day fighting to gain my account back, not with the intention to keep, but to save my content and delete. Nothing was worth this feeling. Violated. Helpless. No control. I reached out to friends and family for help, because that was the only help I had. With their help, the account got taken down, three times. The last time lasting about a week, leaving me with the hope that it was permanently gone, and able to grieve the loss, and shift away from the anxiety. I knew I did not want to create a new Facebook, and even started questioning if I wanted Instagram. Since the day this started, I have only posted stories crying out for help. This loss has made me wonder how much of my life really needs to be out in the world. So I paused my presence on Instagram.
Today, multiple friends reached out to inform me it was back. With more bizarre content. Plus re-sharing content that I previously posted, in order to sound like me. Why am I sharing all this? Well, my business, as well as my personal life were connected on Facebook, so this seemed like the place to share.
With all of this happening, I questioned continuing to teach yoga. It did not feel fair to hold space for others, when I was unsure of the space I held. My whole life I have been bright, colorful, and stand out. I often joked about not being able to hide with the car I drive, and the ink on my skin. But its more than just in the physical sense, I often feel different than most. And it took me a long time to celebrate and embrace that. I felt like a piece of my authenticity, my joy in standing out, me being different was taken from me. Then a friend reminded me of something I already knew. I am still me. No one can take that. Deep down, there is only one of each of us. So as frustrating and infuriating this whole thing is, and it is, they cannot take me from me.
I am still fighting to get it taken down, so if you were my friend on Facebook, please join the effort to get it taken down. The part that's hardest for me is another person, on the other side of the world, who I have no idea who they are, having access to my 7,500 ish photos and 16 years of memories. I have accepted the loss, because those photos are saved somewhere. But pictures of my son and family, no one deserves to have them but me.
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