Much to my embarrassment, I got hacked again—this time on FB Messenger. The last time, I was hacked on my personal Facebook and Instagram accounts. Subsequently, I lost the IG account, but I was able to recover my FB.
When it happened, I wondered what the hackers’ motives were. Aside from changing my birthday so I became a teen account holder, I did not see any damage the first time around. Three weeks later, I found out what they were really after: my friend connections on Facebook.
In this instance, the hacker messaged almost all of my FB friends via Messenger, sending spam links to a gambling site. Que horror! I wouldn’t endorse any gaming apps—worse yet, anything connected to gambling. I’m a psychotherapist! Gambling is something I am ethically against, especially when money is involved.
I must admit, I catastrophized when I saw all the messages from concerned friends regarding the spam. In my head, my reputation was ruined and my FB friends were negatively affected. But people nowadays are smart enough not to click on fishy-looking links. I forgot to trust; I overestimated the threat. As I write this, adequate time has passed since those blasted messages. So far, so good: my reputation seems intact and, more importantly, my FB friends are fine. If anything, they expressed genuine concern for me and my mental well-being.
So, what the hell happened? I needed to know, if only because it gives me an illusion of control (IKR?). My best guess is that I was not actually hacked a second time—it was likely just a queued, automated script or bot. Nonetheless, to this day, Meta is still giving me trouble.
They say hacking incidents happen again and again, much like a reinfection. But when I think like that, I realize I’m being a worst-case-scenario thinker. It is so easy to go down that rabbit hole when anxiety runs high. Back in the day, when I was young, fresh, and living in the early aughts, they used to call people with high anxiety neurotic. It’s understated, but still true today. In the Big Five personality traits, it’s called neuroticism. Guess I’m staying true to brand. (Yo, even your therapist can sometimes be a bit nuts!)
My immediate impulse was to blame myself for Hacking Episode 2. Bringing a cudgel to my own head is an old, old habit that dates back to my childhood years. I must admit, I fell into the narrative that not having 2FA on IG was why I got attacked. Or maybe it was because I played a game on FB for a bit of fun. Or maybe it was because of a Chrome extension I used, or maybe it’s my China ROM phone. But that’s all conjecture, isn’t it?
Behaviorists would say this self-blame is all conditioning. Neurologically, we humans are wired to get attached, so the real answer is to relearn behaviorally, rewire neurologically, and detach metaphysically. I’m in my mid-40s now, getting sick and tired of the self-blame I pour on my feet like concrete—leaving me paralyzed.
Yesterday afternoon, a vulgar, old thought slipped out: “How could you be so stupid as to have gotten hacked?” This sentence comes from childhood, from living with a judgmental parent who demeaned me.
Shame, I felt shame, I was self-shaming. More than that, I felt incompetent. Somewhere deep in me, a button was pressed and I was about to detonate. But then, here’s what’s different now: I’m prescient enough to name the dynamic. I didn’t go kaboom and explode all over other people. I didn’t displace my anger toward my kids, strangers, and workmates. It takes some sort of emotional maturity to get oneself together, and I plainly can do that. Applause, applause, well done, old girl!
What was grating on me was the future possibility of being hacked on social media. Not living in the now, but living in a simulacrum of what-ifs does not do me good. It would not do you any good either. I had to pry myself from the self-blame. If I had more self-confidence, I wouldn’t berate myself this way. If I grew up tendered with assurance, I would not talk to myself this way. It’s downright disrespectful.
Just recently, Meta sent me a notification that got my heart pounding: something about my birthday being confirmed, which nullified a security measure I had put in place. Also, after a month or so of waiting, my IG account, @melanyheger, finally got deleted. I did everything on the security checklist when I scheduled the deletion: changed passwords, enabled 2FA, and set up a passkey. Still, the FB Messenger attack happened. So, what gives? When will this end? More importantly, am I really safe now?
Maybe I need to reckon with the fact that things in Social Media Land will almost always be uncertain. There was never any surety.
Perhaps the attitude I need to work toward is adopting equanimity.
Oddly enough, when I was in the middle of coping with the mess, one word entered my brain: “Interesting.” It was as if I were observing an experiment—looking at myself from afar and simply watching the comings and goings of a middle-aged person experiencing something adverse.
My sense of equanimity is not full-fledged yet, but I am getting there. “Interesting” keeps repeating in similar scenarios I find in my real-life comings and goings. When unexpected daily unknowns happen, I feel the initial prickle of panic, acknowledge it, choose not to identify with it, think “interesting,” refuse to take it as the absolute truth, keep calm, and then carry on.
Once, a psychotherapy client of mine said the most ubiquitous thing that stuck with him after a session with me was: “Not all your thoughts are real.”
As with all unknown things, I can comfort myself with the fact that who really knows? Was I a hapless victim of this unfortunate circumstance? Maybe not entirely. Like all undesired, traumatic events, nobody asks for them, but partial victim culpability is also part of the story. Maybe I didn’t close some doors, or maybe I opened unnecessary ones.
I close my fist too tightly around anger. Five years from now, Facebook might not even exist, or something else may happen. Who can tell? If I keep clutching at it—this simulacrum of reality, where everything is a trap—the tension will never leave.
What happens if I let it go? Let it all go? Maybe only some of it is real.
Self-blame will not make me a more enlightened or light-hearted person. It won’t buoy me with radiance so that I step into my 50s and 60s nimbly.
I want to be light on my feet—not trudging heavily with shoulders slumped and eyes downcast—as I prance along into my 50s, 60s, and beyond. Because that’s where I’m heading in this late afternoon of my life. I would like to embody my Chinese name, Grace, and truly live that grace.
(Think long-term, woman. Think long-term.)
If anything, this experience taught me I made the right decision to get a self-hosted website (melanyheger.com). Facebook is not mine, but I have my own space that I pay for, so I am not at Meta’s mercy in the end.
See? I do have the capacity to save myself. Maybe I already did.
Life is temporal, filled with so many changes. Facebook has been with me since 2009—seventeen years and a thousand friends. But crisis equals opportunity plus danger. I am not abandoning myself. I can rebuild; I can begin from scratch if I must.
I am my rock and my salvation. My psyche is my fortress, and I won’t be shaken.
The featured image on this blog was AI-generated by me using free tools, namely ChatGPT, Canva, and Leonardo AI. I use these images to support my written content creatively and cost-effectively.
