My Facebook Account Hack: A Turning Point

Recently, my Facebook account was hacked. Someone clever bypassed my security. It was early morning, my notifications were buzzing, and I knew something was off.

The Disturbing Discovery

When I logged in, I quickly realized that all was not well. The hacker used my account—linked to Deeply Rooted Church—to try to scam people. Friends started calling and texting, worried and confused, asking, “Is this really you?”

Part of me wanted to panic. Another part wanted to fight to save the account. I had nearly a decade of pictures and memories tied to Facebook. It felt like a whole era of my life was suddenly at risk.

But underneath the fear, another thought surfaced:

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe my time on Facebook has come to an end. I had very recently did some Chaos Magick and this kind of sudden loss can be one of the results of that kind of Magickal work.

Letting Go

I reached out to a member of our Board of Directors and asked to have my profile removed from everything related to the church. That felt painful, but necessary. It was like cutting a cord that had been tangled for far too long.

When Wade came home from his usual adventures, he asked,

Dude! How are you doing? I know this has to be hard on you.

But honestly? It wasn’t as hard as I expected. I told him I was done with the cesspool Facebook had become. I don’t want to “connect” by sending hollow messages like, “Thanks for coming to Samhain!” to people I barely get to talk to in person. I don't really want to pore over political memes or have debates with the trolls of the internet. Time is too short for that, you know?

I want real connection, not reaction farming.

Finding Peace in Nature

Last summer, I spent more time on the land than online. I worked the shrines. I tended gardens with my partner, Shawni. I hauled lots of rocks, built shrines, and listened to the Ravens in our woods screaming at each other.

During that time, I did a lot of thinking. I unpacked old memories and trauma that had been living under my skin for years.

For me, trauma tends to erupt like a volcano. When I’m not careful, it turns into a weapon—against myself, against others, against my sense of belonging. After therapy and a lot of hard inner work, something shifted.

My trauma stopped being a destructive force. It started to feel more like nutrient-rich soil—messy, dark, and heavy, but capable of feeding something new. I thought back to the coping strategies I learned in the summer. I created art, built shrines, and wrote rituals. I danced in an ecstatic state in the woods and spun tales about the land!

Stepping Away from Social Media

After sitting with all this, I realized: I don’t want to spend my remaining time on earth feeding an algorithm. That's boring for me right now. I once called myself a "Technomancer." Now, I see my bond extends beyond machines. It includes plants, trees, rocks—anything from our planet. I'm an animist who "talks" to my spirits in the form of ritual tools and conjurations.

I’ve decided to return to blogging instead of promoting myself on social media. I prefer long-form writing, real-world conversations, and quiet letters over memes, hashtags, and “engagement metrics.”

I would rather be someone’s Pagan pen pal than have 5,000 followers. I want my social life to reflect the life I’ve built at Deeply Rooted Church: firmly established in land, ritual, and honest conversation—not clicks.

Updating My Operating System

To keep myself grounded, I created an Oath that reflects what matters most to me now. This isn’t a rewrite of my personality. Think of it as an update to an already weird and wonderful operating system—one that can handle more than it used to.

In Norse terms, I see this as a life-oath spoken into the web of wyrd.

Here it is:

Bound in the web of wyrd, I spend my brief time strengthening my children and Deeply Rooted, so both outlive me in frith and freedom.

That’s the direction I’m choosing from here on out.

Losing my Facebook account pushed me to finally name what I’ve been feeling for a long time: my time is limited, my energy is limited, and I’d rather pour both into my kids, this land, and the community we’re building than into a platform that doesn’t know my name.

If you’re still here reading this on Straw-Death, thank you. This is where I’ll be: writing, reflecting, tending shrines, making mistakes, trying again, and living out this oath as best I can—one day, one post, and one choice at a time.