Of course, in reality, I am now sure that no one really cared enough to discuss the email about me for more than a few minutes, but at the time, it didn’t feel that way. I told her, “Thank you for being supportive,” and hung up the phone. Before we said goodbye, she gave me one more piece of advice, “Look on Facebook.” I hung up and began looking up my name on Facebook. I was not prepared for the multiple fake profiles that I found. After reporting the sixth fake account of “Jailbird Brandy,” I then decided to Google my name also. The results came up, and I sat down in my chair and started crying the ugly cry. This was the last straw. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. All at once, different people started coming to mind, and I was panic-stricken. I couldn’t figure out how to fight this specific kind of harassment. How do you tell thousands of people at once that you’re being doxed? Of course, it would have been easier if “doxed” had even been a word back then. It turns out that what was happening to me was just the start of a new way of harassing people online. I did the only thing I could think of to do, which was pray. Oh goodness, how I prayed! I started telling God how horrible this was and asking why He wouldn’t do anything about it. Honestly, it probably wasn’t the most appropriate prayer, and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. I told the Lord that I didn’t deserve this, and He knew it. I reminded Him that I was truly innocent and had someone upset at me just because I had walked away from their abuse. I was about thirty minutes into my tearful rant when I felt a calming presence. I sat down, took a deep breath, and heard the simple words, “Do you really care what people think about you?” My gut instinct was to yell yes as loud as I could. Something stopped me, though, and I thought about it deeper. “Do you know who you are? Does God know who you are? Why are you upset?” If I’m being transparent, these questions made me angry. I didn’t want to learn or grow. I didn’t want some type of spiritual moment. I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted God to smite my enemy and tell the whole town I was innocent! I instinctively turned on the TV and started watching. I didn’t want to think about anything, and quite frankly, I was angry that God didn’t pity me and fix the problem instead of asking me questions. The TV didn’t do the job of distracting me like normal, though, and those questions kept rolling around in my mind. Then another one came, “What is confidence?” How do you know who you are and not feel insecure about yourself? Is it really in your new outfit or hair and makeup? Suddenly, the weight of what God was trying to show me hit like a ton of bricks. I knew who I was. I knew I was innocent. I knew that God was pleased with me. Nothing else mattered. It truly was as simple as that. I dried my eyes, washed my face, and never cried that much about it again. There were times over the next seven years that I would get frustrated or tired of the harassment. However, it was more just the sheer exhaustion of enduring a relentless attack than anything else. I never cared who believed me or who believed the rumors. I knew who I was, and that was all that mattered.