So I found out what it feels like to have a stranger on the internet decide you're the main character of their revenge arc.
Last Tuesday, some dude I'd never met dropped my full name, my street address, and a grainy screenshot of my kid's school pickup line into a Facebook group with 40,000 members.
Because I said his lifted truck looked like it was compensating for something.
For the uninitiated, doxxing is when someone digs up your personal info and splashes it across the internet for strangers to enjoy.
It used to be reserved for actual villains and people who stole catalytic converters.
Now it's what happens when you mildly annoy a guy with too much free time and a LinkedIn premium account.
Here's the fun part: it's not technically illegal in most states.
Sure, if someone explicitly threatens you, that's a crime.
But just posting your address with a little smiling emoji?
I called the non-emergency line, and the dispatcher sounded like she was reading from a script titled "Sir, Please Calm Down." The cop who eventually showed up asked if I'd "tried blocking him." Sir.
Blocking him feels a little like putting a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound and calling it a spa treatment.
What nobody tells you about getting doxxed is the mental math you start doing at 2 a.m.
Is that Amazon van parked outside because my neighbor ordered a blender, or is it a guy named Kyle who's really invested in my opinion about truck nuts?
Your Ring camera becomes the most-watched channel in the house.
I reported the post, and Meta sent back an automated message saying it "didn't violate community standards." Apparently doxxing is fine as long as you don't use a slur while doing it.
The wildest part is how fast the internet forgets.
Two days later, everyone moved on to arguing about whether a giraffe could beat a bear in a fight.
Meanwhile, I'm still out here Googling my own name to see if my info is circulating on some Telegram channel I can't pronounce.
If you ever get doxxed, here's the actual playbook nobody hands you: document everything, lock down your accounts, contact the platform's safety team (not just the report button), and if there's a threat, get law enforcement involved even if they sigh at you.
Also, maybe don't post your exact location on Instagram stories.
The truth is, we built an entire society on the idea that strangers shouldn't know where we live, and then we handed everyone a megaphone and a search bar.
It's working exactly the way the loudest people want it to.
Final Thoughts
But I did buy a doorbell camera, and I've started referring to my address as "the compound." If you need me, I'll be the guy peeking through the blinds, judging your truck from a safe distance.