I tell folks all the time—my life today is unrecognizable compared to just four years ago. And I mean that sincerely. The success of the blog, the podcast, and social media has opened doors I never even knew existed.

Never in a million years did I picture myself filming TV pilots or having a regular spot on the radio. And if you’d told me I’d be sitting down for one-on-one conversations with folks like Nick Searcy or Sydney Penny? I would’ve laughed you right out of the room.

But here we are. And somehow, I’ve done every bit of it.

What makes me laugh is this: if you met me in real life, you’d probably never guess any of it. My day-to-day is still quiet and deeply personal. I’ve got close friends and family who don’t even know I run a blog. I’m not making big money. I don’t get stopped on the street. In a lot of ways, even with all these changes, my life has stayed exactly the same.

Even so, I’ve started to attract attention in certain circles. Is it fame? Maybe—with a little f. But even that little f can shift your world. And let me tell you, nothing really prepares you for the moment you realize people are watching.

In my case, some have started watching a little too closely.

Over the past year alone, I’ve dealt with cyberstalking, harassment, libel, and doxxing. And not just once—multiple times, by multiple people. One of those cases has dragged on for over a year.

Some folks are quick to dismiss it—as if it’s just “part of being online.” But those people have never lived it. I know people who’ve been swatted—had police show up at their homes with guns drawn because of a false report. Others have had strangers appear on their doorstep. Some have had their families contacted, their jobs threatened, their safety put at risk.

It’s not drama. It’s danger. And it’s real.

Me? I had to shut down my LLC after my business paperwork was shared on social media. I’ve been falsely accused—everything from money laundering to drug abuse. Someone leaked my voter registration. The harassment is unreal, and there’s no way to block it. At least not on X.

When I went to my local police department for help, my stalker sent them an email trying to discredit me—painting me as someone fabricating threats for attention.

The magistrate encouraged me to press charges for cyberstalking and harassment, but offered a warning: the stalker would likely win. And in the process, they’d gain access to even more of my private information. I walked out of that office and chose not to move forward.

What about a lawsuit? I looked into it. But my stalker has nothing. And lawyers want thousands just to get started. Why spend that kind of money chasing a judgment I’ll never see?

I couldn’t believe it. How is it that North Carolina law protects the people causing harm while leaving victims defenseless? Why is legal recourse only available to people with enough money to fund it?

I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

So I put on a pink pantsuit—and went to Raleigh.

And I didn’t go alone. The communications directors from both the North Carolina Libertarian Party and the Forward Party were with me. Other victims came too. Even Shawn Hendrix of MrBeast fame showed up to stand with us.

That day, I met with lawmakers from both sides of the aisle. I shared my story. I listened to others. I found bipartisan support.

I came home walking on sunshine—hopeful, encouraged, maybe even a little proud.

And then the next morning, I woke up to find out my stalker had already contacted every member of the General Assembly. They wanted details: who I was with, who I talked to, what I said, and why I was there.

That’s what this kind of harassment looks like. It’s persistent. It’s invasive. It doesn’t stop just because you find your voice. In fact, sometimes that’s exactly when it digs in deeper.

But here’s what I know: I’m not going to be terrorized out of doing what I love—and I do love Where the Dogwood Blooms. I’m not going to run away. I’m going to stand and fight.

Because that’s how I was raised.

I didn’t go to Raleigh to feel safe.

I went so that one day, someone else might.

And I’ll go back.

Pink pantsuit and all.