WHAT HAPPENED IN LO DE MARCOS

The first indication that something was wrong came in a brief exchange.

“Stop resetting your phone,” Jose told me. “It’s pissing people off.”

“Like who?” I asked.

“Just stop asking questions.”

By then, I had already taken my devices to two IT specialists — one in Lo de Marcos to examine my phone, and another in Bucerías to inspect my Microsoft Surface Pro. Both visits were prompted by irregularities I couldn’t explain. Weeks later, my digital life collapsed.

And then everything collapsed at once.

Multiple accounts were compromised in rapid succession. Some were deleted, others locked, and many became inaccessible due to unknown passwords. The affected platforms spanned personal, professional, and creative domains.

Google. Apple. Facebook. Instagram. Twitter. LinkedIn. Flickr. Pinterest. Travelstoke. Yelp. YouTube.

Every email address I had ever used.

Every platform tied to my photography business.

Every trace of the life I had built.

It was as if someone had reached into my world and pulled the plug.

Flickr, Pinterest, Travelstoke, Yelp, YouTube — profiles still publicly visible but no longer under my control

Email accounts tied to my photography business and family travel projects were also affected, including:

Other emails used at the time:

I had been a professional photographer in Queensland, running Sullivan Portraits from our home in Upper Kedron. My work lived online — my clients, my portfolio, my reputation. When the accounts vanished, it felt like someone had erased me with the same efficiency as deleting a file.

In the aftermath, I developed hypervigilance — a state of heightened sensory alertness commonly associated with trauma and PTSD. Hypervigilance can resemble drug use to an untrained observer: rapid scanning, restlessness, and a nervous system locked in survival mode. That misinterpretation shaped the response I received when I returned to Australia.. 

When I returned to Australia, not a single official asked what had happened to me. No one asked what I’d been through. No one asked why my devices were compromised or why I was terrified. Like I said — I was just the army wife.

The only people who spoke to me were child services. They weren’t curious about what had happened. They weren’t concerned. They were dismissive, almost amused, as if my life were a story they had already decided wasn’t worth reading. They took my children and handed them to their father. His version of events was all they needed.

Since then, I have tried to understand how my digital identity was compromised and why no agency has been willing to investigate. What I’ve found raises more questions than answers.

In Mexico, both government agencies and organised crime groups have been documented using advanced spyware capable of infiltrating phones and computers. For more than a decade, successive Mexican administrations have purchased high‑grade surveillance tools, including the Israeli‑made Pegasus system. International investigations have shown that Pegasus can take full remote control of a device — accessing messages, calls, cameras, microphones, and stored data — often through “zero‑click” attacks requiring no action from the user. In Mexico, spyware is exceptionally common and widespread.

I cannot say with certainty that Pegasus or any other spyware was used against me. I have no proof. But the pattern of account breaches, device failures, and unexplained activity is difficult to ignore. Equally troubling is the absence of any law enforcement agency willing to examine the situation.

I contacted the CIA and FBI, unsure whether they were the appropriate bodies. Reporting in Mexico was unrealistic due to corruption. Australia dismissed my concerns. New Zealand, where I now live, has no jurisdiction over events that occurred overseas. Local police confirmed they could not assist.

The earliest anomalies date back to early 2015, when my family arrived in Panama. Two MacBook Pro laptops — less than six months old — began to fail simultaneously. Lines appeared across the screens, and both devices became corrupted beyond use.

Technically, this could have been hardware failure. But certain types of tampering or spyware can cause similar symptoms.

My ex‑husband, trained in intelligence analysis, never detected cyber interference. But I only saw the pattern later — after he was gone.

With no warranty coverage in the region, we replaced the laptops in Canada. I purchased a Microsoft Surface Pro. Those early failures were the first signs that something was wrong. They would not be the last.

When we first arrived in Mexico in 2015, we settled in Zapotlanejo, a town in the state of Jalisco. We purchased a Dodge Ram for long‑distance travel. It was practical, but it quickly became an expensive liability. Our first major trip in the vehicle was a drive to the United States and then onward to Canada, where we stayed for six months.

Before leaving Mexico, we had the truck serviced in Zapotlanejo. Shortly after departing, just past Durango, the vehicle suffered a wheel malfunction. The failure forced us to pull over and have the truck towed back to Durango. We remained there for several days while repairs were completed.

Once the issue was resolved, we continued north to Arizona, where we stayed with friends at the U.S. Army Yuma Proving Ground for Thanksgiving. Photography was permitted on the base, but sharing images on social media was prohibited. I followed those restrictions.

At the time, I had no expectation that my digital life would later be compromised. I did not report any concerns during that period. In the months that followed, however, as accounts were hacked and devices malfunctioned, the social landscape around me began to shift. Friends took sides. My silence — driven by confusion and a genuine lack of understanding about what was happening — was interpreted in ways I could not control. I chose not to speak because I didn’t know how to explain any of it, and because, in reality, I had no meaningful choice.

The next major incident occurred as we continued on to Canada. While driving in winter conditions, the engine failed completely, leaving us stranded on the side of the highway in sub‑zero temperatures. The entire engine had to be replaced.

Despite the cost, the insurance company in Mexico initially approved the repair. We were required to pay upfront, with the understanding that reimbursement would occur once we returned to Mexico. The total cost was approximately CAD $15,000. That reimbursement never happened. The insurer later refused the claim, and there was no available avenue to contest the decision.

Questions about whether a vehicle can be hacked or tampered with occasionally arise in discussions of modern automotive technology. In this case, there is no evidence to support such a conclusion. The incident was treated as mechanical failure, and the repairs proceeded accordingly.

The Dodge Ram did not remain with us for long. After returning to Mexico, Kieron caused a traffic accident, and the vehicle was impounded. Once he left the country, the responsibility for resolving the situation fell entirely to me. Shortly before his departure, he had a confrontation with the Chief of the Sayulita Local Municipal Police and was warned that continued insubordination could lead to arrest. Not long after that incident, he chose to leave Mexico.

During this period, a significant number of personal documents and belongings disappeared. Among them were:

  • •passports

  • •my birth certificate and marriage certificate

  • •my baptism certificate

  • •personal photographs

  • •multiple Visa debit cards

  • •my Defence spouse ID

  • •several mobile phones

  • •camera equipment

  • •expensive jewellery, including a diamond ring

  • •even small items, such as a basketball, which carried emotional value

These losses occurred alongside repeated device failures. A Microsoft Surface Pro became corrupted and unusable in 2017. A cheap car I purchased after Kieron left was tampered with and eventually became inoperable. At times, debit cards went missing and later reappeared, with money withdrawn in the interim.

Individually, these events could be attributed to theft, error, or coincidence. But the frequency and timing raised questions that were ever answered.

One incident stood out for its complexity. I attempted a routine transfer:

Intended:

Suncorp (Australia) → XE Money Transfer → Intercam (Mexico)

What occurred:

The funds appeared in my Intercam account under my name, but Suncorp showed no record of sending them.

The questions that followed were straightforward but unresolved:

  • •Could XE have transferred funds in error?

  • •Could a banking anomaly explain the discrepancy?

  • •Or had someone gained access to my computer and acted with the same permissions I believed I held?

The behaviour I encountered during this period shared characteristics often described in research on coercive control: intimidation, isolation, and tactics designed to destabilise a person’s sense of safety. The methods resembled patterns seen in domestic abuse and, in some cases, in psychological operations intended to overwhelm or disorient a target.

What happened next is difficult to describe, not because the events were unclear, but because they challenge the limits of what most people consider possible. During this period, I experienced forms of psychological pressure and digital interference that felt coordinated and deliberate. The tactics resembled coercive methods documented in cases of intimidation and psychological manipulation — strategies designed to destabilise a person’s sense of reality, isolate them, and erode their confidence.

I struggled to make sense of what I was experiencing. Devices behaved unpredictably. Information disappeared. Passwords changed without my input. At times, it felt as though my thoughts and actions were being anticipated or mirrored. I cannot explain how these things occurred, and I am careful not to claim more than I know. What I can say is that the experience felt intrusive in ways I had never encountered before.

The most difficult part was the isolation. I feared that no one would believe me. I feared that speaking openly would make me sound irrational, even though the events themselves were real to me. I kept asking the same questions: Why me? What had I done? How could this happen without anyone noticing?

The instability was not limited to digital interference. At the two addresses where we lived in Lo de Marcos, Nayarit a series of physical intrusions occurred.

These included:

  • •people moving around the property at night

  • •footsteps and activity on the roof

  • •flashlights from neighbouring rooftops pointed toward the house

  • •bleach poured on clothing in the laundry

  • •blood on the laundry floor, suggesting someone had been injured

  • •gasoline poured on the rooftop above the children’s room

  • •food and water contaminated during periods of extreme poverty

Police were contacted on at least one occasion, but no action followed.

Two separate incidents involved being given beer that had been spiked. On both occasions, it felt as though I had been filmed without my knowledge or consent.

I set up three separate businesses during that period, each of which failed. To this day, I still question how much of that was ordinary misfortune and how much was the result of interference. By the time the last venture collapsed, I had reached a point where returning to Australia with my children felt like the only option left. Whatever the cause, the damage had already been done.

So why were my children in a poor state by the time we left Mexico? The answer depends on which version of events people choose to believe. There is another narrative circulating — one shaped by distance, assumptions, and the perspectives of people who were never present for the realities we lived. That version has its own momentum, its own audience, and its own agenda.

But that narrative is not my concern. People will interpret events through whatever lens suits them, and those determined to judge will always find justification. What matters here is the record: the conditions we lived under, the instability we endured, and the absence of any outside support.

MY STORY
MY STORY