Short Victim’s Stories

Trust is something essential to all of us, no matter if we are a stay at home mom or the executive of a large corporation. Knowing how to use trust in our daily experiences is essential.

But when one loses their trust, such as with a scam, one can feel adrift at sea in a rowboat without a paddle. I know that I do. I am slowly rebuilding trust. But at this stage, after my crime, I have noticed I am willing to withdraw trust even over minor incidents. Feeling safe and secure in one’s relationships or connections is key in rebuilding trust. Without trust, it is hard to move forward, it is hard to have confidence, and it is hard to make a decision. That is why a scam can completely unbalance our sense of being competent. And setting boundaries is definitely crucial. Imagine being elderly and not knowing how to properly set boundaries! That is happening to me.

My parents were so suspicious of everything that even wanting to keep a diary was against their code of ethics. A diary was considered a waste of money and foolishness. And it was considered that I was keeping secrets from them. Of course, in those days, I never considered just using notebook paper to create a diary. I thought the purpose of the diary was to have something I could lock my private thoughts in. But there again, my parents thought my thoughts were weird and unnatural. They were born of curiosity about the world and the people in it. My thoughts were ridiculed, and I felt shame for having them. I learned that my parents established the boundaries as I was growing up. I learned I was a child behind a fence of their fears and co-dependency. That child was not allowed to learn to establish anything that went beyond superficial traits and thoughts. As an adult, I went from my parents’ home into marriage with a narcissist. Boundaries could not co-exist in this relationship.

My cognitive impairment was severe immediately after my scam ended. However, I’ve now noticed that it was particularly bad during the scam itself. Learning was difficult throughout the scam and for about the first eight weeks after it concluded. I realized this, ironically, through scam training required by my job. During the scam, I couldn’t pass any of the quizzes or tests. Since these tests didn’t have many questions, I was failing them spectacularly.

About two months ago, I took a quiz and passed with 100 percent, then I took another and again scored 100 percent. The training method for these quizzes is visual, relying on watching short video tutorials before taking the quiz or test. However, my personal learning process combines reading, writing, and kinesthetic methods. When I learn software, I’m a button pusher, experimenting to see what happens, which differs from the video-based training approach.

Fortunately, I didn’t have any major decisions to make before or immediately after my scam ended. Eventually, I did have to make a financial decision regarding the debt in the aftermath of the scam. I think I managed it well enough.

Not long after my scam ended, I needed to go to the grocery store. It never crossed my mind that I’d need to travel past the bank branch where I sent all the wire transfers. The experience was very upsetting, and for a couple of months, I avoided taking that route to the grocery store. I felt I was making great progress in healing when I stopped at that branch, actually went inside (as I had many times during the scam), and did my banking. I’ll admit I was a bit jittery walking in, but once I completed the necessary transaction and was on my way out, I felt tremendous relief that it was over. I realized I was okay.

Certain music reminds me of the criminal. There were specific artists I listened to on repeat during the scam. Soon after it ended, I felt nauseous listening to them, so I stopped for a few months and then tried again. Now, these songs remind me of a different period in my life—my healing period. Some of the songs make me sad but no longer trigger the intense anxiety I felt when the scam first ended. This feels like progress.

I spend a lot of time each day walking my dog in our rural area. I listen to binaural beats when I go to bed to help alleviate anxiety, and I do breathing exercises to assist during the day. There were certain times of the day or night when the criminal and I chatted, and these techniques help me get through those moments.

After the scam, my emotional state collapsed into a level of misery I had never experienced before. It felt as though my world had been hollowed out from the inside. The betrayal I had suffered was not just financial; it had torn apart my sense of trust, my confidence in my own judgment, and even my belief in my ability to survive adversity. I was left standing alone, more isolated than at any other point in my life.

The isolation grew even heavier because of the lack of understanding from the people I had once believed would stand by me no matter what. Instead of finding comfort, I found blame. Instead of being offered a listening ear, I was met with harsh judgment. Those closest to me—family, friends, colleagues—looked at me differently. Some implied, directly or indirectly, that the scam was somehow my fault. Others simply withdrew, unsure of what to say or how to support me.

Their reactions made me deeply afraid of reaching out to anyone else. If the people who knew and loved me could not understand what had happened, how could strangers or acquaintances? I feared that everyone would judge me, that they would blame me, that they would see me as gullible or foolish. This fear locked me into a deeper loneliness, one that seemed impossible to escape.

On top of the emotional devastation was the brutal reality of financial collapse. I had been left broke by the scam. Every time I had to ask for temporary financial help, I felt a humiliation that cut deep into my dignity. It was not just the act of asking for help that hurt—it was the fear that I would not be able to meet my obligations. The debts weighed on me like an anchor around my neck, and every day brought with it a paralyzing fear that I would drown under the burden. I felt trapped between shame, helplessness, and the gnawing anxiety of financial ruin.

There were moments when the fear and the isolation felt so overwhelming that I could not imagine a way forward. I questioned whether I would ever recover—not just financially, but emotionally and mentally. I questioned whether my life could ever feel safe, stable, or meaningful again.

The turning point for me came when I found the SCARS support group. In the beginning, even reaching out felt risky. I was terrified of being judged yet again. But what I found there was something entirely different: compassion, understanding, and a deep, nonjudgmental support that met me exactly where I was.

Step by step, through the support and guidance I received, I began to overcome my fears and anxieties. The help I found within the SCARS support community gave me a place where I could breathe again. I could talk about what had happened without being blamed. I could admit my fears without being shamed. I could be understood without having to constantly explain myself. The support gave me back a sense of human connection that I thought I had lost forever.

Just as important was the access to a vast resource of knowledge about scams, trauma, and recovery. Understanding the psychological impact of scams helped me stop blaming myself. Learning about how manipulation works helped me realize that what happened was not because of any weakness in me. It was because someone else chose to exploit the best parts of who I am.

It has been nearly five months since the scam—the crime—came to an end, yet this week I’ve felt a profound and heavy sadness settling in. It’s not just grief over what happened emotionally, but also the financial reality I now face. I should be fully retired by this point in my life, resting after years of hard work, but instead I know I’ll be working for at least another four years. That truth carries a deep ache. There’s also sadness about what I gave—emotionally, spiritually, intimately—to people who never deserved it. I willingly offered a part of my inmost self, believing I was sharing it with someone real, someone who cared. But they didn’t care. To them, I was not a person—I was an ATM, a means to an end. That realization still cuts deeply.

What I’m feeling now is part of recovery. I understand that. The sadness, the anger, the betrayal—they’re phases I must walk through. I’m also angry that a human being could treat another human this way. It’s one of the many painful ways people hurt each other, and it’s impossible to make sense of it when you’ve been on the receiving end.

Still, I can feel something shifting. I know this moment of sadness will eventually lead into the next stage of healing. I’m nearly ready for that change. And I recognize I would not be here—at this point in my recovery—without support. The Survivor School from SCARS has played a crucial role. It’s helping me understand the psychology behind what happened and allowing me to reclaim the fragmented parts of who I am. My trauma therapist, and the strength and solidarity of my survivor sisters in the SCARS Alumni Support Group, have also been anchors. I am incredibly thankful. They’ve walked beside me through the darkness, helping me find the path forward.