Short Victim’s Stories

Each day that passes, I grow more aware of the importance of accepting what I’ve been through. Recovery isn’t just about surviving a scam—it’s about recognizing the experience, learning from it, and actively educating myself so I never walk that same path again. I took a detour into a bizarre, disorienting wonderland—something that feels almost surreal in hindsight, yet is becoming far too common. The internet, once a space of connection and convenience, is now a tool for criminals to exploit us in deeply personal ways. They don’t just steal our money—they steal our trust, our sense of safety, and often, our very identities.

I’ve come to see things in myself that I didn’t want to look at before. Vulnerabilities I didn’t know I had. Patterns I hadn’t acknowledged. And though I know I’ll never be the same person I was before the scam, that realization is strangely empowering. The version of me who was deceived—she didn’t yet have the insight I have now. I know the new me could also be vulnerable, but I’m more guarded, more self-aware, and far more protective of my boundaries.

I meet weekly with my trauma therapist to examine the deeper emotional and psychological layers that played a role in my victimization. It isn’t easy. Looking directly at the parts of me that responded to the scammer’s emotional manipulation—the parts that felt seen, loved, or validated by the fraud—is painful. But it’s necessary. It’s in this uncomfortable work that real healing begins. I have to face these truths, no matter how difficult, so that I can move forward without carrying shame or denial. It’s not about blaming myself. It’s about understanding myself better.

And in doing that, I reclaim the possibility of living fully and vibrantly again—not in spite of what happened, but because I chose to face it.

When I “woke up” and fully realized I had been the victim of a scam—a crime—I was overwhelmed. The emotional shock and shame were immediate, and I kept everything to myself. I had initially blocked the criminal, trying to move forward and shut the door on that chapter. But at some point, I reopened that door, and that decision became a painful mistake. That’s when the next phase began: the grooming to become a money mule. It was subtle at first, wrapped in emotional manipulation, but looking back, it’s clear what they were trying to do.

I filed a police report when I came back to my senses, but in the meantime, life continued. I experienced a significant family event, and the scammers maintained their efforts over the next two months, while I waited to hear back from local law enforcement. By the end of November 2024, the manipulation turned even more aggressive. They started gaslighting me—trying to make me question my own sanity. I blocked them again. But then came the emails. The original scammer resurfaced and pulled me back in emotionally, just enough to convince me to reinstall Zangi.

That was the lowest point. The language turned filthy, the accusations brutal, the emotional manipulation relentless. They claimed I was breaking their heart. I confronted them about the money mule grooming. They denied it and responded with more abuse. That was the final straw. I blocked them, deleted everything, and stepped away for good.

All this time, I didn’t tell my husband. That silence was one of the hardest burdens I carried—being in contact with criminals and hiding it from the person who loves me most. And now, after learning the truth, he treats me with such kindness and support. It makes the guilt even harder. I know I hurt him by not telling him sooner, and yet he stands by me. That’s what makes this healing process both beautiful and heartbreaking.

It is true that each victim-survivor’s experience is unique, shaped by individual history, environment, and upbringing. No two journeys through trauma and healing look the same. For me, one clear aspect of my path has been the complete absence of any desire to revisit the faces—real or fake—of the scammers involved. The fabricated photos used in the scam feel like victims in their own right. Those images represent people whose identities were stolen, just as mine was. They are symbols of others caught in the machinery of deception, victims whose nightmares may never end because they don’t even know they’ve been used. As for the real scammers—those who have been arrested and exposed—their lives reflect something even darker: a nightmare of their own making, forged in systems that are violent, compromised, and often beyond reform. I don’t dwell on them. My focus is on growth, on evolving into the person I was meant to become despite what happened to me. Life’s cruelty and injustice will always raise philosophical questions, but I choose to root myself in compassion. May I be safe, healthy, and at peace. And may all beings, even those I’ll never understand, find love, kindness, and peace.

As scam victims, it’s important to understand that real harm was done to us—financially, emotionally, and psychologically. That harm is valid and should never be minimized. But in most cases, the criminal who deceived us did not weigh the consequences of their actions, nor did they choose us because of something personal. For many scammers, their motivations fall into categories such as greed, survival, or coercion. Some operate out of personal ambition, some are trapped in organized criminal operations, and others are even forced to commit fraud in captivity under threat of violence. Understanding this doesn’t excuse what happened, but it reframes it. It reminds us that we were caught in something larger—a system of exploitation where the scam wasn’t about us specifically. That distinction matters. It helps release the shame, self-blame, and confusion that often linger after victimization. Realizing that we were not uniquely “targeted” can be a turning point in the healing process. It allows us to stop personalizing the crime and start reclaiming our sense of agency. It also empowers us to be more vigilant going forward. By acknowledging that scammers come from diverse backgrounds and operate under different motives, we can stay more grounded and cautious in the online world.

I am acutely aware that stepping into my new life will cost me my old one. This truth sits heavily with me, but I accept it. Letting go of what was—beliefs, habits, relationships, even parts of my identity—is not easy. I embrace this process with care and as much grace as I can hold, knowing it is necessary for growth. The unknown feels intimidating. It’s uncomfortable and often overwhelming, yet I know it is the place where transformation begins. To become who I was meant to be, I must walk through this uncertainty. Lately, finding courage, practicing self-kindness, and building resilience has felt like an uphill battle. It comes slowly, unevenly, and sometimes not at all. Still, I continue to show up for myself each day, even when it’s hard. I try again and again, because I understand now that healing is not a straight path—it is a gradual unfolding. Some days are quieter than others, and progress can feel invisible. But I remind myself that time matters. That patience matters. And that every step I take, no matter how small or unsteady, brings me closer to becoming whole. This reminder helps me stay grounded. It keeps me moving.