I need to talk about something I've been wondering if I should bring up or not.
A few days ago, I almost decided to quit doing this podcast. I sat down to work on the next episode and I just... couldn't. Because I started wondering: does any of this matter? Is anyone even listening?
And then I started thinking about where I actually am. Not where I was before the scam—where I am NOW. Two years later. At 69 years old. And I realized: I haven't really told you what life after a romance scam actually looks like.
So this is that episode. This is the aftermath that nobody talks about.
It's been since early 2023 since the scam started. It began quietly and systematically—and ended in the absolute devastation of the financial life I had been building over the course of my working years.
I was within months of being completely debt free. My mortgage would be paid off. No car payments. Things were looking up.
That is, until the scam found me.
It affected everything in my life. First, my work.
I was working with a new company while being love bombed at the same time, alongside escalating manipulation on a day-by-day basis. This in no way, shape, or form helped me in my new role.
I always prided myself on my work—my attention to detail and ability to create friendships with my customers. But during the scam, I was managing, but not excelling.
Eventually my manager started being frustrated at my performance levels. And although
the scams are now over, the damage to my professional standing remains. I'm no longer viewed as an asset—just someone being tolerated.
Nobody talks about this cost. Everyone focuses on the money you lost. But what about your professional reputation? Your cognitive capacity while you're being manipulated? The career consequences that outlast the scam itself?
That damage is real. And it doesn't just disappear when the scammer does.
It also affected my other relationships.
I wanted to tell friends and family about this new relationship, but something held me back. Maybe it was instinct—some part of me knew something was off. Or maybe I was just waiting to make sure it was real before I got everyone's hopes up.
When I finally did tell my friends, their reactions ranged from supportive to... let's just say, sceptical.
Either way, his constant delays in returning kept me mostly silent. And that silence became isolation.
Months after the scam is when I started this podcast.
And honestly, I thought creating content and confronting the trauma might help me heal. Like a form of therapy.
And it has helped me a great deal. I would encourage everyone who has been through any similar scam to write it down, even if you're not going to share it. Somehow, at least for me, it helps me digest everything that happened.
For many survivors, telling the story is the only form of control we get back.
But like many survivors, especially when I'm exhausted, I question whether my voice matters at all—and whether speaking up makes any difference.
I'm not even sure my friends and family are still listening to my podcasts. And I get it—it's uncomfortable. Nobody wants to hear that someone they love lost everything, and there’s nothing they can do to help. And nobody wants to confront the fact that it could happen to them.
But that silence? I can’t do that. Staying silent is allowing the scammers to win.
But am I helping anybody? Is this still a worthwhile project? Does anyone care if I continue or not?
And it's not just the emotional toll. When I look at where I am financially, sometimes it can get so depressing and overwhelming.
At 69, the financial math after a scam looks very different than it would at 29 or even 49. There's no "start over." There's no "rebuild your career." There's no "you've got time."
I have maybe 15-20 working years left if I'm lucky and healthy. And every single one of those years will now go to paying for a house I almost owned outright.
As it currently stands, II no longer own my residence. I am an indentured servant to the bank with 27 years of payments to them before the new mortgage is paid off.
That means I'll be 96 when I get done paying for the place I almost owned outright.
And who's going to employ me for that long?
So either I sell it and pay rent the rest of my life and live only on Social Security, or maybe I'll win the lottery. But the former seems much more likely.
I am single, so there's no second income to rely on. Pretty much my whole life has been me supporting myself.
That's not a setback. That's a complete rewrite of the last chapter of my life.
I'm not sharing this to elicit sympathy—I'm sharing it because this is the reality facing older Americans who have been targeted by these crimes. And our lawmakers have a role to play here. They need to get on board to help stop these scams.
I'm assuming that this is a common scenario that plays out in the minds of most everyone who's been scammed.
It's not like my house burned down or flooded. There's no FEMA or government institution that's coming to my rescue. There's no scammer insurance.
The big tech companies—Meta, Facebook, Instagram—and LinkedIn, where I met my scammer. They're not offering restitution. They're not improving their fraud detection. They're making billions while scammers use their platforms as hunting grounds.
Some companies, in fact, encourage the lack of safety because it puts more money in their pockets.
The system isn't broken. It's working exactly as designed—for scammers, for Big Tech and for others like Bitcoin Depot who pile on while victims are being scammed.
What do I do? Where do I go for help?
And that question—unanswered—is where many survivors are stuck. Not because they made a single bad decision. But because once the money is gone, the system offers no path forward.
So that's why I'm still here. Making these episodes. Testifying to lawmakers. Speaking to AARP chapters. Investigating Bitcoin Depot and Brandon Mintz.
Because if there's no institutional help coming, then survivors have to build our own infrastructure. We have to warn each other. We have to demand policy change. We have to refuse to stay silent.
And some days that feels overwhelming. Some days I wonder if it matters.
But then I remember: the alternative is staying quiet. Allowing the scammers to win. Letting the companies that profit from them operate without scrutiny.
And I'm not willing to do that.
So if you're listening—if you've been scammed, or you're worried about someone you love, or you're a lawmaker who can actually DO something about this—I need you to know:
This isn't just my story. This is happening to thousands of people. Older Americans who did everything right, who saved and planned and worked hard, and who are now facing a retirement they never imagined—not because they were reckless, but because multiple systems failed to protect them.
We deserve better than silence. We deserve better than shame. And we deserve a system that actually helps us recover.
If you're out there, let me know. Because on the hard days, knowing I'm not alone is what keeps me going.
This is The Romance Scam Rebellion. Thanks for listening.
romancescamrebellion@gmail.com
