Phone Scam: How to Recover Emotionally
A story of fear, healing, and reclaiming power.
I still feel a flicker of embarrassment when I admit I fell for a scam in the early days of COVID. But over time, I’ve come to see that moment not as a sign of weakness, but as a deeply human response in an overwhelming time.
I’m sharing the story here not to relive it—but because the healing that followed gave me hard-won insight. Maybe it’ll help you, or someone you love, recognize the signs sooner or feel less alone if it ever happens.
The Setup
It was early 2020. The world was shutting down. I was navigating a divorce, solo parenting, doing a cleanse, and juggling work as a therapist—all while trying to keep my business alive in a landscape that changed daily.
I wouldn’t have normally answered a call from an unknown number, but I was expecting a call about a grant I desperately needed to help my fledgling business stay afloat. So, I picked up.
On the other end: someone claiming to be with the police department. They said I’d failed to appear in court and there was now a warrant for my arrest. The person spoke calmly, professionally. When I asked questions, they had convincing answers. The phone number matched the real local station. The names they gave me were actual officers on file.
And when I pushed for more information, they told me—firmly but politely—that they couldn’t share more due to confidentiality laws. I looked up the statute they cited. It was real.
That’s when my nervous system started to spiral.
Hooked
They told me the likely explanation was identity theft—a forged signature, perhaps—and that I could come to the station to verify it. But because of COVID closures, the clerk’s office wasn’t open. I’d have to pay a fine first before sorting it out. They reassured me it was fully refundable.
The method of payment didn’t come up until later. By then, I was hooked—emotionally and mentally depleted. They kept saying things like, “Never pay with a credit card—that’s how people get scammed.” And because every process was strange during COVID, their explanation didn’t seem that odd.
My biggest fear? That if I didn’t cooperate, the police would come to my house. My daughter would watch me be taken away in a cop car and have to sit in a station, exposed to COVID, while they figured it out. The “officer” on the line even spoke to her on speakerphone—calm, warm, reassuring. I texted my ex to come get her. Thankfully, he did.
Once my daughter was safe, “Dave the cop” started bonding with me over being a single parent. It wasn’t just manipulation—it was relationship-building. He was disarming and persistent.
When he eventually told me how to pay, I asked him to walk me through one step at a time. I couldn’t process more than that. I was so dysregulated, I just wanted it to be over. So, I followed instructions: buying Visa-type cash cards from multiple stores, sealing them in manila envelopes, dropping them into various post office boxes, and calling back to report the verification codes.
I was on the phone for hours. Driving. Crying. Obeying. When I slowed down, a harsher “supervisor” voice came on to pressure me. Then Dave would return to soothe me. It was classic good cop/bad cop. And it worked.
The Crash
After five frantic hours, they thanked me for my cooperation and ended the call. I exhaled. Called my ex. Told him everything was handled.
He paused and said, gently: “I hope I’m wrong, but just call the police. I think you’ve been scammed.”
The officer who came to my house? He sounded *exactly* like the scammers. Same tone, same jokey demeanor, same repetitive phrasing. I was shaken all over again.
I retraced my steps—literally—using my phone’s location history to visit every post office from the night before. I spoke to clerks. Some envelopes hadn’t been processed yet. A few cards were still inactive, and I was able to cancel them.
But others had already been deposited. When I called one of the card companies, they said, “That’s odd—everything’s going into one account. But we can’t tell you whose.” The police didn’t pursue it further. Most companies didn’t help. Some put me on hold endlessly. Others simply wouldn’t engage.
It was a gut punch to realize that these businesses profit from scams and don’t have much incentive to intervene.
And then, as if to twist the knife, I got a voicemail the next day. A man—same type of voice—offering to buy my property in cash. The day after that, another message. Angry now. Accusing me of crushing his dreams by not responding. They knew I needed money. They weren’t finished trying.
That’s the story. But this part—the aftermath—is the most important piece.
What I learned
It can happen to anyone. The shame is what keeps people silent. But smart, savvy people get scammed all the time. A tech-genius friend of mine had his identity hijacked. A therapist I know was catfished for months. And she admitted to judging me at first—until it happened to her. Scammers tailor their tactics to your identity, your profession, your needs, your stress. And with AI and voice cloning, it’s only getting harder to tell what’s real.
Urgency is a red flag
If someone insists I act fast, they’re protecting their interests, not mine. On a smaller level, even my kids do this when they are only thinking of wanting sugar, not me dealing with the sugar aftermath. Very few things are truly urgent. If someone resists me slowing down, that’s a cue to pause, not rush.
I don’t have to do hard things alone
I struggle with asking for help. But now I know: even when I can handle something alone, it doesn’t mean I should. Especially not when emotions are running high. Anyone against me talking to a friend in hard times is also a schmuck.
Fear scrambles my thinking
When I’m afraid, my chest flutters, my arms want to shake, and I get an urge to move fast—just to get it over with. Recognizing that pattern helps me catch it sooner. I understand how people do horrible things if they are terrified and semi-brain washed.
I am my own authority
No external force, not even the police, can override my inner wisdom. My world is my own queendom; I try to use my own power responsibly. That day cracked open the “good girl” in me—the one who wants to please, follow rules, stay safe. That version doesn’t serve me anymore.
The universe still conspires for me
I wished for the money back. I didn’t know how or when—but I shared that wish with others anyway. And in small, surprising ways, it came back to me. Vulnerability opened that door. I spoke up. And people showed up.
*****
I think it’s important for everyone to know that scams are evolving, but we are evolving too. I’d like to help clients who have experienced this get through the shame. Most of all, I want to get the healing lessons out there. Thankfully, more people are talking and writing about scams (such as https://www.thecut.com/article/amazon-scam-call-ftc-arrest-warrants.html)
If you’ve experienced this—or something like it—you’re not alone. We also need to talk about the deeper emotional tools: slowing down, listening to our bodies, and reaching out when fear tries to isolate us.
I don’t live by these lessons every day. But I return to them, again and again. That’s what healing looks like—not a finish line, but a rhythm.
BPS therapist Roslynn Regnery, LPC, authored this page. Roslynn works with children ages 0-10 and adults ages 20-60. She also works with parents around communication skills.
