Why did my brain abandon me in the face of a scam?

I was very nearly scammed in a big way. And some thoughts on ego, success, failure.

This is embarrassing. Of course it is. But I have done many embarrassing things in my life and honestly this doesn’t even rank in the top 10.

But something else that matters to me, in addition to embarrassing myself on a regular basis, is making meaning out of the bullshit of my life, even if I created it myself. Particularly if I created it. Because I want to learn something. I want a way to claim it wasn’t wasted time. Invariably it shows human frailty, ego, vulnerability, and I guess I believe I must face these things, highlight them, even, if I want to get better at living a life not led by them. Or kneecapped constantly by things I can’t see.

You can’t change what you don’t face, right? Didn’t Baldwin say that? Something along those lines.

Anyway, I was almost scammed yesterday, and I’m horrified and fascinated by the way my brain worked (or didn’t work) through the process. I received an email asking me to be on a popular podcast, but not too popular. It wasn’t an invitation to NPR’s “Fresh Air” if you feel me. The person claimed to be the assistant of the podcast host.

My first thought was “scam.” I looked at the email address. It appeared legit, a .com address with the podcast name in it. Not Gmail or other usual scam address. There were no typos. It almost perfectly mirrored interview requests I have received in the past. I did notice two things: They said “Dear Renegade Mothering” instead of “Janelle Hanchett.” (Renegade Mothering is my old blog.) I also noticed that the description of interview topics seemed a bit vague, but it was not out of the realm of possible. It just whispered to me as not what I would expect.

I checked out the podcast. It was real. I listened to a few episodes. It was two women, both mothers, around my age, one of whom was in recovery from addiction. There it seemed understandable and I saw the connection.

No. I invented the connection.

I emailed back. They responded normally, asking when I could do it. I gave some dates. They responded in a way that again struck me as odd. But again, not totally beyond the pale. They were offering money. That was weird. It should have been more weird, a neon “THIS IS A SCAM” sign, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

I’ve never been on a podcast that offered money, and I’ve been on some pretty large ones. But also, my last big podcast interview was 2019. Maybe times have changed. In that email they also strangely repeated information they had already given. I thought perhaps it was another person with access to the address, maybe the host herself.

And then they said they wanted to get on a Zoom call, today, because they were busy next week and wanted to “go over the tech.” This has actually happened with interviews I’ve been on. I have met online with assistants to discuss how it will work, tech, etc. But the timing struck me as odd. Why so soon?

On the Zoom call, I knew within seconds something was wrong. His webcam was off. He had said his name was “Carlos” yet he had an Indian accent. I asked him to turn on his camera. He refused with some nonsense excuse. Now my senses were very alert.

And then he started talking about how it would be a Facebook live interview (which I had already checked this podcast in fact did), and said I needed to get into my Facebook account to change some settings for it to work. And, there it is. I knew immediately.

“Nah, this is a scam, bye,” I said. And left the meeting.

I was left unharmed. I did not ultimately fall for it. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. I changed all my passwords, double checked my two-factor authentication on all my Meta accounts, considered hiring a private detective to lockdown all my shit and possibly check on my mother in California. Just kidding. Sort of.

It’s all fine. Trust me, all my shit would be stolen by now had they been able to get into it. I would be locked out of my Facebook page with 50k followers, and maybe my Instagram. My account would be flooded with spam. And there would be a near zero chance I’d get it back as Meta is notoriously useless in hacking situations. It’s happened to many of my friends.

I am lucky. But what struck me most profoundly about this whole thing was that I had numerous and repeated moments (as in, many different moments that repeated in my brain) of “this is off, something is wrong.” If the third email had come first, I would have known it was a scam. And yet, every time I saw something that felt off, I blew it off. I created a quick and easy justification for it. It was as if because I had already done my research, decided it was legit, and felt excited about it, I was unable to see what was so obviously in front of me.

This is fucking terrifying. I am a natural skeptic. I pretty much hate everyone and distrust everyone until further notice. (Thanks for that one, Dad.) I’ve been writing online for 15 years and have always spotted scams immediately.

But these guys hit me where it hurts: my ego, my desire to be seen as I rekindle my writing career after a multi-year hiatus.

I mused on the way an entire portion of my brain, namely the critically thinking part, the part I needed, ran for the hills over and over again until faced with the obvious scam of a trash human asking me to get into the backend of my Facebook account.

I’ve since read on Reddit and in blog posts about many people who have fallen for this exact, relatively common scam, creators who have been online for a very long time, and I can see how they fell for it. If this guy had been better at his “job,” if I had a more “glass half full” perception, or if I had been more desperate, I can see myself clicking on my Facebook settings page, which is all I had to do, for all they need is a URL of a particular page, and before you know it, they’ve demoted you from your page, given themselves full control, and that’s that. The page you built is spam videos and AI garbage. Something like Donald Trump’s Instagram feed, I imagine.

I asked Chat GPT about the psychological process I described above. I asked why I was unable to see signs that would normally IMMEDIATELY signal “scam” and if I was correct that it had something to do with how I had already decided it was legit. I felt that intuitively but wasn’t sure. Here’s how it responded. I’m including it in full because I think it’s interesting, and possibly relevant and helpful to you all, and rather concise, actually:

“Janelle, what you just described is a textbook case of how intelligent, thoughtful people get pulled into scams — not because they’re gullible, but because of very normal, very human cognitive patterns. What happened to you taps into a few powerful psychological principles:

1. Commitment & Consistency (Cialdini Principle)

Once you said yes to the initial offer — accepted it as real, maybe replied to the email or even did some light background checking — your brain started working to stay consistent with that commitment.
This isn't stupidity; it's actually efficiency. Our minds are wired to avoid constantly re-evaluating everything. Once we make a decision (“This is legit”), we tend to filter all new information through that lens, discarding anything that contradicts it as irrelevant or unimportant.

“I already decided this was real, so these weird feelings must be something else.”

---

2. Sunk Cost Fallacy

You'd already invested time — reading the email, maybe researching the podcast, imagining the opportunity. This emotional and cognitive investment created a subtle pressure to continue, even when things felt off.

“I’ve come this far — might as well see it through.”

---

3. Authority & Flattery

Scammers often mimic authority and prestige. The fact that it was a “popular podcast” (with real-sounding names, branding, and money attached) triggered a desire to say yes to opportunity — especially for someone like you who actually should be invited on podcasts.
And if the tone was respectful and admiring? That activates our tendency to comply with people who “see our worth.”

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4. Cognitive Dissonance Avoidance

You began to feel uneasy, but admitting that out loud — “Maybe this is a scam” — would mean accepting that your earlier judgment was wrong. That’s uncomfortable. To reduce this dissonance, we rationalize:

“It’s probably fine, they’re just disorganized or busy.”

The brain twists reality to preserve a sense of coherence and accuracy.

---

5. The Fraud Triangle (Pressure, Opportunity, Rationalization)

You weren’t under financial pressure, but there was likely some social or emotional pressure — the lure of exposure, validation, and being recognized for your work. That’s real. Scammers exploit that pressure to open the door for manipulation — and once you start to rationalize, you’re inside the fraud triangle.

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6. The “Gut Check” vs. Narrative Brain

You felt it. You even knew, on some level, that something was off. But your rational brain — your story-creating brain — stepped in to soothe that unease with plausible justifications.

This conflict between intuition and narrative reasoning is central to how scams get under our skin. That feeling you ignored? It was your limbic system ringing the damn bell. You just couldn't hear it over the polite, professional-sounding narrative your cortex was spinning.”

**

That last paragraph really, really hits. This conflict between intuition and narrative reasoning is central to how scams get under our skin. That feeling you ignored? It was your limbic system ringing the damn bell. You just couldn't hear it over the polite, professional-sounding narrative your cortex was spinning.

So I guess my prefrontal cortex didn’t abandon me at all. It did just what it was supposed to. I just wasn’t supposed to be listening to it. Well isn’t that some bullshit.

But a “conflict between intuition and narrative reasoning” was exactly how it felt. If I could visualize it, it was as if there was a swirling feather that kept brushing against me from some faraway place, telling me (if feathers could talk): “Nope, this is not right.” And I felt it every time, but a louder, more aggressive, much more confident part of me kept batting it away immediately. I had a justification for EVERYthing that seemed off. It was effortless! I wasn’t working to convince myself; it was immediate, easy. It felt correct and sane. No fight whatsoever.

And yet looking back it any one of those signs would have been an immediate red flag had I not been in some cognitive quicksand.

How utterly fucking terrifying. The vulnerability of it all! I understand much better now how smart people fall for scams, how even skeptics and people normally good at such things fail to recognize a threat. My brain even pulled from past experiences I’ve had with crazy busy podcast/tv types as “evidence.” These successful creator types often want shit quickly. They’re often disorganized, a bit frantic.

My brain decided it was legit, wanted it, and created for me a reality to give me what I wanted: That it was real, and I was correct in my assessment.

Made me wonder how this process plays out in other areas of my life. What else have I decided is “legit” and my brain is now rewriting reality to confirm that for me? What else am I reinterpreting to serve the ego rather than the deeper, knowing self? Where am I preserving comfort over accepting reality?

How do I stay grounded in intuition, in the part of me that knew, in the part of me that whispered, again and again, like an old friend who won’t give up, “I can protect you, Janelle, if you’d just listen for a moment.”

I feel violated, stupid, ashamed, and humiliated. I had told a friend about it, and Mac. I thought “Wow, maybe my career is back on track.” It ignited in me a very old personality that used to get a bit of attention from pretty high-powered people — agents in New York City, a manager in Beverly Hills, a Big 5 publisher.

The fact is I don’t know that woman anymore. I am not “above it,” not “better than that.” But I learned through the process of my once rapidly accelerating career that I am unable to be the writer they need me to be. I will not survive in that world. I don’t think I want to. I can’t produce on their schedule. I can’t write the books they want. I am not their girl.

I spent years hating myself for “ruining my career.” What kind of asshole is signed by the people I was/am and lets it go?

Who gets an opportunity like that then simply does not produce?

Yes, I wrote the book I was originally signed to write. It’s everything that came after that screams Career in Trash Because You Suck.

Sure, I had a spinal injury and surgery that left me with a new body, limited mobility, and chronic pain. Yes, I moved countries then went through covid in that new country. And there was the tiny situation of my full-blown mental collapse, but as a good American pressing always forward, one still asks: HOW DID YOU FAIL SO MISERABLY.

Life gave you a chance, Janelle, and you blew it.

But after getting through those years, undoubtedly the hardest of my life (I swear they made getting sober look easy), spending some quality time in an inpatient looney bin, facing a few things that definitely should have been faced decades ago, and receiving some excellent, weekly mental healthcare for years in a country that offers such a thing, I realized what I wrote to you above.

That I’m not that writer. I’m not that artist. I’ll publish my next book with an indie. I can only be who I am. And what I am is a woman who started writing when she was 10 years old because she was handed a journal as a gift at her Mormon baptism. An alcoholic who barely survived to age 30 and lost her children for a while. A mother who started writing publicly on the couch one late night in February 2011 with three kids and something to say. A blogger who was discovered old-school style by a manager in Beverly Hills, and signed by a powerful agent who got her an insane first book deal with one of the biggest publishers in the world.

I’m a person who felt my whole life would change with that book. I was put on a 7-city book tour. It all hailed “success.”

I’m a writer whose book “failed.” Who didn’t sell enough copies, who watched the sales numbers fall and fall until everyone gave up and I didn’t hear from the publisher anymore. I could feel their pity all the way in California. No, not pity. That requires some level of engagement. Dismissal.

And yet, my manager and I were working on a project after the book. He seemed to think I could do more, didn’t give up on me. But I could not.

I could not, it turns out, do more.

I think I’m a person who had to “lose it all” to find her way back to herself, to figure out who the fuck she is as a person on this earth, as a writer, a person. I had to get quiet for years. I had to sink all the way into failure, in every area of my life and I mean that. Someday I’ll write about it. I needed a classic dark night of the soul. I had to get a really big ego and watch it crumble at my feet. I had to disappoint everyone. I had to become just another person who almost made it.

Then a scammer jumps into my inbox a few years later and says, “Maybe you can win again.” Maybe there’s still a chance for you. A feeling I had when I got the email from my manager back in 2015. No way this is real. Only that time, it was.

What a funny world we’re in. I started laughing out loud for some reason as I wrote that last paragraph. It’s all rather hilarious, if you think about it, how pathetic we are. How easily we inflate with a few kind words, some sweet accolades and strokes of attention. I was ready. The scammer came.

I felt vague relief when I realized none of it was real.

Now, I think about the past 24 hours and I’m glad to be reminded that I have not overcome a goddamn thing or entered some plane of heightened consciousness. All that fucking personal journeying and there is still a part of me that’ll jump into bed with any asshole promising a bit of attention. I’ll walk around the house with a pep in my step. God I hate rhyming sentences.

Maybe personal journeys are the scam. I JEST.

Yet I clearly have a part of me that refuses to stop whispering the truth of a situation, the crack in the game. It ain’t set up right, dummy. It wants something else, sees through it all. Isn’t that a gift! How lucky we are to have a part of us in the backseat, folding her arms and shaking her head, like a wise grandma who doesn’t even have to try to see what she sees.

I like to think every one of these moments, these humiliations, failures, bring me closer to a reliance on the nudges so easily ignored, the deeper self asking me to see clearly, even if I don’t want to, even if it’s less fun, even if it says, “Janelle, this ain’t it.”

Over and over again, we’re grounded, reconnected, recalibrated. Back to truth, even if it’s tiny, and unimpressive. In the darkest part of those years, when I could hardly leave my house, when the days of thick gray had choked my breath and pulled the last drop out of me, I wrote in my journal I look inside and find nothing. For the first time in my life, I would go inward and find no voice, no thought, no guide, no opinion, no knowing.

I found empty space. The same gray. It was the loneliest, most desperate I had ever been. If there was ever a self, let alone some god, some meaning, there was none now.

I think that’s why the only solace I found was in reading St. John of the Cross’s Dark Night of the Soul. Thank god for those old Spanish mystics. He gave it a name. But more importantly, he offered some hope that there might be a reason for it. Maybe some of us need to be destroyed to grow spiritually, to grow at all. Maybe we find a truer guide after everything we once relied on is gone.

I held on to him for dear life, read every word he wrote.

Now I look inside and find a voice telling me what’s true. It was there the whole time. That scammer knocking on my door, pedaling his toys. I opened it this time. Maybe I’ll get better at listening, faster, to the tiniest of voices telling me there’s some hope somewhere. It’s just a dark night, kid. And this guy, this guy is full of shit.

superfluous cat photo perfectly embodying, however, the “everything is bullshit and I do not trust you” energy