The $13,000 Lesson I Didn’t See Coming

I never imagined I’d be the kind of person who got scammed. I’m a physician, after all—trained to think critically, evaluate evidence, and make life-or-death decisions in the emergency department. But business? That was unfamiliar territory. And it turned out to be the arena where I made one of the most painful mistakes of my life.

It started with a dream that, honestly, felt pretty simple: I wanted freedom.

Medicine is rewarding, but it’s also demanding. Long shifts, late nights, and the emotional toll of the ER don’t leave much space for family, hobbies, or rest. I wanted to create something on the side—a business that could grow quietly in the background, eventually giving me the flexibility to cut back my hours without cutting back on our lifestyle.

I also wanted it to be something I genuinely cared about.

That’s when denim came into the picture. I have always struggled to find jeans that actually fit my body. As someone with an athletic, weightlifting build, most jeans were either too tight in the thighs or gaping in the waist. I wasn’t alone in this frustration—so many women I knew had the same issue. That problem felt like an opportunity: what if I could design jeans for women like me?

So, I went all in.

I found a company that claimed to specialize in helping entrepreneurs launch clothing lines. Their pitch was polished, their testimonials convincing. They promised help with design, manufacturing, and marketing—basically, a one-stop shop for turning my idea into a real brand.

I wired them $13,000—money I had worked countless shifts to earn—and dove headfirst into planning my dream denim line.

At first, things seemed fine. I got emails, updates, and reassurances that everything was “moving forward.” But as weeks turned into months, the communication slowed. My questions went unanswered. My calls weren’t returned.

And then, right before Christmas two years ago, it hit me like a punch to the stomach.

I was sitting at my computer, staring at yet another vague, copy-paste email, and the realization sank in: I had been scammed.

The product I had dreamed about? Gone.
The money I had poured in? Gone.
The trust I had placed in them? Shattered.

I can still remember the sinking feeling in my chest, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I cried—harder than I had in a long time. Over the next couple of weeks, I kept crying. I struggled to get out of bed, and when I did, I moved through the day in a fog of depression and shame.

The money loss hurt, but what really broke me was the embarrassment. I had told people—friends at the gym, colleagues, family—that I was launching a denim line. I had been so excited, bubbling over with plans. And now? I couldn’t even look my girlfriends in the eye when they asked me about it. For weeks, I dodged their questions, or if I tried to answer, I’d break down in tears.

I felt stupid. Gullible. Exposed.

The Moment It All Fell Apart

For a while, I wanted to quit. Not just business—I wanted to quit dreaming. It felt safer to retreat into what I knew: clocking in at the hospital, clocking out, and not venturing outside the lines.

But here’s the thing: that desire for freedom, flexibility, and creative expression? It never really went away. Even through the tears, I knew I still wanted more than medicine alone.

So, little by little, I started asking different questions.

Instead of: What’s the next big thing I can throw money at?
I asked: What’s the smallest thing I can try today?

Instead of: Who can I pay to build this for me?
I asked: What can I create myself, with the skills and resources I already have?

That’s when I discovered the power of digital products. Things I could build in minutes, test in real time, and—if they failed—move on without losing thousands of dollars or months of energy.

It was a complete mindset shift: from chasing “big launches” and shiny promises to starting small, safe, and simple.

Picking Up the Pieces

Do I wish I still had that $13,000? Of course. But looking back, I don’t regret what happened anymore. That scam forced me to learn lessons I might never have learned otherwise:

• Don’t outsource your dreams before you even try to build them yourself.

• Be skeptical of anyone promising shortcuts.

• Start small. Prove the idea. Then scale.

Most importantly, it taught me that failure—even humiliating, public, expensive failure—doesn’t have to be the end.

Today, I’m building in a way that feels safer, smarter, and more aligned with who I am. That scam is no longer the thing that broke me. It’s the thing that redirected me.

And if you’re sitting in your own version of that story right now—whether it’s a scam, a failed launch, or just a dream that fell flat—I want you to know: this isn’t the end. Sometimes the thing that knocks you down is the same thing that clears the path to something better.

Why I Don’t Regret Getting Scammed

If I could go back and sit with that version of myself—the one crying in bed, ashamed to face her friends—I’d tell her a few things:

• You’re not stupid. You’re human.

• You can’t be scammed without first being brave enough to try. That courage will serve you again.

• This isn’t the end of your story. It’s the beginning of a better chapter.

And I’d remind her that the money lost wasn’t wasted—it was tuition. Painful tuition, yes, but tuition in the school of entrepreneurship. What I learned from that experience has shaped everything I do now.

What I’d Tell Myself Back Then

That brings me to something I’m both nervous and excited to share. Out of this experience, I’ve been building a simple resource I call the 15-Minute Scam Shield.

It’s not a business course or a giant program. It’s just a short, practical tool designed to help people spot red flags before they hand over their hard-earned money to someone online. It’s the kind of checklist I wish I’d had sitting in front of me before I wired away $13,000.

Creating this has been deeply personal for me—it’s how I’ve turned my own embarrassment and regret into something protective and empowering. It feels like reclaiming the narrative: instead of letting the scam define me, I get to define what comes out of it.

I’m not sharing this because I want to sell you something. I’m sharing it because I finally feel like I’ve alchemized one of the hardest chapters of my life into something that might help someone else avoid the same pain. And for me, that feels like a full-circle moment.

Turning It Into Something New

Failure, shame, loss—they don’t get the final word. We do.

And sometimes, the very thing that breaks you is what makes you strong enough to build something better.