A former liar reflects on the fallout of deception and why Amanda Riley’s Scamanda story crosses the line.
When I was a kid, my life was pretty ordinary. I wasn’t the star athlete or the kid with the tragic backstory that made adults stop and take notice. Meanwhile, other kids—who, in hindsight, were going through some genuinely heavy stuff—were getting the attention and sympathy I craved. So, I started lying. Nothing too extreme, like pretending I had cancer or anything, but definitely some wild, over-the-top stories. I made up experiences, hardships, and anything that could make me seem more interesting or unique. And it worked… for a while.
Then I hit my teen years, and my peers got smarter. They started connecting dots and realized that my stories didn’t always add up. On top of that, by my junior year of high school, I faced actual trauma, and my view of what made a dramatic life changed drastically. I no longer wanted to stand out that way—real hardship was terrifying. And to top it off, the lies came crashing down around me. The fallout was brutal. I went from being someone who stood out to being the kid whose stories were a joke. People I cared about were hurt, and not everyone accepted my apologies.
The aftermath
After that, I swore off lying—like, entirely. Even harmless white lies make me nervous now because I can’t shake the fear that they’ll unravel like the bigger lies did. Owning up to my past lies was excruciating, especially when I had to admit to people I cared about that I’d hurt them, even if that wasn’t my intention. It took years to rebuild trust, and I lost friendships I’ll never get back. But I did get through it, and although I wish I hadn’t lied in the first place, I came out of it a better person—not because of the lies, but because of the work it took to make amends and rebuild my character.
Why does this matter?
Why share this? Because when I hear about people who’ve lied about their lives—especially the ones who fabricate dramatic stories for attention—I tend to be a little more forgiving than most. I get it. I remember that desperate need for attention, that feeling of being ordinary and insignificant. And I remember the rush of feeling special, even if it was built on lies. So, when the podcast Scamanda first hit my radar, and the show followed, I tried to find that same compassion for Amanda Riley. But I just… couldn’t.
More than just a lie
Here’s why: Amanda wasn’t some kid with a developing brain trying to navigate social dynamics. She was an adult. And she didn’t just tell a few exaggerated stories to feel special; she constructed an elaborate lie about having cancer. She didn’t slip up once or twice—she meticulously crafted lies, doubling down at every turn. Her entire life became about maintaining that deception, which meant everything else—her friendships, her relationships, even her daily interactions—were built on falsehoods. And then, there’s the money. People opened their hearts and wallets, giving more than they could afford because they believed they were helping someone in desperate need. Amanda took every penny, and not a single dollar went toward cancer treatments—because, of course, she never had cancer.
Even then, I might’ve found some shred of compassion if she’d eventually come clean, learned her lesson, and tried to make things right. But she didn’t. After getting caught once, she did it again. And when she got caught the second time, she moved to a new town and did it a third time. And that third time? She actually diverted donations from a colleague who was genuinely dying of cancer because people split their generosity between the two women. That’s not just lying—that’s cruel.
Lessons not learned
I want to believe Amanda learned the lesson I did all those years ago: once you’re caught, the only way forward is to own up to the truth. But based on what’s come out since the podcast and show, it doesn’t look like she’s ready to do that. She’s still telling people she was wrongfully convicted and insisting that the money went toward cancer treatments. It’s hard to find compassion for someone who won’t admit to their wrongdoing, especially when real people are left in the wake of her lies.
If you haven’t watched the show or listened to the podcast, I highly recommend Scamanda. It’s a wild story—one that leaves you questioning how far some people will go for attention and sympathy. Just don’t expect to find a redemption arc for Amanda Riley… at least not yet.
