They want their past erased forever.
Not hidden. Not blurred. Not buried under time.
Gone — permanently.
That is the plea now echoing across the internet from Riley Reid and Lana Rhoades, two of the most recognizable names to ever emerge from the adult industry.
Once symbols of fame, money, and online obsession, both women are now mothers trying to build quiet, private lives far away from the spotlight that once defined them. And for the first time, they’re speaking openly about the same fear — not critics, not judgment, not cancel culture — but their children.
“What if my child finds this one day?”
For Riley Reid, regret is no longer abstract. In interviews and public statements, she has described how becoming a mother forced her to confront a reality she once pushed aside. The internet never forgets. Search results don’t age. Algorithms don’t forgive.
She has said her greatest fear isn’t what strangers think — it’s the moment her child might one day type her name into a search bar.
Lana Rhoades has echoed the same concern. After leaving the adult industry years ago, she attempted to reinvent herself: podcasting, business ventures, motherhood. But no matter how much her life changed, the past followed her — preserved in high definition, endlessly redistributed, immune to time.
Growth vs. permanence
Their request has reignited a fierce debate online.
Some argue that once content is released publicly, especially for profit, it belongs to the internet forever. Others push back, asking a deeper question: Should people be denied the right to outgrow who they once were?
In a digital age, mistakes don’t fade. Youthful decisions aren’t forgotten. Reinvention becomes nearly impossible when your past can be replayed instantly by anyone, anywhere.
And this is where the conversation shifts from celebrity gossip to something much bigger.
Is the internet too permanent?
Riley Reid and Lana Rhoades are not asking for sympathy — they’re asking for control. Control over a chapter of their lives they say no longer represents who they are, or who they want their children to know them as.
Critics call it unrealistic. Supporters call it human.
Because if growth is real, shouldn’t change be allowed? If motherhood transforms priorities, shouldn’t dignity be part of that transformation?