There are some people whose presence in your life leaves a permanent mark — not because of their love or loyalty, but because of how deeply they invade your identity. For more than twenty years, one such person was part of my story. I call her the Identity Thief.
The name fits. She’s someone who makes a habit of mirroring others — absorbing their words, beliefs, ideas, and even experiences until she can present them as her own. When I first knew her, she seemed devoted, spiritually intense, and unshakably self-assured. But as the years passed, the façade cracked: empathy evaporated, truth bent around convenience, and manipulation replaced sincerity. Eventually, I went no contact. It’s been nearly four years now.
Recently, while scrolling through TikTok, I stumbled across her by accident … or maybe by fate. I saw her profile picture in a comment thread, and before my brain could catch up, my finger “liked” the comment. As soon as I realized whose comment it was, I unliked it — because even a tiny digital tap can reopen a door you’ve worked hard to close.
Of course, curiosity tugged at me. I clicked.
What I found wasn’t the person I once knew. It was a new, curated persona — softer, polished, peaceful — nothing like the “spiritual warrior” she performed back then. Now she and her husband host a podcast about marriage, faith, and healing. To a stranger, it looks uplifting. To anyone who’s lived behind that curtain… it’s unsettlingly theatrical.
And then I saw it: pieces of my life woven into her “testimonies.” My words. My experiences. My stories — retold with new details and a holy gloss. No names, of course, just stolen narratives repackaged as revelation. The same person who once invalidated my lived reality was now turning parts of it into content.
I didn’t see red — but I felt it. That quiet, pulsing rage.
The audacity of someone building a platform out of a life that wasn’t even theirs.
The Identity Thief still steals.
Only now she does it with a camera on.
Recognizing the Patterns
Even without direct contact, her behavior revealed the same narcissistic strategies that once dominated our relationship:
• Performative faith as image repair.
Testimonies framed around “healing” and “deliverance” function not as repentance, but as reputation-building.
• Mirroring the audience.
She once mirrored my worldview to maintain control. Now she mirrors whoever her audience is — shifting tone, language, and stories to fit what will attract the most admirers.
• Narrative theft.
Experiences that happened to me or conversations we had now appear, re-spun, as her wisdom-filled epiphanies.
• Couple-front projection.
Her husband amplifies the performance — presenting unity while masking the controlling dynamics beneath.
• Control through invasiveness.
This is the same person who stole my therapy slot and inserted herself into my therapeutic space — a boundary violation meant to isolate and dominate. Yet now, ironically, she and her husband preach that “people who go to therapy don’t truly trust God.”
• Selective truth.
They share the soft, sanitized details (how they met), but bury the shameful ones — deceit, manipulation, surveillance.
• Moral inversion.
Privately benefiting from therapy while publicly condemning it protects their narrative and invalidates critics.
None of this surprised me. But seeing it publicly broadcast brought a fresh sting.
Why It Hit So Hard
The emotional impact was real — and rational.
• Betrayal of truth:
Someone I trusted rewrote pieces of my life.
• Validation theft:
By stealing my stories and even my therapy space, she attempted to appropriate the very process of healing that I needed.
• Cognitive dissonance:
Watching someone preach transparency after causing private harm is dizzying.
• Boundary confirmation:
Her public behavior confirmed what I’ve known privately: going no contact was necessary and healthy.
Likely Motives & Outcomes
Her reinvention isn’t about growth — it’s strategy.
Short-term: grow an audience, gather new admirers, secure fresh narcissistic supply.
Medium-term: build a public brand and possibly monetize it through ministry or speaking circuits.
Long-term: maintain image control and avoid accountability.
People like her often attract followers who don’t know the truth — and that’s exactly how they prefer it.
Has She Actually Changed?
Real change shows up in:
- consistent private accountability
- direct amends to those harmed
- long-term behavioral transformation
What I saw was the opposite: Polished storytelling without repair. Reinvention without repentance. Image without introspection.
Reflection: What I finally understand
Encountering the Identity Thief’s curated persona reminded me of why I walked away.
Narcissists don’t evolve — they adapt. They shed skins like snakes (because they are snakes), shift narratives, and search for new audiences when the old ones stop feeding them.
But the most important realization is this:
I am no longer part of her world, and she no longer has access to mine.
She can mimic my language, recycle my experience, and reshape my stories — but she cannot reclaim my identity. She cannot rewrite my healing. And she cannot reach who I am now.
Four years later, I remain autonomous.
Grounded.
Whole.
She may keep performing, but I no longer play a role in her script.
And in reclaiming my story, I finally closed that chapter — for good.
My Voice Unchained 