Forged or Forged? Sis, Let’s Talk About the Fake Us
A woman in leggings, gym shoes, and a white t-shirt forging a glowing chain link on a fiery anvil, symbolizing breaking cycles and reclaiming strength.
A few therapy sessions ago, my therapist and I were talking about blame and responsibility. Somehow, the conversation drifted to something I hadn’t spoken about in years—being touched inappropriately as a child.
I remembered what one of the adults in my life told me afterward:
“If you had obeyed and not gone downstairs when you were told not to, that wouldn’t have happened to you.”
I was four.
Four.
Sis, I could barely tie my shoes, and somehow I was supposed to tie down an entire grown man’s choices? I’m side-eyeing everyone right now. But anyhoo, I digress.
That moment didn’t just sting. It carved something into me. Not just shame. Not just silence. But confusion—about who was supposed to protect me, and what I was supposed to be responsible for.
Even though my parents tried to build me up and instill confidence, the world was doing its own work on me, too. In some places, it got to me first—before love or safety ever could.
That day in therapy was the first time I saw it clearly: pieces of me had been forged without my consent—and not all in ways that made me stronger. Let’s be clear: not every scar is a badge. Some scars are meant to be indicators of straight-up theft. They are meant to signal to us that something ain’t right. ”Once I saw it, I started noticing other moments where my identity had been rewritten without my say-so.
That’s when the word forge found me. And I couldn’t let it go.
Two chain links side by side in a forge. One glows brightly, reforged in fire, symbolizing strength. The other is bent, cracked, and dull, symbolizing falsification and fragility.
Forged by Fire or Falsified? What It Really Means
I like words. Especially words with dual meanings—words that hold contradictions, words that make you pause, question, and choose.
Forge means two things:
🔥 To be forged by fire—refined, strengthened, purified.
🛑 To be forged as in falsified—altered, manipulated, stripped of truth.
Same word. Same spelling. Two completely different outcomes. One will crown you. The other will clown you. Tuh.
And the more I thought about it, the more it hit me: This isn’t just a wordplay issue. This is a life issue.
Because what happens when you think you’re being strengthened—but you’re actually being rewritten?
💭 Reflection Prompt: Think about the moments in your life that shaped you. Which ones made you stronger? Which ones reshaped you in ways that made you smaller?
Reader Reflection: If you’re honest, do you know which version of yourself is steering your life right now—the refined one or the falsified one? Or are you carrying both without realizing it?
Comic book style illustration of a triumphant Black woman tearing a contract labeled “Script” in half and raising the pieces above her head. Torn pages float around her like confetti, while a fiery orange glow radiates behind her, symbolizing liberation and rewriting her own story.
A Personal Story: How My Identity Was Rewritten
I was talking to a friend about my relationship with men, and he said something that stuck with me like gum on the bottom of my shoe:
“A lot of Black women don’t trust Black men. They don’t trust that they’ll take care of them, catch them if they fall, protect or provide for them.”
He wasn’t wrong. But what shook me was why it felt so deeply true for me—not just in my head, but in my body, like it was written into my blueprint.
I grew up in the crack era, surrounded by men struggling with addiction. Stability, protection, safety? Those weren’t things I learned to expect from them.
So I learned to depend on women. Women who carried everything. Women who shielded the men around them from the weight of the world while holding the world up themselves.
Without realizing it, I was handed a script about men—one that shaped how I saw them, how I loved them, and what I believed they were capable of:
Men were fragile.
Men were unreliable.
If you asked too much of them, you’d break them.
So I protected them. From police. From stress. From feeling like they’d failed. I was the peace. I was the one who held them down.
But I did not challenge them. Because the world was already breaking them—why would I be another thing that did?
Somewhere in there, the shift happened. I went from expecting care… to carrying everybody and their mama.
That wasn’t me. That was the damn script.
My thoughts, values, and beliefs had been rewritten—and I didn’t even know it. I had become a walking forgery of myself.
💭 Reflection Prompt: Who handed you the “script” you live by in relationships, work, or family? Did you choose it—or did it choose you?
Reader Reflection: Consider this—if you inherited this script without questioning it, what would happen if you rewrote it on your own terms?
A woman in a white button-up shirt, red pencil skirt, black wedge heels, messy bun, and glasses standing beside a towering podium on a stage. Behind her, a giant glowing silhouette radiates in fiery orange tones, symbolizing her authentic power despite appearing shrunken.
What This Blog Is Arguing
Many of us are carrying two versions of ourselves—one refined by experience, and one falsified by trauma, conditioning, and inherited scripts.
These “rewritten” parts often happen without our consent or awareness.
Liberation comes from recognizing where we’ve been forged in ways that serve us, and where we’ve been forged in ways that diminish us—and then intentionally burning away the false version.
In other words:
I’m urging you to examine the contradictions within yourself, identify the parts that aren’t truly yours, and commit to living from the most authentic version possible.
Signs You’re Living a Falsified Version of Yourself
Some parts of us have been refined—made stronger, bolder, sharper.
Other parts have been falsified—made smaller, more diluted, distorted.
✔ Resilient—but exhausted.
✔ Confident—but still seeking permission.
✔ Leading—but shrinking in certain spaces.
✔ Powerful—but in ways shaped for others’ benefit, not our own.
Sound familiar? That’s not strength, Sis. That’s survival in a stiff wig—not a good look, Boo.
It happens when we’re taught to:
🚨 Be strong—but only in ways that don’t make others uncomfortable.
🚨 Succeed—but not so much that others feel left behind.
🚨 Lead—but only in ways that are palatable.
And so, we become people who are both genuine and compromised. More powerful and more weakened. Strong—but not fully free.
💭 Reflection Prompt: Which of these contradictions feels most true for you right now? What would it take to remove the parts that aren’t yours?
Reader Reflection: Which “strengths” in your life are actually survival strategies that no longer serve you?
A woman stands inside a glowing barrier made of floating books, journals, candles, and plants, radiating fiery orange tones that symbolize empowerment and protection.
5 Steps to Reclaim Your True Identity
Name It – Identify the beliefs, habits, or “truths” that were stamped onto you without your consent.
Trace It – Ask: Where did this come from? Who benefits from me carrying it?
Challenge It – Experiment with actions that go against the falsified script.
Replace It – Choose new truths and reinforce them daily through words, actions, and environment.
Protect It – Surround yourself with people and practices that honor your authentic self. And let’s be honest—if they can’t clap for the real you, they don’t get a front-row seat.
💭 Reflection Prompt: If you burned away one false belief today, which one would it be?
Reader Reflection: Imagine living one year from now without that false belief. How would you speak differently? Show up differently? Love differently?
Why This Matters Now
We’re in the thick of the Without Apology Tour—a movement about living full out, no shrinking, no shame, no watering yourself down for anyone’s comfort. This is our season of unapologetic living—shaking off shame, breaking up with the lies we were handed, and pulling back the parts of us that got buried under somebody else’s version of who we should be.
But this isn’t just about us. Every time we move through life as forgeries of ourselves, the people who need the real us never get to meet us. The longer we wait to burn that false version, the more it becomes who we default to. And the harder it gets to remember the woman we were before it got stamped on us.
A hand with red-painted nails releasing ash into the wind. Some particles fall as gray dust while others glow like fiery embers rising upward, against a background of deep orange and red tones symbolizing release and transformation.
The Reckoning—and Returning to That Four-Year-Old
At some point, living as both versions of ourselves becomes impossible. One version has to burn.
For me, burning the false version meant learning to stop overprotecting men at the expense of myself. It meant questioning the belief that my value was in how much I could carry. It meant letting some people be uncomfortable with my boundaries, my ambition, and my refusal to shrink.
And here’s what I learned: when you burn the version of you that was stamped onto you without your consent, the real you doesn’t just survive—she expands. She gets louder. She gets softer. She gets richer. And trust—she gets free.
When I think back to that four-year-old girl on the carpet, I want her to know:
You didn’t deserve that blame. You never had to carry that false version of yourself.
And neither do you.
🔥 The one that was stamped onto you?
🔥 Or the one you cultivated and shaped into something higher?
That’s the real work. That’s the real question.
Because it’s one thing to live unapologetically. It’s another to walk around as the bootleg version of yourself. And Sis, you deserve the original — the one who shines, who softens, who thrives — without apology.”
Call to Action…
Listen. If this word spoke to you, don’t just leave it here. Carry it with you. Wanted is where we keep the good tea flowing — a reminder every week that you are desired, you are dangerous, and you belong. It’s where we keep you updated on current events across the IMverse, including the Without Apology Tour. And it’s where we introduce new stories, people, and dirty words.
👉🏾 Join Wanted today.
ABOUT THE BLOGGER
Dr. Sagashus Levingston is an author, entrepreneur and PhD holder. She has two fur babies, Maya and Gracie, six children (three boys and three girls), and they all (including her partner) live in Madison, WI. She loves all things business, is committed to reminding moms of their power, and is dedicated to playing her part in closing the wealth gap for people of color and women. She believes that mothering is a practice, like yoga, and she fights daily to manage her chocolate intake. The struggle is real, y’all…and sometimes it’s beautiful.
Follow her on Instagram: @infamous.mothers