“ i crave honesty like oxygen, but my tongue has carried the weight of silence and half-truths for the longest time”
for me, the saying “the truth sets you free” was never true. actually, a lot of times it felt like telling the truth led straight to punishment. growing up with a strict mother, truth and lies were punished almost equally. so as a child that didn’t want to ‘chop’ cane, it seemed safer to twist the truth than to risk the consequences of honesty. as long as i didn’t get caught, it didn’t feel like a lie. and so, i started lying. first to others, and eventually, to myself.
it wasn’t just at home. even in school, lying sometimes just made life easier. like if you didn’t do your assignment, saying “i forgot it at home” was better than saying “i didn’t do it.” if you said the truth, you could get punished or embarrassed. but if you added a little razzle dazzle like “my mom forgot to help me pack it,” they’d just nod and let it go. the worst you’d get was a knock on the head and a reminder to bring it the next day. i never wanted to admit i was careless or lazy, so i just picked the lie that sounded most acceptable.
i remember the first time i saw that quote “saying the truth sets you free.” it was printed in black and blue on a redeemed church poster pasted on the cupboard in my jss1 class. i was eight years old. i read it on the first day i got to that class and i remember actually laughing out loud. i thought, “what a lie”. because nothing in my life at the time supported that idea. telling the truth meant punishment, silence, disappointment, or serious beating. if the truth set anyone free, it definitely wasn’t kids like me.
my mom wasn’t a bad person please, she’s my best friend. just a typical african mother that had zero tolerance for my gimmicks. i was a very silly and stubborn child. but here’s the twist—my dad? he could actually handle the truth. with him, there was room for mistakes. no yelling, no punishment, just a sigh or a short talk. and i knew this. i knew i could tell him the truth and not get in trouble. but sometimes? i still lied. actually? maybe a lot of times lol. just to keep up the perfect image. to remain the “good girl” in his eyes. it wasn’t fear anymore, it was ego. lying became less about protection and more about performance. something that started as defense gradually grew to vanity in me and i didn’t know until it was late.
that was where it truly went downhill. lying to others became easy, but the moment i started lying to myself, something deeper began to rot. self-betrayal is the worst kind. i lost intimacy with my own mind. i couldn’t even be honest when it was just me and my feelings. i remember i had a secret journal then and i was lying inside it that i could dance. as how? anyone that knows me knows i can’t dance to save my life. i lied so often that my truth was warped. i couldn’t tell where reality ended and my own narrative began. i convinced myself of stories, people, situations, anything that helped me escape discomfort. it became a painful, disconnected way to live. and like dostoevsky wrote in crime and punishment,
“your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”
for nothing. that part gets me. it rings in my head every time. it was truly all for nothing. it wasn’t like i was lying to protect some great secret or save someone’s life. of course, i definitely did that once or twice; but most times, it was just to make things easier. for myself, mostly. to avoid awkward conversations, punishments, or being too exposed. to shield myself mentally from what it actually was. i wasn’t a martyr. i lied because it worked. because it helped me keep the peace or keep control. but the peace was fake, and the control was temporary. things would go to hell anyway. the lies were small and subtle, initially, almost forgettable. but they stacked. and over time, they built a version of me that didn’t really exist. i looked honest, but i wasn’t. not really. they say for every lie you tell, you need a hundred more to cover it up. they’re not wrong.
sometimes, it got so ridiculous that i’d be lying about one thing, maybe if i got into trouble, and then my parent would start catching on—so i’d quickly admit to a different lie i told in that same context just to distract them. give them something else to hold onto so they wouldn’t look too closely at the real thing i was hiding. it was like bargaining with guilt. my way of saying, “okay fine, you got me… but only halfway.” and most times, it worked. because people stop digging when you give them just enough dirt. they think they have you by the head when you admit, but they really have nothing.
as time went by, i grew up and realized people had this image of me in their heads that i knew wasn’t true. but because of how i’d shown up, how i’d presented myself to people over time, i couldn’t even defend myself against their very weird and might i add stupid projections. one day, someone said something about how i’d react in a situation, and i knew, without a doubt, that i would never respond that way. in my life, ever. but she insisted. others agreed. they argued with confidence about who i was, and i had no proof to counter their argument. i was defenseless because to them, i was someone else entirely. even if you don’t say it with your mouth, or act like it, that aura just clings to you and leads people to believe that’s who or what you are.
i went home and thought about it for hours. not because i was angry at them (i was actually very angry everyone agreed with her), but because i realized i didn’t know who i was. i had gotten so used to becoming whatever i needed to be in the moment that there was no stable version of me that actually existed. i literally became a mirror. moods. performances. i sat down and realized all my life i had been running from being punished for lying. but now what i was facing was worse: i was being defined by them. i remember staring at myself in the mirror and experiencing derealization. i crashed out so bad, i decided i needed to make changes. the first step? i started journaling, but saying the total and unfiltered truth was still such a struggle. it felt like someone would steal the book behind my back and read it to the whole world and i’d be exposed for the fraud i am lol. so i stopped. the second thing i tried to do was consciously try to tell the truth no matter what the situation was. or at least, i tried. because even then, the full truth still scared me. so i stuck to half-truths, careful edits, soft landings. it felt safer. baby steps, right?
the thing is, it wasn’t even that i was lying to everyone all the time. there were seasons where i barely lied at all, especially as i got older and my mum couldn’t beat me again and there were no assignments to submit lol. but by then, the performance had already stuck. i had lived in that curated version of myself for so long that even when honesty was an option, i couldn’t always take it. i wasn’t always lying out loud; sometimes i was lying quietly. holding back, shrinking the truth. convincing myself that things were fine when they weren’t.
after i decided to consciously pick myself back up and know who i was and what i stood for, i thought i already understood the weight of lies and i was getting the hang of it until i felt one land in my own chest. it felt like i was going to die. repeatedly. lying is so easy. getting lied to and realizing it? it’s another ball game. nobody ever prepares you for that realization of betrayal and how it sits heavy in your heart.
lies are crazy. especially in situations where it’s two people involved. maybe you discovered your friend that you cherish the most in the world has secret animosity towards you. maybe it was never only you for your romantic partner. maybe you discover your older sister you’ve known all your life is actually your mother and everyone has led you to believe otherwise. there’s this pit in your stomach that makes you feel like you could actually throw up. not from the lie itself, but from the moment you realize it. the way you realize that the lie they told you was perfectly crafted for you. that the dishonesty was premeditated and that it wasn’t a mistake, it was very much intentional. it’s a quiet kind of sickness, like something inside you just shifted and can’t shift back. when i got hit with my first big, undeniable lie from someone i cared about, it made me confirm that no matter how bad the truth was, i wanted it. even if it would ruin my life, i’d rather know. because being lied to doesn’t just hurt, it makes you question everything. it makes you doubt your own memory, your gut, your sense of reality. and i never wanted to feel that way again in my life.
as time goes by, i find myself critically watching people and almost always knowing when they’re not being honest. whenever i catch people in lies, i realize more and more that most people don’t even know when they’re lying. it’s become something as casual as breathing air. lying to yourself will keep you in relationships longer than you should be. you’ll serve things that don’t matter, things you should rule over and not let rule you. not living your truth traps you in situations you’ve outgrown, steals your peace, and feeds your anxiety. i’ve also learned that a lot of people who say, “why would i lie to you, who wants to beat me?” are probably lying. i can see the hesitation when even they don’t believe their own lie. i can tell when they’re trying to patronize me by admitting small things just to cover up the bigger ones because i’ve done it to myself for years. “ehn, she might have burnt your house and killed your pets, but at least she bought you a pen for your birthday. she loves you, she probably just wasn’t in the mood.”
i wish i could end this by saying i’ve stopped lying. that i’m now living in full honesty, and that the truth is pouring out of me like holy water. but the sad thing is that i am still tangled in a few lies. some i tell out of habit. some i have lived in so deeply, i’ve forgotten how they even started. in fact, i don’t even remember what i said again but i don’t want to expose everything yet. i’m selfish like that. and maybe that’s the final honesty in all of this: that i’m still choosing comfort in some places. but at least now, i know what truth feels like. and every day, i get closer to choosing it totally again.