I am a liar.

I have always been a liar.

Typing those words makes me cringe, those words make me ashamed.

But I know it’s important to say them, to acknowledge that piece of me, if I want to start telling the truth.

Lying comes from a place deep inside that wants to protect me—I know that it’s a learned behavior that traces back to stages of my brain development that I can’t even recall.

I have told big, ugly lies that have landed me in shitty situations of my own creation, but more often, I tell small white lies.

you know, the kind that don’t really matter. the kind that are harmless in nature.

Harmless to others, perhaps, but I think what I’ve come to realize is that they’re harmful to me.

Because they’re a vehicle of self-abandonment.

I have a collection of these small lies that live on my bones like scars on weathered skin.

With every lie I tell, I abandon my own truth and block myself from the opportunity to be witnessed by someone else. I rob myself of the chance to have deeper connections. And I rob others of the chance to have their own reactions to my truth.

Lying is a form of manipulation. It’s not intentional, but the more I’ve observed the impulsive lies that come out of my mouth, the more I realize that I am subconsciously trying to manipulate someone else’s perception of me.

Last month, I am in the car with a colleague who says, “This song reminds me of Jerry Maguire,” when the song “Free Fallin’” comes on the radio. I laugh and agree, having barely any clue who Jerry Maguire is and certainly no idea that she’s referencing a movie until she asks,

“You’ve seen it?”

I automatically say, “Yes,” because it is my impulse to agree if you ask me if I’ve seen a movie after years of being teased for not having seen mainstream movies and having to explain that I just don’t really watch a lot of movies.

“Oh, wow! I’m surprised. It’s not a very popular movie.”

“Adam is a big movie guy, so yeah.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds too long after that.

The whole exchange is so automatic, one I’ve had more times than I can count, and I am immediately filled with a sense of shame and disappointment. I start internally beating myself up.

Really, Courtney? We’re still doing this?

It’s an impulse to tell these kinds of white lies to either bypass the conversation I don’t want to have about my lack of movie-watching or to manipulate their perception of me as someone who is cultured and cool. Who totally watches a ton of awesome movies.

It’s not a big deal, really.

only, it is. because it’s not who I want to be anymore.

And it’s not just with movies.

I have genuinely tried to get better in this area of life. I’ve tried to take more intentional pauses before the lies automatically come flying out of my mouth.

And I’ve made a lot of progress.

When the same group of colleagues ask me if I want to get drinks after a dinner that ends at 9pm, I suppress the “Yes” lie that used to come out—the one that comes out because I want to fit in, I don’t want them to think I’m lame, I don’t want to be the only one to decline the invitation—and say the “No” truth that I really feel.

Honoring my truth lets me honor what my body wants and protect my energy.

Telling lies depletes that.

but it’s a deeply subconscious neural pathway that I am tasked with consciously rewiring.

I want to be more genuine. And I want to live a life that more deeply honors my truth.

My best friend always says that to be loved is to be known.

And while I might have seen my lies as a form of protection in the past, I see them now as a barrier from people truly being able to know me.

I want to be known and loved for who I really am.

I am in a rush to be ASAP.

as sincere as possible.

xx,

Court.

Just a girl learning to be more herself.