The Truth About Being Lied To

liedto

For the last six hours or so, I have been letting someone carry out their poorly crafted lie to me. I’m not even sure where it came from or why it’s being told. But to my surprise, I have found myself able to wait for the truth, both pained and patiently; watching the lie get reiterated and stretched like a cheap band aid on a very wet wound.

It reminds me of the times when I used to lie to my mother when I was little. I never knew the maddening anger she felt as she watched me desperately trying to both outsmart her and make up for what I knew was the wrong. I remember lying in those moments, aware of my sin, but more terrified to tell the truth and be exposed for what I honestly was at the time (a scissor-happy Barbie hair stylist, an Oreo thieving enthusiast, a report card changing genius, etc.) The consequences of my actions, I just didn’t know. And it was sometimes easier to avoid them, then to face them head on.

When I look back now, I realize that if I had told the truth, my mother wouldn’t really have cared too much. The pain would be replaced with much stronger bonding between us, rich with respect and more love. But instead, I was rarely ever able to register her glare as anything other than a mirror to both my guilt and my imminent consequence. Little did I know, it was just the pain she felt by my insulting her — my believing she wasn’t worthy of being on my same page, and therefore good enough for my full admission.

And now, as I sit here and watch text after text flood in my phone in full earnest in the early morning hours, I too am feeling that hurt. I don’t understand why someone, who is no better than me by any stretch of the imagination, would flood our friendship with lies. And decide that it was better I be kept off their same page.

Finding the Solve
In dealing with the situation I am presented with two options: To confront or to play out. The pain in me wants to confront. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to protect myself from any emotional harm that may come my way. But the Oreo thieving enthusiast in me also wants to see the lie play out and learn why. If I say nothing, and don’t poke around — will the the lie just come and go, and not really hurt me at all?

The truth is, while we all lie a little, not all lies are meant to be evil. While I have been exceptionally honest and balanced in this friendship, I know I have a fib or two stashed in the history books too. None of them were meant to be personal jab against anyone or as blatant and ridiculous as the lie I’m sitting through now. But sometimes with life come experiences that need to be organized much neater than when they were first ignorantly conceived. And if I emotionally pop the lid off it all now, based solely off the stigma of being lied to, versus knowing the actual lie — I may never find out the real truth behind the rouse. Which could, much like my mother and my white lies, not actually bug me that much to begin with.

This morning was a good example of managing the art of adulthood. It is messy, and it is weird, but its certainly not linear and definitely pretty complicated. But when we take a moment to breathe, react less, and use time more wisely — we help ourselves make decisions that make sense for us in the long haul. Even if it temporarily hurts like a mother fucker.

What do you think? Maybe I have it wrong? Call a spade a spade? Maybe told a lie you wish you hadn’t? Discuss below!

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