truth

For much of my life, I was a casual liar.

As a teenager grappling with immense personal trauma—from the loss of my sister and the breakdown of my family to the abuse by a trusted teacher—I found myself spinning tales as a form of escape. This teacher exploited my vulnerability, which led me down a dark path of shame and deceit. I was afraid to be myself, and I hated myself for years – partly for lying, and partly out of shame.

Breaking free

Shame haunted me until, years later, I found the strength to reveal the truth. This confession didn’t immediately change my habits of dishonesty, but it sparked a crucial transformation. Eventually, as other victims came forward, we used the media and the legal system to amplify our stories, which was profoundly cathartic. Within months, the need to lie diminished; I reclaimed my voice and my truth.

Eventually other boys came forward, and we formed a sort of riot squad that used the full power of the press {and the legal system} to be heard and acknowledged. It was cathartic. I won’t say my lying vanished right away, but it was completely gone within about eight months. Somehow, having gotten the shame out of my system, I felt worthy to speak my truth again.

Challenging a deceptive culture

Our society rewards deception.

We live in a culture that often rewards deception, whether it’s sparing Uncle Ray’s feelings about his unloved Brussels Sprouts, or embellishing our lives on social media to match an illusion of perfection. “Best foot forward” is the winning move in a popularity contest, even if it means filters, photoshop, and carefully-curated vignettes that highlight the happy side of life.

I reached a breaking point and chose transparency over pretense. This doesn’t mean I overshare, but I’ve learned to value clarity and simplicity. When something is private, I simply say, “pass,” respecting my boundaries without deceit. I just speak the truth, as clearly and simply as I can express it. What you see is largely what you get.

The rewards of authenticity

Dropping the guise was transformative. Those who favored superficiality drifted away, replaced by individuals who appreciate honesty. Now, I can express my doubts, voice my opinions, and confront my past abuse without the shadows of fear and shame. This honesty has not only mended old wounds but also fostered genuine relationships and made daily interactions more straightforward.

Suddenly, I have friends again. People listen to my opinion and act on it. They compliment me when I do well, and feel comfortable correcting me when I do poorly. It isn’t at all the horrible ordeal that I imagined it would be. All of the angst I felt over my abuse had gotten conflated with a false undercurrent of bad karma and paranoia. In short, I am now completely open and honest with people, and nothing strange has happened.

Living truthfully has simplified my life in unexpected ways. I can decline invitations without guilt, discuss my limitations openly, and often find that plans adapt to accommodate my honest input. The practice of being frank has taught me to address underlying stresses and uncomfortable truths promptly, avoiding the complexities that come with deception.

In embracing total honesty, I’ve discovered a life where authenticity leads to both personal freedom and deeper connections. It’s a journey from darkness into a life filled with genuine interaction and peace. I highly recommend it.