The Truth Will Set You Free

The value of honesty was instilled in me throughout childhood, not just at home but also in classrooms and by figures of authority. Growing up, it was common to hear elders stress the importance of truthfulness. However, honesty wasn’t always simple.

My father was intimidating, and even now, memories of his anger unsettle me. Despite this fear, as a child, I often found myself in trouble. Teachers would call home to report my misbehavior, and inevitably, my father would be waiting, cane in hand. He would stare deeply into my eyes, asking if the accusations were true. Fearful, I’d shake my head, nervously stuttering, “No.”

Even when I thought I’d delivered my most convincing lie, he saw right through it. Each time he caught me lying, he would say firmly, “I hate it when you lie. Look at me and tell me the truth, or you’ll face the consequence.”

So, I adapted. I started telling the truth, believing honesty would grant me leniency. But I was mistaken. Even when truthful, particularly when wrongly accused or misunderstood, I faced punishment just as severe. This harsh reality taught me a painful lesson: honesty doesn’t always protect you from criticism or consequence.

The abusive repercussions of lying to my father had a profound impact. Because he always saw through my deceit, I became convinced that I was simply born to be terrible at lying. Subconsciously, this belief lingered, making lying extraordinarily difficult for me when growing up. Ironically, as I grew older, the fear of hurting others became greater than the fear of getting caught in a lie. Lying eventually became less frightening than allowing those I loved to see the truth about me.

Whenever confronted with admitting my truth, I felt compelled to bend the truth or outright lie. My dishonesty never arose from malicious intent, nor was it ever employed to harm others. Instead, my lies were always about concealing my own wrongdoings. It was always done to protect myself and others. I’d rather carry my burdens alone, despite the mental toll, believing I was sparing those I love from disappointment and shame at discovering just how flawed I truly am.

Each lie told became increasingly harder to manage, for lies inevitably require more lies to sustain them. Over time it gets harder and harder to catch up with them because they’re always made up on the spur of the moment when panic sets in.

“No man has a good enough memory to be a good liar.”

The guilt from lying and the shame of feeling like you’ve failed everyone, including yourself, gnaws at you relentlessly. The constant dread that your lies coming to light is exhausting, like dragging a heavy weight you cannot release till the truth is finally told.

Being self-aware amplifies the agony of lying; the strain on your conscience is immense. Sometimes I wish I was oblivious to the discomfort of deceit. Maybe I wouldn’t be constantly haunted by the guilt that follows.

Lying, in those moments, always felt like a non-negotiable option. You craft false narratives, construct versions of yourself you wish were true. If you must be judged for your mistakes, you prefer it to be perceived as something “less” severe than the reality, because in those brief moments, lying offers temporary relief and makes you feel better. Even though you know it’s wrong..

But here’s an undeniable truth: Lies always surface eventually. And when they do, the erosion of trust cuts deeper than any temporary discomfort honesty might have caused initially. Consider the scenario where your truth might cause no immediate harm to your loved ones, but being caught in a lie or multiple lies later would inflict deeper pain. It creates a barrier for trust. I’ve always known this from the moment I learnt to bury uncomfortable truths. Despite that, whenever I faced such situations, I still instinctively believe that my lies are acts of mercy on myself and the people who I love. Unfortunately, It’s a delusion that only the insecure would buy.

Having said so much, I doubt I was able to encapsulate the true complexity and emotional toll of lying. But one thing is certain: the truth, however painful, will set you free, even if it feels utterly unbearable in the moment. Telling the truth is also a form of acceptance and a sign that you are ready for growth. Am I Ready?