Liar, Liar Pants on Fire or Are You a Truther?

Lesson Learned

When I was about six years old, my sister and I spent a lot of time at our cousin’s condo while our parents were at work. Back then, it was still considered okay to leave kids unattended for a few hours—so long as we followed two simple rules: don’t answer the door and don’t eat all the snacks. I was the youngest, which meant my sister was 10, and my cousin was 9. Most of the time, we stayed inside, practicing cheer dances or watching TV. But I remember this particular visit vividly—not because of the fun we had, but because it was the first time I got caught in a lie.

Let me back up. At some point that day, my cousin showed me what she got for Valentine’s Day from her mom—a beaded bracelet with jelly-like charms in pink, purple, and blue sparkles. But the most important part? It had “I love you, K” spelled out across the beads. My eyes lit up the second I saw how cute the bracelet was. I was and will forever be a lover of all pink and sparkles. And the moment she caught my expression, she shut me down:

“No, you can’t wear it. It’s mine.”

I begged, pleaded—tried every angle to get her to let me borrow it. But she stood her ground.

“Fine, I get it,” I told her.

But what I really in the back of my six-year-old brain meant, I’ll just take it when you’re not looking. I was indeed a sneaky kid; I would eat all the gummies in the tallest cabinet and report that it wasn’t me even though I had a wrapper in my hand. The next part is a blur. I don’t remember exactly how I took it, just that I did. What I do remember is the fallout.

A week later, I was sitting in a doctor’s office with my mom, waiting to be called in for a routine checkup. She was filling out paperwork, minding her business, when she glanced up and asked,

“Hey, where did you get that bracelet?”

I froze. Panic set in. I suddenly felt so dumb for even wearing it out in public, let alone somewhere as boring and well-lit as a doctor’s office.

“Oh, I made it,” I blurted out.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? When?”

To this day, my mom still makes fun of me for not coming up with a better lie.

“Uh… last week… at school… a girl gave it to me.”

Six-year-old me clearly did not understand how cross-examinations worked.

“You sure you didn’t take it from your cousin’s house?” she asked.

“No…?” I replied. Like it was optional! 

Head down. Avoiding eye contact. Heart pounding. At this moment I knew she knew what I had done. I stole, I lied and most importantly, I couldn’t get away with it. 

Without a word, she grabbed my wrist and flipped the bracelet over.

“I love you, K.”

Busted.

The rest of the day played out like a slow-motion nightmare. My mom called my dad and stepmom to tell them what I did. Then she called my cousin’s mom. Then she turned back to me. And all she said (she definitely gave me a lecture not only in English but also in Japanese) of what I remember vividly is,

“Your cousin was upset crying all week thinking she lost it.”

And that’s when it hit me; I wasn’t just caught— I had actually hurt someone, my actions had consequences. Side note: if you were wondering, my cousin and I still talk about this moment and laugh at how dumb it was of me to even steal this item. We are still in contact here and there and if you’re my cousin reading this, I am really sorry LOL. 

Big and Little Lies

As a kid, lying was a simple concept: Don’t tell the truth, and that’s bad. Always bad. Parents have the tough job of teaching kids when honesty matters and when it’s okay to, well, say something else. But as we get older, we start to see that lying isn’t always just bad. Lying can open doors. It can get you out of trouble. It can boost your confidence. But in the same breath, lying can land you in jail. It can get you expelled. It can be used to exploit you. So, where’s the line? When is it okay to lie—and when does it cross into something dangerous?

We’ve all heard the term white lie. The harmless, polite kind of dishonesty—the one you tell your friend when they ask if their new haircut looks good, or the one you tell your boss when you say, “I’m on my way,” even though you just got out of bed. White lies smooth things over. And we need them because they keep the peace. They allow us to have peace of mind without unintentionally hurting someone’s feelings by the truth. But what happens when they start piling up—one white lie after another—until you’re staring straight at your own contradictions?

Despite my past, I’d like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at slipping and sliding my way out of things, like a fox. There are a million and one ways to escape a lie, but the trick is making it believable. Because if the details don’t add up, well… you end up like six-year-old me, telling my mom I made the bracelet—only to immediately follow up with, “Actually, a girl at school gave it to me.” Lying isn’t just about getting away with something—it’s about managing perception. To create a world where the lie can be a false memory to someone else. And if that’s the case, then is honesty really the best policy, or just a convenient rule we bend when it suits us? 

It is at our convenience, but it also serves a purpose. We lie to protect, to soften, to survive. White lies keep friendships intact, get us out of awkward situations, and sometimes even keep us safe. So, if lying can be both a shield and a weapon, the real question isn’t just, is it wrong?— it’s when does it become wrong? 

Funny enough, I’m reading The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett for my book club this month, and it feels like the perfect companion to this conversation. I haven’t finished it yet, but here’s the premise: It’s the 1970s—think segregation, colorism, the Watts Riots. The story follows twin sisters who are very white-passing, growing up in a small Southern town. One day, they decided to run away from home to a big city. One returns home; the other vanishes completely, choosing to pass as white and build a life where no one knows her past. Decades later, their daughters—raised in completely different worlds—cross paths.

And at the heart of it all? Lies. The entire book is built on them. Everyone has a secret they hold so tightly it becomes suffocating. As a reader, it’s nerve-wracking—I keep wanting to scream, JUST SAY SOMETHING!!! But that’s the thing about lies, isn’t it? Keep them too close, stack them too high, and suddenly, you’re buried in them. The book makes it painfully clear why lies—especially the big ones—are dangerous. At some point, they stop being a tool and start eating at your core. 

 Suppression isn’t resolution. Just like with any other lie, if we repeat it enough, we might even start to believe it. Take procrastination, for example. “I work better under pressure” might sound like a perfectly logical reason to put things off…but is it the truth? Or is it a lie we tell ourselves to avoid the reality that starting is hard, that we’re afraid of failing? That deep down, we doubt our own ability. What starts as a little white lie meant to ease our stress can turn into a cycle of avoidance, missed opportunities, and even self-sabotage. There are the lies we tell to avoid facing emotions—I’m fine.” and maybe you are. But maybe you’re just saying it because the truth—admitting you’re hurt, overwhelmed, or lost—feels too heavy. We convince ourselves that ignoring a problem is the same as solving it. 

Trust me I have been there and still there to this day. It is not an easy hump to get over. There are lies we have been telling ourselves since day one, so it really boils down to self-awareness. Being able to recognize when a lie is a temporary bandage and when it’s a wall, we’re building between ourselves and the truth. Because the scariest lies aren’t the ones we tell others—they’re the ones we tell ourselves and don’t even realize.

When will I quit?

That lands me with the song of the week Lying to Myself by Leland Blue, where the lyrics capture that exact feeling of being caught in a loop of self-deception. The song wrestles with the push and pull of knowing the truth but refusing to accept it—of keeping up an illusion even when it’s clear it’s not sustainable. Because sometimes, lying to ourselves feels safer than confronting reality. Until it doesn’t. Maybe the real trick isn’t just learning when lying is wrong—but knowing when we owe ourselves the truth.

Enjoy This Journey With Me

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Enjoy This Journey With Me ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

This isn’t the end—just a bookmark in the conversation. Stories don’t really close; they unfold, shift, and find new voices. If this one stirred something in you, let it breathe. Leave a thought, challenge an idea, or carry it forward in your own way. And if you ever feel like wandering through more unfinished thoughts, you know where to find me. Let’s keep the conversation alive. ~XOXO