Lying is a skill I never quite developed.
Years ago, I took a stress management course. We were asked to identify personal stressors, things that might not affect most people but trigger a full-blown stress response in us.
Mine? Lying.
Being late to places with consequences, airports, work, interviews, makes me anxious. Not just because I hate being late, but because I might have to lie. And lying, for me, causes actual physical distress: a racing heart, sweating, shallow breath.
I’d rather show up early and wait awkwardly than make up a story about why I’m late.
When I do lie, it’s weak:
“No, I didn’t see it.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
But a full, fabricated story? I choke. Being caught in a lie terrifies me.
So I asked myself: Where did this start?
1991. Enugu. I was five.
I went to the market with my nanny to get my hair done. Before we left, she went into my mum’s room and slipped on my mother’s navy blue skull slippers, that was what that type of footwear was called. I never forgot them.
On our way back, we ran into my mother. She stopped her car to give us a ride. The nanny quickly removed the slippers and threw them into a gutter, or maybe behind a pole, before my mum parked.
My mum asked what she had on her feet.
She replied, “I left the house barefoot.” This conversation was in Igbo but this was the gist.
When we got home, she warned me not to say otherwise. I think she circled back to grab them. She was already a bully, and I didn’t want to be a snitch.
Then my mother took me into her room and offered me Cadbury Fudge. If you lived in Enugu back then and went to Leventis supermarket, you’ll remember it.
She asked gently, “Was she wearing shoes?”
That chocolate almost choked me.
I genuinely don’t remember what I said. But I remember the fear. The pressure. The anxiety of being caught between two adults, both with power, both with consequences.
That was my first stressful lie. And it left a mark.
Silence became safer than storytelling.
As I grew older, this type of situation happened often. Nannies expected us to cover for them. Whether it was sneaking off during water-fetching errands or doing something forbidden, you were expected to lie on their behalf.
And if you did tell the truth? You’d still be punished, as an accomplice. It was stressful!
I was in awe of skilled liars.
Boarding school was another level. To survive, you had to bend the truth. But once you were labeled a liar or thief, you were done. That stigma stuck forever.
There were kids who could lie with ease, fabricate entire summer vacations abroad, even made-up movies.
One girl told this amazing film she watched over the holidays. It was so convincing, until she said Julia Roberts was in it. The Julia Roberts fan in the group didn’t let it go, and she knew every film she’d done.
Eventually, the girl admitted the entire movie was made up. I hope she is putting this skill to good use.
Even now, I’m amazed at the bold, ridiculous lies people tell, and sometimes get away with. I find that rich people lie so effortlessly because they don’t even expect your broke self to fact check it.
These days, my biggest lie?
Telling my daughters, Zemora and Zoey, that if they don’t behave, I’ll send them to boarding school in Nigeria.
I don’t even know why I say it, especially given my history. And the trauma from boarding school. They cry sometimes.
I’m still not one to invent wild stories. I’m more likely to omit details or say, “I don’t know.” But I’ve come to accept that.
I’m almost 40 now…
And I’m finally embracing me.
All my stories. All the uncomfortable truths. All the moments I said nothing just to survive.
I can own them now, tell them in my voice, from my perspective.
And sure, others might remember it differently.
But one thing they can never say is:
“She lied.”
Your Turn
Have you ever felt pressured to lie, or stay silent, just to protect yourself?
Have your childhood experiences shaped how you present yourself today?
I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
Let’s normalize truth-telling, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.
One Response
This is exactly how lies have made me feel all my life. Unfortunately I narried into a ‘tribe’ that lies as a sport. He who out-lies others wins all the time. I have been called intolerant, hyper sensitive, even wicked for acting out on realising I have been lied to yet again. It got so bad that I would second guess anything I’m told by signjficant others. Needless to say it ruined many relatiobships because naturally sometimes I was also wrong. There is no winning with lies. Some claim they try not to hurt others by not telling the truth. I think in the long run those people would still be hurt at one point or the other. I find this article so relatable. Well done AJ.