I am a big, fat liar, or at least I was

I cannot remember a time when I did not lie.  I didn’t lie about important stuff too often, but I lied a lot about myself.  Wait a minute — that is important stuff, isn’t it?  Actually, I’ve lied at one point or another about almost anything.  Here is a list of people to whom I have lied:

  • My parents
  • My sisters, (including my older sister, who is my best friend)
  • My brother
  • My aunts and uncles and cousins
  • Even my dear Grampy and Grammy, whom I loved and still love to distraction
  • My bosses
  • My co-workers
  • My customers
  • My clients
  • My friends, (oh, so many times!)
  • My lovers
  • My husbands
  • My girlfriend
  • My fellow church-goers
  • My congregation
  • My bartenders
  • My fellow and lady inebriates
  • My friends’ kids
  • Complete strangers
  • Myself


This is only a partial list.  I would need pages to list everyone to whom I have lied, in my life.  I told my mom this over breakfast out, today.  She was surprised.  “Why did you lie?”  There’s that why again.  I tried, for a few minutes, to explain, but then a one-sentence answer came to me.

I lied because I had no reason to believe that anyone wanted to hear me tell the truth about myself.

This is either simple, or very complex.  I’m going today for simple.  Whenever I have told anyone about my history, my successes, my failures, the activities of my daily life, the very least I did was embellish — a lot.  If some interesting thing happened in my life, I made it bigger.  More important. More interesting.  More attention-worthy — hmmm.  The only thing I haven’t lied about at all in the last decade is my health, and that was because I was so emotionally and physically bad off that no one would have believed anything else I told them.  Everything else was fair game.

I am not proud of this behavior.  In fact, one of the things that drove me most crazy about my third husband was that he was a compulsive liar.  I said those words a hundred times, and never once did the thought come to my mind that I am a compulsive liar.  Well, a recovering compulsive liar.  All of the people close to me, whom I hold most dear, are on my list.  I don’t know how any of them would feel when they read this post.

It was THIS BIG!

The worst thing about being a liar is that I couldn’t then be honest with anyone, because I was supporting this cloud of lies I’d told.  I have, in the past, made the mistake of telling different lies to different people, and having them compare notes.  Busted.  I was dying to tell the truth about something, but my armor of lies was so thick, I couldn’t break through.

I have no way now of convincing anyone that I am telling the truth, except to say that I am.  I can’t control if anyone ever trusts me again.  But I decided, last year, that I am done lying.  If you ask me a question, prepare to receive the truth as I see it.  I will continue to be kind, and gentle, whenever I can, but no more creating this shadow-Judith to take my place in the world.  Here I am.  Ask me anything.


4 responses to “I am a big, fat liar, or at least I was

  1. Pingback: Ask For What We Want | Diabetic Redemption

  2. Pingback: Liars Anonymous « Stiod – Stupid Ideas of the day

  3. You have to have a great memory to be a good liar.. and that’s something I haven’t got.. so most of the time I have to stick to the boring truth! That’s probably one reason why I write fiction, is because I can put all the ‘fabricated’ stuff out of my head down on paper instead 🙂

    • Sadly enough, I was a very successful liar for decades, so I guess my memory must be okay. I am surprised — I thought everyone lived the way I did — not true at all.

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