The Art of Lying
After seeing the independent film “The Wake of Life” I was thinking of the times that I have told myself a story only later to discover that I was lying to myself and, consequently, by default, unintentionally, lying to others. In the film both the daughter and the father engage in behavior over a period of years which is motivated by a desire to meet the perceived needs of the other. The daughter wraps her identify in being the caretaker of her father who she tells herself cannot function on his own. The father wraps his identity in being the disabled person who gives daughter a purpose for her life. Both of them become trapped in the story they have created. In order for the lies to be effective and believable story lines they must each sincerely believe them. Spoiler alert: They do, in the end, confront their lies and each begins a new chapter.
Theoretically it “should” be easy to determine when one is lying to oneself. After all, if one created the lie, one should be able to admit it and correct it. Yes, embarrassment or false pride about the fact that one lied keep one from admitting it. One might also have to face the possibility one is expected to explain why one lied. One might simply and truthfully say that it seemed easier at the time than admitting to the truth. This is especially understandable if one lied about a violation of the relationship contract with someone. It is frightening to entertain the possibility that one’s partner might not be able or willing to forgive one. It is also understandable why one might lie to one’s boss about the reason one did not complete a project or assignment in time. One does not want to admit that one just procrastinated or avoided because one found it tedious and even redundant paperwork.
Many of the lies I have told myself and others are about a behavior or quality which I did not want to believe about myself or which did not fit the story I had told myself. For example, since I am a man of a short stature and do not think of myself as that educated or talented I told myself that I could never be intimidating. I was shocked when a very large man told me t I intimidated him. He went on to tell me that my ability to debate - use of language and presentation style - could be experienced as humiliating and demeaning. I had to ask myself why I was shocked. I had obviously very deliberately chosen and practiced the use of words and presentation style. Yet, it was as if one part of my brain made these decisions and refused to share this process with other parts of my brain.
Some of the lies I told myself was because I wanted to believe something about myself. I wanted, for example, to believe I had internalized few lies about racism and other forms of oppression. When required by others on a committee on which I served to write about my earliest memories of being racist I “uncovered” memories of both awareness of and use of racism to avoid responsibility as early as ages 3 to 5. When I vehemently insisted that I was not homophobic while denying my own sexual orientation I had to confront my own duplicity. When I “noticed” behavior which was consistent with what women were reporting about their unfair and unequal treatment by other men I had to face my own sexism. When I had to accept my powerlessness as a father and my “need” to prove I could be the father I envisioned in my head I was shameful and humbled. When I discovered I could not honor my marriage vows “in sickness and in health” I had to question my own character.
This process of uncovering the volumes of lies I tell myself and others, is, I have discovered, a lifelong process. The process of just noticing the lies and not telling another lie to cover the sense of shame and disappointment requires daily practice, humility and intention.
Written May 18, 2021
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
After seeing the independent film “The Wake of Life” I was thinking of the times that I have told myself a story only later to discover that I was lying to myself and, consequently, by default, unintentionally, lying to others. In the film both the daughter and the father engage in behavior over a period of years which is motivated by a desire to meet the perceived needs of the other. The daughter wraps her identify in being the caretaker of her father who she tells herself cannot function on his own. The father wraps his identity in being the disabled person who gives daughter a purpose for her life. Both of them become trapped in the story they have created. In order for the lies to be effective and believable story lines they must each sincerely believe them. Spoiler alert: They do, in the end, confront their lies and each begins a new chapter.
Theoretically it “should” be easy to determine when one is lying to oneself. After all, if one created the lie, one should be able to admit it and correct it. Yes, embarrassment or false pride about the fact that one lied keep one from admitting it. One might also have to face the possibility one is expected to explain why one lied. One might simply and truthfully say that it seemed easier at the time than admitting to the truth. This is especially understandable if one lied about a violation of the relationship contract with someone. It is frightening to entertain the possibility that one’s partner might not be able or willing to forgive one. It is also understandable why one might lie to one’s boss about the reason one did not complete a project or assignment in time. One does not want to admit that one just procrastinated or avoided because one found it tedious and even redundant paperwork.
Many of the lies I have told myself and others are about a behavior or quality which I did not want to believe about myself or which did not fit the story I had told myself. For example, since I am a man of a short stature and do not think of myself as that educated or talented I told myself that I could never be intimidating. I was shocked when a very large man told me t I intimidated him. He went on to tell me that my ability to debate - use of language and presentation style - could be experienced as humiliating and demeaning. I had to ask myself why I was shocked. I had obviously very deliberately chosen and practiced the use of words and presentation style. Yet, it was as if one part of my brain made these decisions and refused to share this process with other parts of my brain.
Some of the lies I told myself was because I wanted to believe something about myself. I wanted, for example, to believe I had internalized few lies about racism and other forms of oppression. When required by others on a committee on which I served to write about my earliest memories of being racist I “uncovered” memories of both awareness of and use of racism to avoid responsibility as early as ages 3 to 5. When I vehemently insisted that I was not homophobic while denying my own sexual orientation I had to confront my own duplicity. When I “noticed” behavior which was consistent with what women were reporting about their unfair and unequal treatment by other men I had to face my own sexism. When I had to accept my powerlessness as a father and my “need” to prove I could be the father I envisioned in my head I was shameful and humbled. When I discovered I could not honor my marriage vows “in sickness and in health” I had to question my own character.
This process of uncovering the volumes of lies I tell myself and others, is, I have discovered, a lifelong process. The process of just noticing the lies and not telling another lie to cover the sense of shame and disappointment requires daily practice, humility and intention.
Written May 18, 2021
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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