Everybody lies. There it is, plain and simple. I doubt there is a person alive who has NEVER told a lie, because I believe truth is in the eye of the beholder. I am certainly no saint when it comes to telling porkies, I told my boys Santa was real, and that they had the ‘real’ Buzz Lightyear toy. I told my share to Mr H too although this has reduced significantly since we introduced D/s to our relationship. The thing is, why did that make a difference, and why do we lie at all?
Say it loud.
I changed high school at 12 and being the new girl (and shy) is never easy. My breasts were formed and because of my home life I was extremely self conscious. I wore shirts to school that belonged to my stepfather, his uniform shirts dyed pale blue. My mum had made me a knee length high waist skirt and I was the perfect UK size 10 (size 6 US). I wore the shirt pulled out so I had a perfect silhouette that concealed my breasts. One boy constantly asked me to pull my shirt tight and show him my tits. I refused. One day I arrived at school and the girls were horrid. He was not used to a girl saying no, and rather than live with his failure, he spread the word that I had not only pulled my shirt tight, no, he had to go one step further and had told people I had opened my shirt and allowed him to touch me. No-one ever believed that it hadn’t happened. They wanted to believe the popular boy more than the shy girl. Truth had no place. I learned then, that there are times when truth will never be important, there are times when you simply need the loudest voice.
Telling the truth.
I have written before about my checkered history when it comes to faking orgasms, and the reasoning behind it. Ultimately I was the one who suffered most, as if I had been truthful I would have been having a lot more orgasms but, shame and embarrassment kept me silent. I didn’t want Mr H to feel badly and I didn’t think I should tell him what I liked. After all I should just like what he did, the romance books certainly didn’t seem to suggest any special skill was required.
But, that is not the only time I have lied from clothing purchases (I’ve had it ages) to the price of these purchases (don’t we all take 25% off?) I felt I needed to hide things for fear of facing Mr H disapproval or anger. Ridiculous really as he doesn’t often say no when I ask for things, and has never been angry. Mostly though this was learned behaviour. My mum rarely told my step dad anything. “He doesn’t need to know the details” was a common phrase uttered, and so I continued this thinking that in fact Mr H did not need or want to know the details of my day while he was at work.
I believe that quite often the instinct to lie comes from a place of insecurity. Fearing the reaction of another we conceal the truth, we hide our vulnerability behind loud words, and tall stories designed to make us appear important and confident, anything rather than admit how afraid we are of our own insignificance. Learning to be vulnerable isn’t easy, and admitting a lie is even harder.
The addition of D/s and the open, frank communication that came with it, meant a change in my attitude towards these omissions. Suddenly I found I felt uncomfortable concealing things and when Mr H made it a rule that I have to ask permission to purchase non-food items I realised he did care about it. There have been lapses along the way but I have gotten much better at this as it became more normal and as a result we have more spare change in the pot. Mr H is not impulsive you see. Emotionally and sexually it took me a little longer as during the early months of our D/s Mr H only had to wink at me and I was on the edge of an orgasm, so when the frenzy died down I had to learn to voice those desires. Something I am still working on – but getting better at.
There are other lies though, voiceless, invisible and dangerous. These lies we accept as being true so easily. They that tell us we are undeserving, ugly and unattractive. They make the sky darker and allow us to believe the negative things other people say about us. These lies are harder to unlearn especially when they were first told to you by a parent.
The harm a parent can do to a child without ever laying a hand on them is immeasurable. Self hatred, self disgust, feeling you are a burden, that you ruined a life, or were not wanted, slowly destroy the soul until you find yourself applying these feelings to all aspects of your life, and it is so difficult to replace these feelings with a certainty that you do have a place in the world after all.
Facing the truth.
I wish I could say that I have replaced these lies with a new truth, one of self acceptance and maybe even love, but that would be another lie. I managed to replace some when I became a mother, and when they were in their formative years I would tell my boys constantly how much I love them, how they are the best things in my life, and that they are perfect. They are grown now and I am proud of the people they have grown into.
My own eyes and mind are far too critical though. I took 20 pictures of myself on Sunday with the new camera. They are all deleted. All I see is an unattractive blob and I hear my mother’s voice critical and harsh. Mr H let me take some of him and these I love. The weight I have gained from this latest back problem has had a negative effect on my self image, and I am trying to be as kind to myself as I can but I am not entirely successful. The best I can do is to endeavor to see myself through Mr H’s eyes, to try and accept his truth as my own. I take his hand, and allow him to hold me close. In his arms I feel loved and safe, and for now perhaps that is all the truth I need.
This post is linked to Wicked Wednesday #418 ‘Truth’, click HERE to read more posts inspired by the topic.