So not to sound like a goody-goody, but I really, really hate telling lies. It’s not to say I haven’t told one. I just really hate them. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the Catholic guilt, or growing up with loving but strict grandparents… But something about being caught has scared me into telling the truth more often than not, no matter how much it sucks or I hate saying it or feeling it.
That all said, it’s happened… And one of the ones I told in my life I knew was a lie from the second it left my lips… But yet, I said the words… Really, just a few simple words. But each word in my response was a bold faced lie.
Let me set it up: Way back when, when I was in love with my first love, Chris, I don’t think there was anything I wouldn’t have done. So, when I learned he was grappling with his feelings for me vs. his ex, as much as I wanted to lose it, I kept it in check. And (lying through my teeth) told him it would be fine if we took the holidays to figure out our feelings. Fast forward the new year, we work it out and figure we’d try again. However, that was short lived because a few short months after that he has some news for me and every girl’s nightmare. His ex had gotten pregnant when he had seen her and was carrying his child. And, beating him to the punch, told him I would gracefully and quickly get out of the way so he could work it out. Meanwhile I’m kicking and screaming inside, but the reality’s what it is. And some of the last words that nailed it in went a little like this:
Him: Are you okay with this?
Me: Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want this. Not like this.
Truth is, after getting over my anger, I wasn’t fine with being “The Other Woman”. And now, his life’s been written. He had a child on the way with his first love. And, no matter how much I was “current”, I would never be the mother of his first child. And in that moment, I made the snap decision to not only let him follow his heart, but to own that it wasn’t fair to me to only have a piece of him.
Was I SURE? Absolutely not. I wanted to FIGHT. Tell him he was mine. He was my first love. It took everything I had to tell him I love him. Hell, I used to write poems about the guy. I L-O-V-E-D that guy. Loved him madly. Everything about us made sense back then. Besides, he’d come back to me.
But it was a lie that needed to be told. I needed to sound sure so he wouldn’t feel guilty… And so I wouldn’t lose it myself. And have respect for myself. I loved him, yes, but I had my pride too.
I thought about that moment often for months since then. But, in the end, the lie helped us both. Him to find his way to a family he loves and me not pretend to be fine with a situation I knew wouldn’t ever really make me happy.
In that case, it was a win-win.