In Defense of Lying to Yourself
— Julia LaSalvia
I’ve come to a startling conclusion — I’ve been lying to myself a lot lately. Some are small fibs, some are flat out lies, and then there are the others — the bold untruths that I’ve successfully convinced myself are part of my reality. I’m living in my own parallel universe and honestly, it’s not bad here.
A few days ago (over an excessive amount of $5 saki at Benihana happy hour), my friend and I started talking about how we get to choose our own narratives. We get to tell our own story every single day: whenever someone asks how you’ve been, when you post a photo on Instagram, or update your Facebook status, or in your own brain every time you have an internal dialogue.
Think about your last job interview. In every interview you’ve had, you’ve probably told some sort of fabricated story about yourself. Using myself as exhibit A: in all my interviews, my career path seemed very coherent and intentional. I didn’t know at the time each job would lead me to where I am now, but I took the dots (my past experience) drew a very odd, zigzag line connecting them, and then called it an orchestrated plan.
Obviously there are kernels of truth in the story I would spin, but I left out some of the less pleasant details (all of the rejection emails, how I took certain jobs for the dolla dolla bills y’all, etc.) Those parts weren’t helpful in getting the job so I left them on the cutting room floor, as we say in the biz. Then I’d rehearse my This is Why I’m the Perfect Person for This Random Job I Don’t Really Care About speech so much that I would actually start to believe it myself.
As someone who once applied to be a “shot girl” at Kitty O’Shea’s (a really gross dive bar in Boston), or to be a Community Manager at a live-in doggy day care in the Tenderloin (and by live-in, I mean I would have to live there; it was weird), I can confidently say that my life wasn’t leading up to either of those things. Buttttt, if you would have read my cover letter, you would have thought, “Damn, Jules. I didn’t know you cared about creating an inclusive drinking (or puppy) culture this much.”
And then I would tell you that I really do care about those things, because over the course of my prep, I had successfully brainwashed myself (and I also really do enjoy hanging out with puppies and enthusiastically handing shots to people, but you get my point).
Then I thought about how fibbing to yourself in other ways can actually be a helpful survival tactic, especially in these post-break-up-apocalyptic times we live in. I’m of the mindset that we don’t always need to confront the truth, specifically when it’s not beneficial to our growth or helpful in any way.
I’ve created an account of how “the end” happened in my mind that has been useful in terms of moving forward. Is it based on a complete need to fully understand and accept the truth? Hell no.
I remember talking to my older sister a few days after “it” (aka the break-up convo) happened. I had been trying to convince myself that this is what I had wanted too, that it was a long time coming, we were growing apart, etc. There were grains of truth in the story I was telling myself, but I was choosing to focus on the aspects of my relationship’s demise that helped me move forward. After repeating those points in my head like a mantra for a week straight, I would occasionally feel myself starting to crack when moments got tough, like when I had to start looking for a new apartment:
“Maybe this isn’t actually what I wanted,” I cried to my sister on the phone.
And then she dropped the kind of truth bomb only an older sister could hit you with:
“It doesn’t matter if you wanted it to happen or not. It’s happening. Stop worrying about why or who wanted it and start figuring out how you’re going to move on.”
And as painful as it was to hear, she was right. The point is, in instances where moving on is the focus, maybe the truth can take a backseat.
Maybe you didn’t want to break up at all, maybe you sort of did, maybe you were super in love and planning where you would raise your future babies (NYC obviously because city kids are so artsy and cool)… either way, once the break up is happening, whether you wanted it to or not, it’s fucking happening.
Right after it-which-shall-not-be-named occurs, you will inevitably feel like you’re drowning in a sea of your own heartbreak and tears… so why not grab on to a life-saving buoy? Who cares if it’s potentially a figment of your own imagination?
Stay with me here…
Obviously there should be some sort of internal post-mortem after a relationship ends, but a need to go into the excruciating nitty gritty? That will only make you sink deeper into the abyss, or in this case an Instagram-Nostalgia-Wormhole. When exactly did you fall out of love with me and decide you’d be okay with never seeing me again? Ya know what, hold that thought; I’m going to latch on to this inflatable raft that’s telling me this ended because of “timing” or “women just mature quicker than men and you can’t handle how sophisticated and worldly I’ve become over the last four years.”
I think sometimes we get so hung up on wanting closure, of needing to know what happened and why, that we often cause ourselves more hurt. A very wise friend gave me advice that has stuck with me: she said, “Closure is overrated and often impossible.” Having seen friends on both sides of break ups, I’ve noticed that it can be as confusing for the person who decided to end it as it is for the one on the receiving end.
So for this particular moment in my life, I’m putting my insatiable need for “the truth” or “an answer” in the rearview. Maybe I’ll never fully understand when the switch flipped in someone’s mind, maybe they don’t even know themselves. Maybe this is another elaborate lie I’m telling myself to feel better. Either way, it’s working so I’m gonna ride this wave out, baby.
In one of my favorite articles from The New York Times Modern Love column, a heart-broken Miriam Johnson describes how impossible it can be to understand people you love:
“Hearts and minds can be as opaque as a rain forest; only small pieces of them are ever visible. And I realized this, too: You can’t contain the people you love. You can’t contain your own love, either.”
The reality is you may never fully understand why someone decided to end it or maybe you will and it’s super obvious. Maybe you subconsciously wanted it to happen, maybe you didn’t and your heart has been ripped out of your body and is smashed on the pavement like an old can of Cherry Coke. Whatever your situation is, this remains true: when you know you have to move on, sometimes the best thing to do is to hold on to whatever details will make you feel better.
And if that means making a few “embellishments” every once and while, girl, I will take that sh*t to the grave with me. ❤
