We Lie To Put Off The Pain
Lying helps us feel better in the short run, but at what cost?
I have something to confess: I tell lies. Pretty much all the time.
Not to others…okay, that’s a lie, too. Not USUALLY to others. When I do, they’re typically lies of omission. My memory isn’t good enough to keep the outright lies straight, but from time to time I’ll nod along, even if I disagree. Better to keep a relationship than to fight over some stupid point that doesn’t even matter.
Right?
Or is that a lie, too?
It may be, because the lies I tell are to myself. And you’re probably guilty of it, too.
I’ve recently been listening to The Scout Mindset on my morning dog walk, and author Julia Galef pointed out something I don’t want to admit. We lie to ourselves all the time, usually to protect ourselves. That thinking can often lead us into a deeper and deeper hole.
Her extreme example is of an Incel (though she doesn’t use that term): a man can’t get a date, so he lies and tells himself that women are shallow. When friends and family point out the fault in his reasoning, he lies and tells himself that he no longer has to listen to those people, since they’re clearly wrong.
And so on, building up a cocoon of protection rather than facing harsh reality and maybe making the changes necessary to make things better.
“I’m not like that,” I thought. “I’m rational and reasonable, even with myself.” Then I went home, looked at my to do list, and decided to push one item off until tomorrow. Because I have time to wait until later.
Crap.
I had just lied to myself.
My life has gotten complicated recently. My son is settling in to middle school, but it’s not exactly going well. My wife was recently diagnosed with dysautonomia, which has been a huge challenge. Oh, and I finally quit a demoralizing and demeaning job.
I’m currently in a bit of a holding pattern. Every time I see a potential path forward, what do I do?
Of course I lie. Because moving forward will be painful, not matter which path I choose.
Here’s an example from this week. Some people with dysautonomia report improvements at lower elevation. We live in the mountain west, lower than when I lived in Avon, but we still have to follow the high altitude baking instructions. So when a job matching exactly what I want to do popped up at a much more reasonable 500 feet above sea level, it was like flashing lights were surrounding it.
“Apply here!” it seemed to cry.
So I saved it.
I still haven’t applied. Instead, I lie and push it off to another day.
We’d have to move. It’d be a pain with schooling. My wife has family here. We’d have to fix up our house to sell it.
All these are true. But they’re also lies. I’m trying to protect myself from pain. From the pain of getting rejected from my dream job. The pain of potentially realizing it’s not my dream job. From the pain of taking a step forward and realizing things haven’t gotten any better.
I might not be the Incel man Galef uses, but it’s just as much a lie. And it could have long term negative consequences.
The more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I spot the lies I tell myself. Worse, I’m worried about the ones I haven’t yet found.
We all lie to ourselves about something. We have our pet comforts that we pull in close, the equivalent to a warm bed on a freezing morning, when we shout at Alexa to give us five more minutes. Then five more.
What lies to yourself have you managed to get past? How did you do it? Did it make your life better?
I’m asking for a friend. It’s that stupid voice in my head that won’t stop lying.
When I’m not lying to myself, I’m a tax CPA. Need help setting up your freelance gig? Try my free, 6 day mini course on putting together your independent entrepreneurial venture. Sign up for it here!
