So I Lied…
A white lie is a small, insignificant lie told to avoid hurting someone’s feelings or causing trouble. Yet I am a Black woman so when I speak, it is never trivial. When I said, “I have had sex before,” when in fact I was (am) a virgin, or “No, I’m okay,” when I, in fact, was not it was all the stitching of the cloth I used to ingratiate myself.
That cloth kept me warm most nights (even in the clutches of 3rd Ward heat) It brought laughter from others that became friends. What I didn't realize then was that it cast a shadow over who I really was, creating a falsehood of belonging. A performance of closeness. A version of myself tailored for their comfort. I thought my friends would somehow connect with me more…if I, too, had shared my body before my mind. Only then would I be worthy enough to bear witness to their tears to be the guiding presence in their ruined psyche scorched by lust before love. So I’d lie and say “Girl my ex did that too, you have to…” The offering of my fabricated advice made me feel special…I truly believed that if I wore the same stories, shaped the same experiences that I’d be more accepted. But in return, I felt hollow. They didn't know me. Our closeness was built on a lie masquerading as a perfect bow bonded by sisterhood, but fastened with fabrication.
I lied so much I didn’t know who I was anymore hell neither did the men I dated. I couldn’t express who I was, so I let their temptations, their ideas of me,
reshape my reflection. I didn’t care much for real courtship or the surface-level questions about my interests…because truthfully, I didn’t know how to answer them.
Compliments became a substitute for connection. “He said I’m pretty… so that must be enough.” or “He held me a little longer when I fell into his fantasy.”
Because that’s what I was: a fantasy. He didn’t like me—he liked how I looked.
And maybe that was easier, because I didn’t like myself either. So I welcomed the love bombing. But the attention I received could never substitute for the acceptance I truly needed. And so the more I lied, the more I lost myself. Until one day, I realized: I’ve never really been seen.
To my readers, this blog isn't just about sex. It’s not even just about the lie. It’s about why I thought the truth wouldn’t be enough.
But it is. I’m learning to live without the bow. To speak without stitching myself up in expectations. To be known without performing and maybe that’s the scariest kind of honesty.
To admit what I’ve never done without shame. To show up whole, not hollow. And maybe not everyone will stay. But for the first time, I will.
I often look back on this photo and laugh because if she could see me now she'd be petrified we are now everything she was too scared to be: free, unapologetically.