The #1 Thing Stopping You From Living Authentically
Have you ever told a lie? (If you answer no, you just did.)
We’ve all done it.
We’ve all had moments in our lives where we withheld the truth or stretched it wide with exaggeration.
Recently, I woke up one morning thinking about lies I’ve told over the years. One in particular stood out to me:
I was in the 8th grade and had this math teacher named Mr. Peltz.
Looking back, I don’t remember any moments of him ever being mean to me, so I’m pretty sure the junior high me just found him annoying because of the times he’d single me out when I was being too talkative in class. And possibly because his voice was a combo of the drowsy drag of Eeyore, the Clear Eyes guy, and the whininess of that little blonde, pig-tailed girl the Trunchbull flung in the sky in Matilda.
It was in one of these calling me out moments that I got really sassy. I can't recall what my smart-alikey commentary was. I just remember it landed me with a detention slip.
I was embarrassed. I was pissed. And was soon overwhelmingly afraid when he told me I had to get the slip signed by my mom.
Now I don’t know what kinda mama you’ve got, but mine definitely wasn’t the type that was hunky dory about her kids speaking disrespectfully to adults or acting like we had zero home training—especially in school.
So, naturally, instead of confessing to my mom that I was talking + fooling around in class (strike 1), that I had spoken to Mr. Peltz rudely (strike 2), and now had to sit in detention after school (strike 3), I needed to come up with a plan.
(Ya know, it’s really amazing the strategies you’re able to think up when you know an old school whoopin’ could be coming your way.)
So here’s what I did:
I found an old math homework assignment.
I crinkled it up a bit and carefully ripped off the top right corner, where Mr. Peltz typically wrote the assignment’s grade—which was most likely an A, since I was pretty dang good at math.
Then I tore off the lower third of the paper.
By the end of my tweaks, it looked like it was straight outta the bottom of my backpack. I laid it on top of a blank sheet of lined paper and stapled the two together. And at the bottom of the lined sheet, I drew an “x” and a signature line.
When I got home, I gave my mom the tattered homework. I calmly explained I had forgotten to turn it in but found it in my backpack and Mr. Peltz required that she signed it to prove she was aware I had missed an assignment.
Without much questioning, she signed her name on the x-marked spot. And when I got the chance, I unattached the withered homework, and wrote a note on the top portion of the lined paper, explaining that I told my mom about the detention. I was pretty confident her signature at the bottom would appease Mr. Peltz once I told him I had “lost” my detention slip.
I felt like a secret agent, like I had concocted the most ingenious strategy to avoid the wrath of an angry black woman and keep a timid teacher who finally decided to lay down the law at bay.
But my glory moment ended when I gave Mr. Peltz my detention slip replacement.
I explained that because I lost the original, I had my mom sign the note I had written. He looked it over, and with skepticism asked, “Did you forge this?”
“What? No, my mom signed it.”
We went back and forth as he argued against the signature’s authenticity, claiming it looked different than other forms my mom had signed in the past.
My gut sank into my butt when he refused to believe the only truth there actually was and he picked up the phone to tell my mom about the fake signature.
It went to voicemail. And I spent the rest of the day in tormenting agony, wondering what would happen once I got home.
After she listened to the voicemail, my mom was pretty mad. And considering the fact that she was already livid, I was not about to add more fuel to the fire by letting her in on the real reason behind me getting detention and the fake note scheme. So I left it at that. I don’t think I’ve ever been so content with being grounded than I did then.
I had dug so deep of a hole with my lies that I didn’t think telling the truth could make anything better.
Lies weigh us down ya'll. And the load gets bigger + heavier the more we let them pile up.
To keep one lie from being found out, we have to layer a ton more on top of it.
But why do we lie? What keeps us from being honest? Why are we so comfortable with silencing the truth?
It’s the same reason why I made that fake note back in 8th grade: FEAR.
I believe fear is the #1 thing that stopping us from living authentically, from walking in truth–even when we're at our messiest.
You see, I think fear + lies are one in the same. You can’t have one without the other.
Think about the lies you’ve told: the ones you’ve told your teachers, your parents, your bosses, your friends and lovers.
Some of them are probably pretty laughable, so stupid and pointless that you wonder why you even lied about anything at all.
Some of them are probably even super easy to talk about now because the circumstances have changed.
And some of them are the never-tell-a-soul, I’m-taking-this-to-my-grave kind, the ones that silently eat away at you or cause you to retreat from closeness because you’re afraid the secret will get out.
Or maybe you’ve told so many, you can’t even keep up with them all.
With the landfill of lies you and I have spoken, we need to ask ourselves this: Why did I tell those lies? Why didn’t I just speak the truth?
We lie because we’re afraid of the outcome of telling the truth.
We lie because of fear.
Fear of punishment.
Fear of criticism.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of standing alone.
Fear of being wrong.
Fear of being right.
Fear of not being enough.
Fear of being unloved.
Back in the 8th grade, I could’ve and should’ve just been honest. But because I had a mama who didn’t play when it came to cuttin’ up in school, I went completely out of my way to cover up the truth.
I was afraid of the consequences. The fear of admitting I had done something wrong pushed me to do what I knew wasn’t right. And in my case, my lie didn’t even save me from being grounded! I still got punished!
I just went along with the lie because if I kept it 100 with my mom and confessed the elaborate scheme I used to trick her, I had no idea what would be on the other side of that and didn’t want to risk finding out.
I feel like fear cons us into believing lies, and these lies mature into shame.
And shame then corners us into being comfortable with silencing the truth.
And that silence torments us.
Every fear + every lie attached to it is robbing us of the fullness and beauty of our God-given lives!
And if you’re anything like me, you don’t wanna go another minute—let alone another year—without experiencing every ounce of goodness there is in living authentically as who God crafted you to be.
The truths we’re unwilling to speak with our lips reflect the fears we’ve listened to with our ears.
For far too long, we’ve believed the lie that our stories, imperfections, and weaknesses aren’t worthy of being seen or heard, that no one will care enough to listen.
Maybe, like me, you sometimes struggle with vocalizing to people when they’ve hurt you, so you act like you’re okay when you’re not because you’re afraid your honesty will ruin the relationship.
Maybe you’ve bought into the lie of perfectionism and only post perfectly curated and edited photos on your Instagram because you’re afraid you won’t be liked or viewed as successful.
Maybe you find yourself at the bottom of a hole you’ve dug and can’t get out of. You keep diving deeper into the spaces and relationships you know aren’t good for you yet you’re afraid to ask God for help because you’ve believed the lie that you’re unlovable, unredeemable or unforgivable.
Guys, we’ve got to stop this.
I fully believe that God wants to uproot every single lie that’s crept into our hearts so we can know him deeply + be used by him powerfully.
It’s like a tree: the thoughts in our heads are seeds. Those seeds take root in our hearts. And the roots sprout up + bring forth fruit through our words and actions. In other words, how we think, who’s voice we believe, what we say and what we do are so deeply connected to one another.
And the easier it is for us to listen to or speak lies, the more susceptible we are to live from them. Yet the more we lean in to learning and speaking the truth, the more empowered we are to live in the freedom it brings.
We’ve got to start living our lives deliberately out of truth rather than letting lies tell us who God ain’t, who we aren’t, where we can’t go and what we can’t do.
Fear is a bully, like Deebo waiting to snatch your chain.
We’ve gotta escape the prison of fear. You only get one shot at this life, and it goes by quicker than a blink. So why not live it outside the small boxes of fear?
I'm a firm believer that the truth really does set us free. And we’ve got to give ourselves permission to find it, believe it, speak it and live it.
My prayer is that you’d walk in a new level of freedom you didn’t know was possible!
I want to see you:
Free to be vulnerable.
Free to be authentic.
Free to be imperfect.
Free to make mistakes.
Free from regret.
Free from hiding.
Free from proving & striving.
Free from shame.
Free to give love & free to embrace it.
I don’t want you to waste another second squandering your potential like a caged bird. I don’t want you bound up in isolation like a princess imprisoned in a tall tower.
Just as much as fear + lies are your soul’s worst enemies, truth + love can be your most faithful allies.
The lies we believe and the fears we live from can only be defeated by the truth that God is unwavering in his love and unfailing in his goodness.
What is the truth you’re afraid to tell? How has fear held you back from speaking it?
What are the lies you’ve told yourself? What are the lies others have spoken into us that you’ve banked your whole life on?
Let’s commit to speaking the truth in love more.
Let’s be more honest with God, our tribe, and ourselves about our fears.
Let’s lean in to discovering the truth of who he is and who he declares that we are, and actually believing it!
The more we stop faking it and the more we give ourselves permission to be real, the less power fear + lies have over us.
So don’t commit to telling the truth with your words and your life just because it’s right. Do it because your freedom to soak up of every bit of good this life has to offer isn’t worth losing.