The Chilling Haunt of Needing Truth - Part 1 and 2

Part 1 - The Delicate Dance of Truth and Deception: A Journey of Self-Discovery

 

As I reflect on my life's journey, I am reminded of the profound impact that a simple childhood misunderstanding shaped my understanding of truth and lies. My parents, with the best of intentions, would often remind me that honesty is always the best policy, that telling the truth would always be easier and better. However, my experiences would soon reveal a different reality. When I told the truth, I would often face punishment, while lying would frequently allow me to avoid consequences. This paradoxical lesson would shape my perspective on truth and deception, leading me down a path of exploration and self-discovery.

I vividly recall a particular incident where my sister and I were interrogated by our mother about a ruined book. My sister's whispered advice to confess, even if I wasn't responsible, still resonates with me. I eventually gave in, admitting to something I didn't do, and was subsequently punished. This experience, and many others like it, taught me that truth was not always the most desirable option. Lying, on the other hand, seemed to offer a way out, a means to avoid punishment and trouble. As I navigated my way through life, I found myself paying close attention to the dynamics of truth and deception, observing what worked and what didn't. It all also reinforced that people believe what they need to believe for a variety of their own reasons.

However, as I matured and gained insight, I began to realize that the distinction between truth and lies was not always clear-cut. What mattered more was not the objective truth, but rather what people could make sense of, what they were willing to, or needed to, believe. I noticed that certain lies could be told with impunity, while some truths would be met with skepticism and doubt. This phenomenon had less to do with the inherent value of the statement and more to do with the listener's needs, confidence, and self-worth. For instance, telling someone that you had cheated on them, regardless of whether it was true or not, would often be believed. On the other hand, telling someone that you were leaving them to support their growth and well-being would frequently be met with incredulity.

This understanding has been a blessing in disguise, allowing me to approach people's stories, not as absolute truths or lies, but as narratives that reveal their perspectives, fears, and desires. I've come to see that people share what they can, what they're willing to, and what they feel safe sharing. This realization may seem counterintuitive, even alarming, as it may lead one to wonder if I'm somehow vulnerable to manipulation or exploitation. However, my journey has also taught me that being taken advantage of is not a result of others' actions, but rather a reflection of my own needs and expectations.

The most significant epiphany I've had is that being taken advantage of is, in fact, a perspective of my own making. When I act out of my own truth, when I give love, help, or resources without expectation of reciprocity, I am immune to exploitation. I've learned to recognize that my own needs, desires, and fears can create vulnerabilities that others can exploit. By acknowledging and addressing these weaknesses, I've been able to reclaim my autonomy and agency. I give love because I love, not because I need a partner or validation. I offer help because I'm capable of doing so, not because I expect something in return. When we act from a place of genuine intention, without attachment to specific outcomes, we become invulnerable to manipulation.

This further allows our giving to be infinite and energizing.

This understanding has had a profound impact on my life, freeing me from anxiety, depression, and the constant need to control or manipulate others as well as the immunity from manipulation of others. By letting go of my expectations and needs, I've been able to cultivate deeper, more meaningful relationships. I've learned to accept what comes my way, to face challenges with gratitude, and to recognize that everything that happens is an opportunity for growth. This mindset has allowed me to take back my life, to live in the present, and to find joy and contentment in the simplest things. It has also allowed others to share more deeply with me.

As I reflect on my journey, I'm reminded that the distinction between truth and lies is not always clear-cut. What's more important is our ability to navigate the complexities of human relationships, to recognize the stories that people tell, and to understand the underlying needs and desires that drive their actions. By doing so, we can create a more compassionate, empathetic, and authentic world, where people feel safe to share their stories, and where we can connect on a deeper, more meaningful level.

In conclusion, my journey has taught me that the delicate dance of truth and deception is, in fact, a dance of self-discovery and self-worth. By recognizing the complexities of human relationships, by acknowledging our own needs and expectations, and by acting from a place of genuine intention, we can create a more authentic, compassionate, and fulfilling life. We can learn to see people's stories as narratives, rather than absolute truths or lies, and to approach relationships with empathy, understanding, and an open heart. By doing so, we can free ourselves from the burdens of anxiety, depression, and exploitation, and embark on a journey of self-discovery, growth, and transformation. In this journey we naturally embrace radical independence, not wounded independence, and a deep grace and humility.

Pause a moment. Be fearless. Ask yourself: What actually makes the truth matter? Now reclaim your vitality.

___________________________________________________

Part 2 - The Liberation of Truth: Embracing the Stories We Share and the Lives We Live

From a young age, I was taught that truth is a moral compass—a guiding force that, if followed, would lead to clarity and fairness. My parents always told us to tell the truth - it will always be better, easier. But when I told the truth, even if taking the blame for others, I was punished. But when I lied, I was spared. That contradiction left me confused. If truth was the right path, why did it feel like a burden? Why did lies, so often, seem lighter?

This early lesson planted a seed of skepticism about truth as an absolute. Over time, life’s trials reinforced this complexity. I learned that truth could be a weapon, wielded by others to assign blame or shame. Meanwhile, lies—carefully crafted, strategically placed—could shield from consequences and even protect others. Oh, come on— when was the last time you told someone who is overweight that they are overweight? Very few of us are innocent of all lying in all its forms. We just create acceptability measures do we not? Yet, for all its utility, lying felt corrosive, a shadow that gnawed at my integrity. I realized I didn’t choose lies for their morality, but for their survival. Truth, it seemed, was not just about honesty— it was about power, perception, and the fragile dance of human relationships and emotion.

The Paradox of Perception: Why Truth is Never Just Truth

As I grew older, I began to see that truth and lies are not binary concepts. Their impact hinges on who is told, when, and why. A truth can be rejected if it threatens someone’s sense of control or self-worth. A lie can be readily accepted if it aligns with a person’s deepest fears or desires. Consider this: tell someone you love that you’ve been unfaithful, and they may believe you—even if you haven’t. But tell them you’re leaving to give them space to grow, and they may accuse you of selfishness, even if your motives are pure. The problem isn’t the truth or the lie themselves, but the needs and insecurities of the person receiving them.

This realization reframed my entire worldview. People’s stories—what they choose to share or conceal—are not about deception or virtue. They are survival strategies shaped by their experiences, fears, and the need for approval. One person lies to avoid conflict. Another tells “hard truths” to teach accountability. Another learns to lie to escape punishment. Each of us was simply doing what felt necessary in our own context.

The Freedom of Letting Go

This insight became a gift in ways I never anticipated. By recognizing that no story is inherently “true” or “false,” I freed myself from the need to judge others—and myself. Well, be gentle with self is an ongoing work of Salvador Dali surrealism at times. When someone shares a version of events that differs from mine, I no longer assume deception. Instead, I ask: What need is this person trying to fulfill? What does this story allow them to feel safe saying? This shift in perspective transformed my relationships. I stopped trying to “catch” others in lies, and instead became curious about the unspoken emotions behind their words. I just found joy in them sharing what they wanted to share.

But here’s what surprised me most: this open-hearted approach did not make me vulnerable. If anything, it made me invulnerable. You see, being taken advantage of is never about the actions of others—it’s about our own unmet needs and expectations. We let people walk all over us when we believe we need their approval, their love, or their resources. We enable exploitation when we give with an unspoken ledger of “I expect this to be returned.” But when I learned to give purely—loving without strings, helping without an agenda, spending without expecting reciprocity—I discovered a radical freedom. No one can “take advantage” of me if my choices stem from abundance, not scarcity.

Living Authentically: The Path to Liberation

This is the blessing of my journey: the power to live with both radical straightforwardness and radical acceptance. Today, I act from my truth—not the truth of rules, but the truth of my values and intuition. I love because love is a language of connection, not because I need to fill a void or a life checkbox nor something that keeps me safe. I give because generosity is a source of joy, not because I’m trading favors. When I do this, I invite others to meet me with their own authenticity. And when they don’t? I’ve learned to release the need for reciprocity without resentment, which is effortless because my outward has such purity.

To live this way is to reject the age-old trap of trying to control outcomes through manipulation or expectations. It’s to stop waiting for someone else’s approval and start honoring my own. It’s to face life with both eyes open: seeing the world’s imperfections, yet still choosing to engage with wonder. And in this balance, we find something extraordinary—relationships that thrive on trust rather than transaction, lives that are enriched by curiosity rather than fear.

Your Invitation to Transform

This is not a call to moral relativism. It’s not about excusing harm or abandoning ethics. Rather, it’s an invitation to depth—to see beyond the surface of lies and truths, and into the human tapestry of struggle, hope, and survival that we all carry. Here’s how you can begin:

·       Reframe your perspective. When faced with a “lie” or “truth,” ask not “What is this person hiding?” but “What are they needing to feel safe right now?”

·       Clarify your own motives. Ask yourself: Am I acting from abundance or fear? Am I giving to help, or to gain approval?

·       Let go of control. Accept that you cannot make others “believe” your truth nor tell you theirs. Focus on your own alignment and steadiness instead.

·       Embrace gratitude. For what you receive, and for what you don’t. Both are opportunities to strengthen your inner compass and increase the frequency of grace.

When we stop defining ourselves by others’ needs and expectations as well as our own, we reclaim the power to live authentically. We stop chasing the illusion of being “owed” to feel recognized or important and start creating value from within. And in this liberation, we find not just peace, but possibility.

The truth I now honor isn’t a shield, a weapon, or even a rule. It’s a practice—a daily choice to engage with the world as it is, while holding space for the stories others carry. And in that space, we all get to be free.

-            Daniel Keith