Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth

"When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her." —Adrienne Rich

I'm a honest person. I once shoplifted purple eyeshadow from a department store on a dare when I was 12 and was so filled with shame that I couldn't even use it. I routinely confessed to things that my parents didn't even know enough to ask me about. And any time my friends and I would wonder, aloud, if we could ever cheat on our husbands, it always boiled down to one thing for me: "How could I ever look him in the eye after cheating?"
So, to discover my husband's double life was more than a shock to me. It was an assault on the value system I thought we shared. If he lied about the big things, he must lie about everything. Was anything true?
And so I began calling my husband out for every single mistruth. I began to notice lies that I'd previously overlooked. Things that I would have called harmless before D-Day, I was beginning to see were part of a pattern.
He lied to avoid conflict. He lied to avoid consequences. He lied to seem nice. He told people he "couldn't" do things that he simply didn't want to do. He told me that he was late due to traffic instead of admitting that he got distracted at work and lost track of time. He told me he came to bed at midnight when it was 1 a.m. He told his mother he "had" to go visit a nearby friend rather than sit with her when the truth was she annoyed him. And on. And on.
I'm no saint, of course. I've told friends I like their new haircut when I don't particularly. I've professed to love meals that I choked down. Or to love gifts that I didn't.
I've tried to dedicate myself to radical honesty, ever since D-Day. But it's hard. Really hard. Sometimes a little lie is kinder than the truth. But each time I lie, even with the best intentions, I feel a little smaller.
Because I no longer believe that lies are harmless. I'm questioning if it's truly kinder to lie than to tell the truth to "spare" people's feelings. I'm beginning to think it's disrespectful to the person being lied to.
I was recently invited to join a writers' group. The others have been meeting for a few years and I was warned about one person in particular who's prickly about criticism. The others told me to "be careful" about what I say to her. They admitted that they tippy-toe around this person's work because they don't want to "hurt her feelings."
I listened to them and then I said that I wouldn't do that. I would, of course, be considerate. But it's a disservice to an adult writer to not be honest in my opinions of her work and how she might improve it. I don't claim to have all the answers. My opinions might be completely wrong. But she is a grown woman seeking input.
And I owe it to her to be honest, but also to myself.
Honesty is tough. But if we set the bar at "total honesty", then we're a lot more likely to at least get close to it. But if we set the bar at "honesty unless it makes us uncomfortable", then we're going to be living a whole lot of half-truths.
The other night, I suggested to my husband that we should take the dogs for longer walks because, as I pointed out, we could both stand to lose a little weight. 
"I don't think I need to lose any," he said.
"H'mmm...but you think I do?" I said.
He said nothing, which, of course, says a lot.
But at least, he's being honest. 

Does Anyone Tell the Truth Any More?

I'm an honest person. Sure I tell the occasional white lie (No really, that haircut looks great on you; Ya know, Sweetie, you're as talented as Picasso!) but I just can't – won't! – lie about things of consequence. It's tempting sometimes. To lie to save face. (Sorry, I'm late. The traffic was brutal.) To lie to get out of a commitment. (Turns out I can't find childcare.) To lie to ourselves. (My clothes must be shrinking. I haven't been eating much lately.)
But ever since I learned that the man I thought couldn't possibly lie had created a life of lies...well, let's just say I make it a matter of personal honor to tell the truth, even when it makes me look bad, incompetent, lazy or stupid. I'm convinced it's a matter of degree from bending the truth to doing origami with it.
However, I'm not sure society agrees with me.
Consider this example: I'm organizing an event in the city and had hoped a mutual friend could help me. I outlined what I was doing and asked for her assistance. She agreed that it was a wonderful idea and that she was so excited I'd contacted her. Then she said, "Now, I'd like to ask YOU a favor." Fair enough, I thought. And so I agreed to take on a task for free that I generally charge between $250 and $500 for (it falls under my freelance work).
Well, tomorrow I fulfill my part of the agreement. Her? Well...turns out that she's not available the day I needed her. She had booked a trip to New York. New York! Who the hell forgets that they've booked a trip to New York!
Can you tell I'm a bit steamed??
And this is where I start to wonder.
Am I making a big deal about this because of the lie upon lie I dealt with during my husband's infidelity? Or am I making a big deal about this because it's inherently wrong to deceive someone...whether they're your spouse or an acquaintance?
I think the latter. Sure I might be a bit more sensitive to the bending of truth than someone without my history...but I just can't stand lying.
Who's with me on this?

Crazy-making: When lies seem truth and truth seem lies

I was lucky -- if you can call it that. When I confronted my husband, I got the truth. Sorta. It took a long, protracted phone call and increasing threats ("If you want this marriage, you will tell me EVERYTHING!"). It took a therapist insisting to him that he come completely clean. But, because even he was sick of his double life, he was ready to tell me the truth.
One BWC member, Sandra, spent years feeling something was up between her husband and his business partner. The two were close. Travelled together for business. Acted flirty when together. But her concerns were dismissed as "crazy". She was "jealous" of "too suspicious." Six months after her son was born, her husband returned home late one night and announced he wanted out of the marriage. But still no disclosure. It took another year before he could admit they were living together and utter an apology, directed at the floor. Turns out she wasn't crazy at all.
If you suspect your husband is cheating but he's insisting he's not, you're either right...or delusional. And most of us know exactly where we are on that continuum. I'm often asked what I've learned from this whole experience and I say, without hesitation, "I've learned to trust my instincts."
So often as women we dismiss our gut feelings. And others are often complicit in it. I confided in a few friends about my suspicions and was assured that my husband "would never do that." I'm sure their intentions were good. Finally, another friend asked me simply, "what do you know?" upon which I laid out all my "evidence" -- which didn't amount to much more than a gut feeling. Her response? "I think you're right."
That was all I needed to confront.
My advice to you if you're wondering if you know what you think you know? Trust your gut, but gather as much evidence as you can because many men act like cornered cats. They'll deny, hiss, fight back, accuse you. Get cell phone records, hide a voice activated recorder if possible, ask around at work, with friends... Find the weak link and use it.
Then, buckle up. You're in for a rough ride.