“When a Child Learns to Lie”

 by Adena M’lynn

I didn’t learn to lie

from a liar’s academy.

I learned to lie

from the people who demanded truth—

the ones who looked me in the face

and said,

“Tell me what happened,”

then flinched

when I actually did.

See, the truth I carried

wasn’t dressed for guests.

It didn’t come in tidy sentences

or soft colors.

It came in bruised shapes

and late night shadows

and footsteps that didn’t belong in a child’s room.

So when I handed it over—

small hands open,

voice shaking—

they recoiled.

“No.

That’s not true.

Stop lying.”

And that’s the moment

a child becomes a scientist—

experimenting with stories

the way other kids try on shoes

in the back of Gibson’s store

on a Saturday afternoon.

Does this one fit?

No?

Too big?

Too scary?

Too close to the thing you don’t want to believe?

Okay… try another.

This one?

Too small?

Not believable enough?

Try again.

So I learned quickly,

the truth wasn’t what happened.

The truth was whatever made adults say, “Okay.”

Whatever let them exhale.

Whatever didn’t crack their perfect world

down the center.

I became fluent

in reading grown-ups—

the twitch in an eye,

the tightening of a jaw,

the way a room shifted

when the real story got too close.

And I adjusted.

Softened the edges.

Changed the ending.

Cut out the monster

even when the monster was real.

Harmful?

God, yes.

Like swallowing broken glass slowly,

one shard at a time.

But survival has its own logic—

and children follow it like gospel.

Because if the truth breaks the adults,

who’s left to hold the child?

So I learned to lie.

Not to deceive—

but to stay safe,

to stay believed, 

to stay wanted.

To keep the world around me from falling apart

even as mine already had.

And years later,

I’m still unlearning that skill—

still teaching my body

that honesty won’t get me punished,

that telling my story

won’t make the room go silent,

that sometimes the truth

is finally allowed

to be the truth.

But if you ever ask

where the habit began,

I can tell you plainly,

A child learns to lie

the day they tell the truth

and nobody believes them.