Chapter 2: Schoolyard Survival – Lies, Likeability, and Losing Yourself
Confession: If there had been an Olympic event for creative lying, I would’ve been flag-bearer for Team People-Pleaser.
Let me give you the greatest hits. My personal masterpiece? “My cat had kittens.” This wasn’t just a throwaway story—this lie got so big, with so many details, other kids’ parents actually started calling my parents to arrange a visit to pick out kittens for themselves. There were no kittens. There wasn’t even a cat. Just a lonely kid, trying to find a way to fit in.
Then there was, “My dad sells snowmobiles.” Well, we owned a couple snowmobiles. We even had a little snowmobile repair shop—nothing near a dealership. But that didn’t matter. I was already in too deep, and the bigger the lie, the more I needed it to get through another day.
Truth was, it could’ve been anything—vacations I never took, amazing gifts I didn’t have, injuries or stories that would get a “poor you” or a “wow, really?” from whoever I wanted approval from. Looking back, it was all about chasing moments where I might be worth picking for the team, worth sitting next to at lunch. But here’s the part nobody talks about: once people started catching on, once I got caught in those lies, the isolation just got worse. Getting exposed, even just a little, made me more of an outcast than ever. If you’ve never had kids whisper about you down the hall, or a best friend suddenly treat you like you’re contagious, you don’t know how much it stings. There’s nothing lonelier.
