The Mirror I Didn’t Want to Look In

One of my mentors always says this thing. Actually she says a lot of things. Talking to her is like mining for jewels in the hills and valleys of her life experiences.

She essentially says that if one person has a problem with you, no problem. That one person must not like you. If a second person has the same problem, then obviously person A and person B have been talking to each other. Those rotten gossips. But if a third person has that same problem with you and doesn’t know person A or person B, then you might be the problem.

That little story was cute and cheeky… until it hit home.

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The Habit I Carried Into Adulthood

Turns out the problem people kept having with me was lying. I grew up telling tales. Lying as a 2nd grader about twizzlers I’d stuffed into my pockets at the New Haven mall — Twizzlers that I could’ve just asked for. Fibbing about how much I weighed when the casual bathroom conversation started confronting my greatest middle school insecurity. The audacity of me for trying to gaslight those girls into thinking my 165 pound behind was only 98 pounds. Straight up inventing alternate realities about being an urban inner city youth and having a mom who event planned a Beyoncé concert to my classmates at the writing program over the summer after 6th grade.

Chile, when I say I was lying I mean I was L Y I N G.

At a certain point I realized lying like that was wild, but at that point it was a habit and by my teen years I was essentially living a double life. To my mom, I was the star student because I hid all my mediocre report cards when they arrived in the mail. She saw me as a model child because she and my dad never noticed that the car keys always happened to go missing when they went out of town or that the lawn mower gas can was always empty when they returned. (Y’all make sure you come back for Thursday’s post to check on me because you know my mama reads these posts. 👀)

As you can imagine that nasty little habit didn’t stay behind in childhood; it grew up right alongside me and crossed over into adulthood.

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Called Out with Grace and Love

When I lied to a new coworker about getting fired from my previous job I brushed it under the rug because the next day I went back and told the truth. She was gracious and I was grateful. Years later, when I lied about meeting important deadlines at work, I ignored my resurgent integrity issue. Instead, I focused on the external factors that “caused me” not to meet the deadlines and the character flaws I saw in others.

My ego and my pride seduced me into believing that I was “basically” honest. The truth? I was still running from accountability.

A few months ago I lied to a close friend. I spiritually gaslit this person I claimed to care about, twisting the fallout of my own gossip into what I tried to pass off as the Holy Spirit’s conviction. 😬 I crossed a line I never thought I would. My natural instinct was to say that lying was a necessary means to an end, justify my behavior, and move on like nothing had happened. Transparently I tried to, but my friend called me out effectively inviting me to truly look into one of the many mirrors that the people around me had been unknowingly holding up for me for years.

My friend called me out twice — once with grace and once with love.

Y’all know definitions matter a lot to me, so I’m agreeing with Bell Hooks and M. Scott Peck on Erich Fromm’s (and really God’s) definition of love as “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” When I was met with just grace, I was immediately comforted, but when I was met with love I was forced to start squinting at my reflection.

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From Shame to Guilt, From Hiding to Healing

The therapeutic work I’d been putting in was allowing me to see glimmers of truth past my ego’s idyllic projection and to sit in the discomfort. This is where I had to ask myself, “lying to what necessary end?” Protecting my image by not admitting I gossiped? Maintaining the MoRaL hIGh gRoUnD? It’s as ridiculous as the way I typed it, I know. Avoiding the shame of not having done the right thing?

Maybe lying wasn’t your thing, but I bet you’ve got your own way of dodging the truth. We all do. That’s why the mirrors matter.

I just sat and listened as my friend shared how disappointed they were with me. I just took it. I didn’t defend myself. I didn’t make excuses. I just apologized — not because I was fully “there” mentally and emotionally, but because the glimpses were enough to show me that that’s what I needed to do to get “there”. I needed to accept that I was the woman who lied. 🤥

No ifs, and, or buts about it. No more excuses and justifications.

I’m not only the woman who lied. I had the nerve to be the woman who lied about the conviction of the Holy Spirit. Yikes. And yes I really tried it. Y’all please cover me in prayer because God had every right to roll His eyes at me. In that moment and the reflective ones that followed as I practiced using the tool of sitting with my emotions, I accepted what I had done. I felt the shame that I’ve grown so accustomed to wash over me. I didn’t eat, scroll, or shift blame to escape it. I just sat with it. It felt like sitting in a dark room… but then I realized even darkness has cracks and love allows grace to slip through the smallest ones.

For the first time in my life, the shame washed away and turned into healthy guilt. Shame accused me of being the problem. Guilt convicted me to do better. Shame said “hide.” Guilt said “heal.”

I wasn’t conflating what I had done with who I was. My identity as God’s masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10) and as fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14) wasn’t sullied by my iniquity. My sin didn’t erase my worth.

Being in the wrong and taking accountability for it didn’t kill me like I thought it would. Actually, it freed me.

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An Invitation for You

I was able to recognize that I lied because I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I gossiped about my friend. Ashamed that I didn’t meet my work deadlines. Ashamed that I got fired. Ashamed that I no longer got easy A’s like I once had. Ashamed that I was overweight. Ashamed that I wanted candy when I was already fat. I learned that shame  — the belief that every wrong is proof I’m intrinsically bad — is the corner I’ve allowed myself to be put in over and over again. I now saw with clarity that choosing truth, accountability, and action were my way out. And strangely enough, I’m grateful for the mirror I didn’t want to look in because it showed me freedom I didn’t know I needed.

I offer sincere compassion for anyone with a problem that they don’t want to see clearly, but keep coming face to face with. I also extend an invitation to consider: What mirror are you resisting, and what truth might God be lovingly inviting you to face in it? If you’re willing, drop a comment about the mirror you’ve been avoiding — I’d love to walk this out with you.

With Flailing and Flourish,

Kimani Sioux