Angi Aymond

I lied.

Without missing a beat, I looked at my counselor/supervisor/mentor straight in the eye and lied.

I don’t even know why, but the untruth came stumbling out of my mouth so quickly that there was no way to suck it back in or walk it back.  It was done, and the reason for this conversation and its solution was now polluted.

The backstory.

I struggle with people pleasing. (I’d like to say that the struggle is past tense, but in reality, there’s a lingering smidge.)

I had ruffled feathers, and I wasn’t handling the fallout well. In fact, my standard mode of operation was avoidance until the clouds of disappointment had settled.

But these clouds were not settling. My coworkers and volunteers were unhappy. And my avoidant little self didn’t know how to get through.

“So, were you one of the pretty, popular girls in high school?,” were the words off her lips.

“Yes,” was the one word that came marching off my tongue with great confidence. But it wasn’t true. Oh, I wasn’t without friends, for sure. But I certainly wasn’t popular. 

I don’t know why she asked the question. But it felt like she was implying my way had been easy. Little did she know.

And I don’t know why I lied. What was I hoping to change? Her mind about me? It’s still a mystery to me! But what I do know is that my answer changed her response. It’s almost as though she was happy I was stuck and that I was getting my just reward. “People won’t always like you.”

That was not what I needed.

What I needed was clarity. A push to grow beyond my unhealthy avoidant behavior to a better version of me.

Heck. I already lived in a head space where I believed no one liked me or respected me. Perhaps it was somewhat true. And maybe I had earned my way to that very spot.

But her assumption and my following lie did nothing to remedy my situation.

I have been guilty of the same. Making false assumptions about people based on bad intel or wounds of my own. I’ve made plenty of assumptions about others based on my personal biases.

And can I say, I’m not always right? (Look at that growth!) Oh, in my years, I’ve compiled some experience that helps inform me when meeting new people, deciding with whom I might want to forge friendships. But I’ve also found it best to give time some time. Give others room to grow and become the best version of themselves. 

That one-word lie haunts me. Still. What would have happened in that conversation if I had answered truthfully? What steps might have been taken to coach me to a better place? Love the real broken me toward a better me?

I’ll never have the answer to those questions.  But I am forever grateful God  brought others into my life who have helped me become a healthier me. A braver me.

And because of that one disastrous conversation, I want to do better. Be a better mentor. A better encourager. A better friend of broken women who are longing to experience the love of God.

A love that changes everything.  Especially them.

Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

  COLOSSIANS 4:5-6