“Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies”
-Fleetwood Mac
When television host Julie Chen revealed the lengths to which she went to create a successful career, one sensed she might have regrets about her decision. However, she was prevented from voicing them by her co-workers, who each asserted that the choice she made to have cosmetic surgery was the right thing to do.
Her co-workers said the words they thought they must, told the lies needed to maintain an appearance of emotional simplicity.
Everyday, mothers’ feelings are brushed under the rug in exchange for tidy lies and trivialities.
All that matters is a healthy baby. When she’s been disappointed or even abused.
It wasn’t meant to be. When she’s lost a baby.
It’s not your fault; let it go. When she’s consumed by guilt.
From time to time we all gloss over the truth. Avoid the nitty gritty. Comfort ourselves with words of kindness, if not veracity, in an attempt to comfort others. We tell little lies because we want the lie to be the truth–because the emotional business of truth can be messy and heart wrenching.
“Tell me lies, lies, lies, sweet little lies
When I cannot bear the truth”
-Michael Franti & Spearhead
At a recent meeting I was at the subject turned to infant circumcision. The general consensus was of opposition, but one mother spoke of having chosen it for her son only a few months ago. The procedure went well, she said, and there were no complications. All present were quick to interject assurances that her son was fine.
Just look at him! Of course he’s OK.
It would not have been appropriate to lecture the mother or explain why the complication rate is always 100%, but it was also inappropriate to mask the truth to protect her feelings or to maintain complacency. (Those sweet little lies seemed all the more unsuitable when her son aired out between diaper changes, revealing a buried penis, a condition that is both a contraindication for circumcision and a potential side effect of it.)
To the question, Do these pants make me look fat?
You look wonderful.
To the claim, I’m disappointed, sad, angry, unhappy, resentful, or frustrated. Or, I fucked up royally.
I am here. I will acknowledge the validity of your feelings and experiences and offer quiet solidarity rather than glossy lies.
