First on the scene was that deplorable classic: "It’s not you. It’s me." Oops, there’s a memory after all. It made me recoil even as my mouth traced the words in recognition. What a cop out. Back then it was delusion; youthful conceit. I actually thought myself noble; that I was saving the withering young man before me from eternal woundedness. By claiming fault, I had assured him of his perfection. His heart might be broken but at least his self-image was intact. I dropped him as a pigeon would the remnants of its most recent meal, but I did the greater thing by delivering him from the dregs of my inferior affection.
Yeah, right. Who was I kidding? I was saving myself. I didn’t want to be the witch (oh, go ahead and change the letter). I wanted to get rid of him but subconsciously, narcissistically, didn’t want him to hate me. By manipulating the truth, cloaking rather than revealing, I believed I was paving the way for a bearable life without me. Part of me may have even wanted him to love me still; to keep him on a leash, rabidly inhaling the dustballs in my wake. I wanted freedom without guilt or responsibility. Ugh. It is a convoluted game too many of us still love to play.
A married friend fell head over heels in love with someone he met at the gym. I thought he would burst with love for this woman. Any attempt to bring up moral culpability was met with starry-eyed defiance. He struck me as being just a few seconds away from bursting. It made me want to take cover for fear of being showered with bits of heart and shards of misplaced ardor. Soon he announced he was leaving his wife. Two years later, the object of his passion woke up and dumped him. He was a mess. When asked what happened, he simply said he couldn’t get his wife to leave him. He couldn’t do the leaving after all. It was enough that he had fooled around. He would redeem himself by giving her the pleasure of leaving him. He owed her that. At the very least, she would have her pride and be spared the agony and humiliation of being abandoned for another woman.
He reconstructed this puzzle for me with such remorse and sincerity that I almost fell for it. Thank God the offender in me recognized it for what it was. I opened my mouth to argue. Closed it. Opened it again. I wanted to say something profound or illuminating, but what threatened to escape came closer to "DUH! HUH???" so I pursed my lips into what I hoped was an upward curve. I killed the urge to pat him on the head.
The scariest thing about the truth is that you can’t deliver it without first accepting some truth about yourself. My friend was clearly unable to do that. He broke his vows and exposed his family to ruin. He wasn’t ready to see himself as a failure. Or maybe he couldn’t face his indecision. It could be a number of things, each one a reflection of a side of him he wasn’t ready to deal with. He affected nobility instead and deluded himself into thinking his weak orchestrations were proof of decency; the fruit of self-sacrifice. In reality, he did nothing but manufacture little lies and petty transgressions–booby traps he hoped would inspire his wife to throw in the towel, thereby giving him guilt-free space to love another. Well, that didn’t work. Of course not. If he had been true to himself first, things might have turned out differently. He might be out of the marriage or firmly, decisively anchored in it. Either way, he would have come out a better man with a better life.
There is nothing noble about manipulating the truth. It’s a cheap ploy. Compounding painful news with framed lies (for isn’t that what the creative alternatives are?) only leads to indelible betrayal. You owe yourself and your mate much more than that. Telling the truth – especially to someone you once loved – is an expression of respect, consideration and care. Sure it’s going to hurt, but that’s life. That’s love. No one wants to take responsibility for another’s wounds but there’s no going around it. We all take turns taking pain and inflicting it, even when it’s the last thing we want to do.
You don’t have to tell your mate he’s a terrible lover, or that he is ugly and stupid. Truth does not necessitate insult. Try gentleness. Sincerity. Come from your clearest intentions. What matters is that you act from the place of your truth. You are there not to hurt nor maim but to put an end to something that is no longer true for you. When you seek release from a relationship gone sour, are you not trying to restore truth in your life? Why sully that with a string of self-serving lies?
Stand tall. Face the music. Walk away with your dignity and, more importantly, leave him his. No matter how ugly things get, it is worth the effort to treat each other fairly and with respect. And that means telling the truth and trusting it, especially when it is saying that life – a happy, productive, fulfilling one‚ can and will go on without you.