Date: April 22, 2025
Author: Kieran Moss
A couple years ago, I moved out of my childhood home. It was supposed to be a fresh start, but truthfully, it felt more like a lonely reset button. I ended up in a place where I didn’t know a single soul, and I hated it. It didn’t feel like home—it felt like being dropped in the middle of nowhere with no one to call.
So when a close friend asked me where I’d moved to, I panicked. I told them I moved closer to their city. I lied. Straight up. I didn’t want them to know I was struggling, or that I felt ashamed of the place I’d landed in. I told myself it was harmless—just something to feel a bit more connected in a time where I felt completely untethered.
The lie stuck.
We started hanging out more. I always made sure to meet them in their area or neutral spots, avoiding any situation where they might find out the truth. They still think I live where I said I do. And now, it’s been so long that the guilt is unbearable.
I hate that I’ve built this friendship on a shaky foundation. It feels like every good moment is sitting on top of a lie that could collapse everything. I want to be honest, but I’m terrified it’ll make them question everything—like, why didn’t I tell them earlier? Why did I keep it going?
The thing is, I never lied because I didn’t care. I lied because I did. I was just so in my head—ashamed, insecure, angry at the world and myself. And now I don’t know how to undo it without making everything worse.
I guess I’m sharing this here because I don’t know what else to do. Maybe someone out there has done something similar. Maybe someone’s forgiven a lie like this before.
All I know is, I miss being able to fully show up in my friendship without this weight. And I hope I get the courage soon to be honest—not just for them, but for me too.
