Hey everyone, it’s Tina. Grab a seat, maybe a snack, and definitely a beverage—you’re going to need it for this one.

I saw this quote today: “I’d rather you hurt me with the truth then comfort me with a lie.” It’s a heavy sentiment, right? Very “indie movie protagonist staring out a rainy window.” But as I sat there staring at it, my first thought wasn’t about deep betrayal or Shakespearean drama. My first thought was: “Wait… is that a typo in the original quote? Is it ‘than’ or ‘then’?” Because if it’s then, that’s a very different weekend plan. “First, hurt me with the truth, and then—immediately after—make me feel better with a lie.” Honestly? That sounds like a standard Tuesday for me.

We all say we want the truth. We claim we want the raw, unvarnished reality. But let’s be real: how many of us actually want the truth at 7:00 AM before the coffee has kicked in?

If I ask my best friend, “Do I look like I haven’t slept since 2019?” and she says, “Tina, you look like a dehydrated raccoon,” that is the truth. It is honest. It is also grounds for me to never speak to her again until at least lunch.

The lie is the social lubricant that keeps our world from grinding to a screeching, awkward halt. If your coworker asks how their three-hour PowerPoint presentation on “Synergy and Staples” went, the truth is: “I considered faking a fainting spell just to leave.” But the comforting lie is: “Great job, Kevin! Really thorough!” —

But joking aside, the quote hits on something we all struggle with: Authenticity. Lately, I’ve realized that being “comforted with a lie” feels a lot like wearing shoes that are two sizes too small. They look fine in the mirror, but the longer you walk in them, the more you start to limp. Eventually, you’re just sitting on the curb with blisters, wondering why you didn’t just buy the right size to begin with.

I had a moment last week—classic Tina fashion—where I was trying to convince myself that I was “totally fine” with a certain situation. I was lying to myself to stay comfortable. I was feeding myself the “comforting lie” so I wouldn’t have to deal with the “hurtful truth.”

The Truth: I was overwhelmed, I’d overcommitted, and I really just wanted to cancel all my plans and eat cereal in the dark.

The Lie: “I’m a girl boss! I can do it all! Who needs sleep when you have dry shampoo?”

When I finally admitted the truth, it did hurt. It felt like failure. But once the sting faded? I could finally breathe. It’s hard to fix a problem when you’re pretending the problem is actually a feature.

Also, can we talk about the spelling in that image for a second? “Liee.”

It looks like “lie” went to a fancy finishing school and came back with a French accent. “Don’t comfort me with a liee, darling, it’s so gauche.” Maybe that’s the secret. If we’re going to be lied to, it should at least be a fancy, high-end lie.

• Regular Lie: “I’m five minutes away.” (I am currently in the shower).

• Fancy Liee: “My arrival is imminent, though delayed by a series of unfortunate logistical anomalies.”

Here’s what I’ve learned between my third and fourth cup of coffee today: Truth is like a deep tissue massage. It hurts like absolute garbage while it’s happening—you’re basically paying someone to elbow your soul—but you feel ten times lighter afterward.

If you’re reading this and you’re holding onto a “comforting lie” because you’re afraid the truth will break something… let it break. Usually, things only break if they weren’t built to last anyway. Plus, you can always glue the pieces back together into something way cooler and more honest.

So, here is my truth for the day: I haven’t folded my laundry in four days, I’m pretty sure I’m surviving entirely on caffeine and spite, and I’m actually much happier being a mess than I ever was pretending to be perfect.

What’s a “truth” you’ve been avoiding because the lie felt too cozy? Drop a comment and let’s be brutally honest together (humor optional, but highly recommended).