Let’s have a little church service today, ladies and gentlemen. Or a therapy session. Honestly, at this point in my life, I can’t tell the difference.
I saw this quote the other day—just five simple words—and I nearly dropped my phone on my face because I have never felt so personally attacked and so spiritually validated at the exact same time.
“Whole time, I’m already knowing.”
If that isn’t the caption for every single relationship, friendship, and situationship I have ever been in, I don’t know what is.
We need to talk about the intuition. The gut check. The Spirit. Whatever you want to call it. Because I know I am not the only one who sits there, looking someone dead in the eye, nodding my head, listening to their well-rehearsed script, while my brain is screaming, “I literally already saw the screenshots, Kevin. I know you were at Applebee’s.”
Here is the thing about me—and maybe it’s the Leo in me (yes, we are bringing zodiacs into this, deal with it)—but I don’t ask questions I don’t already know the answer to.
If I ask you, “So, what did you do last night?” that is not a casual inquiry. That is a pop quiz. That is a test. And I have the answer key in my back pocket. I am giving you a chance to get a passing grade, but y’all love to fail. You love to aim for that solid F.
It’s actually funny when you think about it. Why do we do this? Why do we play the game?
I think part of it is that we want to be wrong. Truly! There is a tiny, delusional part of my heart that goes, “Tina, maybe you’re crazy. Maybe he really was asleep at 7:30 PM on a Friday. People get tired! Naps happen!”
But then the other part of my brain—the part that pays attention to details, the part that notices when energy shifts, the part that could detect a lie from three zip codes away—is sitting there with a glass of wine like, “Girl, please. We know the truth. We’re just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.”
There is a specific kind of torture in “already knowing.” It’s watching someone weave this intricate, complex web of nonsense. They are sweating, they are adding unnecessary details (why do liars always add so many details?), and they are looking at you with those puppy dog eyes, begging you to buy what they are selling.
And you just sit there.
You give them the silence. You let them talk.
I used to interrupt. I used to be the “Aha! I caught you!” type of girl. But I’ve grown. I’ve matured. Now? I let you dig the hole. I will hand you the shovel. I will bring you a Gatorade while you dig. Because if you are bold enough to lie to my face when the evidence is literally flashing in neon lights in my mind, then I am going to let you finish your performance.
It’s about the audacity for me. It’s the insult to my intelligence. Do I look like I was born yesterday? Do I look like I don’t have Wifi? Do I look like I don’t have friends who have friends who saw you?
But on a serious note—and I’m getting real for a second—the “whole time, I’m already knowing” feeling can be heavy.
It’s heavy because it means you have to make a move. As long as you pretend you don’t know, you can stay comfortable. You can pretend everything is fine. But the second you acknowledge that you know, you have to deal with reality.
We ignore red flags because we like the person holding them. We paint the red flags pink. We say, “Oh, that’s just a shade of magenta.” No, Tina. It’s red. It’s burning red.
I’m learning that my gut is my best friend. It has never steered me wrong. Every time I have ignored that sinking feeling in my stomach, I have ended up looking like a clown at the circus. Every. Single. Time.
So, to anyone reading this who is currently sitting on a piece of information, or nursing a suspicion, or feeling that weird vibe in the pit of your stomach: You are right.
You aren’t crazy. You aren’t “doing too much.” You aren’t being “insecure.”
You already know.
The only question left is: how long are you going to pretend you don’t?
Because the whole time? You already knew. And frankly, you’re too smart to play dumb for much longer.
Stay sharp,
Tina