I saw this quote today, and I have never felt something in my soul quite so deeply.
“I cannot fw anybody who first instinct is to lie. I hate liars so bad.”
Read that again. It’s not just about lying. Everyone tells a little white lie now and then (“No, honey, that drawing of a ‘dog’ that looks like a potato is beautiful!”). No, this is about the people whose first instinct, the very first firing synapse in their brain when asked a simple question, is to fabricate a story.
I call it the “Reflexive Lie.” And honestly? I am allergic to it.
Look, I’m a nurse. I spend twelve hours a day dealing with humanity in its rawest, most vulnerable state. I deal with patients, families, doctors, and the infinite complexities of the human body. You learn pretty quickly in this job that the truth is the only thing that actually helps. If a patient lies to me about what they took, or minimizes their symptoms because they don’t want to be a bother, I can’t do my job effectively. I have a built-in B.S. detector that comes with the scrubs—it’s standard issue, right along with the stethoscope.
When you work in healthcare, you realize that reality is what matters. You can’t spin a fever. You can’t gaslight a lab result. So when I clock out, take off the badge, and step back into the “real world,” my tolerance for adult humans playing make-believe is exactly zero.
It’s the unnecessary lies that get me. You know the ones. You ask someone, “Hey, did you grab the mail?” and they launch into a five-part saga about a suspicious mailman and a windstorm, instead of just saying, “Oops, I forgot.”
Why? Why do we do this? Is it fear? Insecurity? Or is it just a habit, like chewing your fingernails, except way more annoying for everyone around you?
Maybe it’s the nurse in me, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m a Leo.
If you know anything about Leos, you know we value loyalty and authenticity above pretty much everything else. We are fire signs. We are direct. If I have a problem with you, you’ll know. If I love you, you’ll know. There is very little gray area in the Leo Kingdom. We are the “ride or die” friends, but the second we sniff out betrayal or deceit, the ride is over.
So when someone lies to my face—especially that slippery, “first instinct” kind of lie—it feels like a personal insult to my intelligence. It’s like they’re saying, “Tina, I don’t respect you enough to give you the reality, so here is a poorly constructed fantasy instead.”
Don’t do that. Just don’t. I would respect you a thousand times more if you looked me in the eye and said, “Yeah, I messed up,” or “Actually, I just didn’t want to go to that dinner.” I can handle the truth. I can’t handle the mental gymnastics of trying to decode your fiction.
Between raising kids, keeping a marriage running, managing a household, and trying to function as a human being at 33, I simply do not have the bandwidth to be a detective in my personal life.
And yet, I feel like I watch enough Law & Order: SVU that I should earn a badge. I swear, dealing with a reflexive liar turns me into Olivia Benson. I start analyzing their eye contact. I’m cross-referencing their story with text messages from three weeks ago. I’m looking for inconsistencies in their timeline.
“Dun dun.”
I don’t want to be Detective Benson! I just want to drink my Philz coffee in peace! I just want to sit on my couch and not have to perform a forensic audit on a conversation I had with a “friend.”
But the problem with the “First Instinct Liar” is that they force you to become paranoid. You start questioning everything. If they lied about what they had for lunch, what else are they lying about? It creates this shaky foundation where you can’t stand on anything solid. And for a mom who just wants stability for her family, that shakiness is exhausting.
Here’s the thing: I expect this behavior from children. My kids might lie because they think they’re going to get in trouble, or because their magical thinking hasn’t quite separated from reality yet. That’s developmental. That’s normal. I can guide them through that.
But you? You are a grown adult with a 401k and a driver’s license. You should have outgrown the “dog ate my homework” phase about two decades ago.
When an adult does this, it’s usually because they are pathologically avoiding discomfort. They would rather invent a scenario than face a fleeting moment of awkwardness. But what they don’t realize is that the awkwardness of the truth lasts ten seconds. The mistrust from a lie lasts forever.
Here is the bottom line: I’m 33 years old.
I am past the age of playing games. I am past the age of “frenemies” and deciphering cryptic subtext. My destruction budget for drama is $0.00. I am operating on a budget of peace, coffee, and keeping my people happy.
When you’re young, maybe you tolerate the lies because you don’t want to rock the boat, or you think you can “fix” people. You think, “Oh, they just have a hard time opening up.” But at this stage of life? I don’t have time to be your therapist or your rehab center for honesty. If your first instinct is to lie to me, my first instinct is to distance myself from you.
I want friends who own their mess. I want a circle where we can say, “I’m struggling,” or “I made a mistake,” or “I completely forgot to do that thing I promised.” That is intimacy. That is trust. That is real friendship. That is the kind of bond that survives the hard stuff.
Anything else is just noise. And honey, my life is loud enough already.
So, to the liars: Take a breath. Pause. Override that first instinct. Try the truth. It might be scary, but I promise you, it’s a lot less exhausting than keeping up with the lies.
And to the rest of us just trying to survive the week without a subpoena: Keep your B.S. detectors charged. We’re gonna need ‘em.
It’s fine. I am true – always. Live on. 🧐😁