Hey everyone, it’s Tina back with another installment of things that keep me awake at night. Today, we need to talk about a very specific, absolutely unhinged human phenomenon.
You saw the quote at the top of this post: “Lying to someone who can read energy is wild behavior.” Honestly? “Wild” is an understatement. It is feral. It is an extreme sport. It is the emotional equivalent of trying to sneak a tuba into a library. You think you’re being stealthy, but everyone in the room is vibrating from the noise, and I am just sitting there, staring at you, wondering how long you’re going to keep playing this tune.
Let’s get into it, because I know some of you reading this right now know exactly what I’m talking about.
Before we go any further, let’s clarify what I mean by “reading energy.” I’m not talking about gazing into a crystal ball, levitating above my couch, or reading tea leaves (though, if that’s your thing, respect).
I’m talking about that deeply ingrained, hyper-attuned gut feeling. It’s the ability to walk into a room and instantly know if two people were just arguing. It’s watching a friend’s smile and knowing it didn’t quite reach their eyes. It is the undeniable, invisible shift in the atmosphere when the truth leaves the chat and fiction enters the room.
When someone starts lying to an intuitive person, it’s not just that the words don’t make sense. The math isn’t mathing on a molecular level. Your mouth is saying, “I’d love to help you move this weekend, but my car is in the shop,” but your aura is screaming, “I am going to aggressively play video games in my sweatpants for 48 hours straight.”
Watching someone lie when you can feel their energy is an out-of-body experience. It usually unfolds in a few predictable stages:
• The Shift: It starts before they even open their mouth. The air gets a little static. Their baseline frequency goes from “chill” to “scrambled radio station.”
• The Over-Compensation: Suddenly, they are giving me the eye contact of an intense serial killer. Why are you staring directly into my retinas, Dave? We are talking about why the printer is jammed, not exchanging wedding vows.
• The Unnecessary Details: A truthful person says, “Sorry I’m late, hit traffic.” A liar says, “Sorry I’m late, there was this rogue pigeon, and then a parade of antique tractors, and my GPS suddenly started speaking in ancient Latin…”
Here is the funniest part about being the person on the receiving end of this: we almost never call you out.
Instead, we just sit there and let you construct this elaborate, towering skyscraper of a fib. We nod. We offer up a perfectly timed, “Oh, wow,” or a deeply sympathetic, “That’s so crazy!”
Meanwhile, my inner monologue is eating popcorn out of a bucket, enjoying the sheer audacity of the performance.
• You: “Yeah, I totally never even saw your text message, my phone has been acting so weird lately!”
• My Brain: (Wow, an absolute masterclass in fiction. 10/10 commitment. We literally just watched you post a story on Instagram three minutes ago, but go off, bestie.)
It’s almost fascinating to watch people dig the hole, fetch a ladder, climb out, grab an excavator, and start digging an even bigger hole. I’m not even mad; I’m genuinely impressed by the commitment to the bit.
Look, I get it. We are all human. Most of the time, people aren’t lying to be malicious. They are lying because they want to avoid conflict, they want to save face, or they simply don’t have the emotional bandwidth to say, “I just don’t want to do that.”
We’ve been conditioned to think that a polite lie is better than an uncomfortable truth. But here is the secret from those of us who can feel the vibe shift: The lie is so much more exhausting for us to process than the truth.
When you lie, we have to process the words you’re saying, process the entirely different energy you’re projecting, and then bridge the gap between the two to figure out how to respond without making things awkward. It’s exhausting. It’s mental gymnastics.
If you are ever dealing with a highly intuitive friend, partner, or coworker, I am begging you to take the easy way out.
Just say the truth. Tell me you forgot. Tell me you’re too tired to hang out. Tell me you ate the last slice of cake. The relief that washes over the room when the words you say actually match the energy you project is incredible. Plus, it saves me from having to silently judge your terrible improvisational acting skills.
Until next time, keep your vibes clean and your stories straight.