Lemondrop Liars

I learned to lie by the very best, my mother. A theatrical, dramatic, and visually stunning woman, who could charm her way through life, or so she thought. I learned early on about white lies. Harmless lies that quickly evolved into what I now refer to as lemon drop lies. But it took me a “minute” longer, more like 40+ years to discover that my Mama had leveled up in the lying games.

The occasional white lie went something like this, “Oh no, we can’t make it, my husband has to work that night.”

Then came the lemon drop lie, “Oh no honey, we’re not racist, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s black. We don’t have a problem with it. We’re just protecting you from the other parents that do.”

When I say leveled up, I’m not sure how to describe the lie other than a complete and unstable depart from reality. It goes something like this, “ You know Kasie, I just realized that I’m not as strong as you are anymore.” We were on a Skype call and she was down south at my brothers house. Now also important to mention, no one was talking to me at the time. Except for her. I mean for months. Nobody would talk to me, or answer my calls or my emails. But she would, sometimes. And she picked this specific visit at my brother’s house 600 miles away, to skype me out of the blue. Why? To set the trap. That is why.

She’d begun to wage a smear campaign against me. At first I didn’t understand what she kept talking around/talking about (you know exactly what I mean if you’ve ever experienced one of the covert narcissist’s attacks. They’re often so confusing but of course you’re the one, the only one that can’t understand them) so I asked. Her timid, childlike reply was, “Well, that time I came to your house and you shoved me out of the garage, I realized that I’m just not as strong as you are Kacie.”

She had certainly upped her game to a new level alright. I was frozen in sudden confusion but slowly what she was doing began to take hold. I slowly replied, “Mom, …what are you…doing?” She proceeds to repeat herself in the same manner as before. I suddenly realized she was laying a trap. I firmly responded, “Mom…listen to me clearly, I have never touched you or pushed. Not once, not ever.”

“You most certainly did Kacie, you just don’t remember. You were probably drinking. Anyways you know that isn’t why I am calling you, I’m only talking to you because I love you and I’ve missed you. Why do you always want to fight” Then leaving no opening for a response, she continues, “I’m not going to allow this. I’m having a good time here with your brother.”

Yeah, um…ok. No. She clearly called to set me up on camera alleging that I’ve physically abused her. I appropriately defend myself because it never happened and now somehow I’ve started a fight with the intention to ruin her trip.”

Upon being allowed back into the “family” I.e. Mother’s house, as a clear maneuver to evade culpability for her own atrocious behaviors, she stated, “EVERYTHING IN THE PAST WILL BE LEFT IN THE PAST. AGREED?” And then only days later she presented me with one of her bag-o-tricks – that I answer her questions 190% truthfully or she implied possibilities of losing certain relationships which for me held such innate value, purpose and meaning. So as was customary for my supporting role in her productions, I complied and cooperated. It wasn’t an interrogation on the spot but rather a well-thought-out plan to extract as much guilt, humiliation and shame humanly possible for as long as possible. This steady and reliable supply would keep her demons fed, for a while anyways.

“Each time you meet an old emotional pattern with presence, your awakening to truth can deepen. There’s less identification with the self in the story and more ability to rest in the awareness that is witnessing what’s happening. You become more able to abide in compassion, to remember and trust your true home. Rather than cycling repetitively through old conditioning, you are actually spiraling toward freedom.”

Tara Brach

She wasn’t a mean woman. She wasn’t an evil mom. I certainly never thought so as a child…but something changed when I turned 17 or thereabouts. There was a palpable shift in our relationship.

I was becoming a woman.

Looking back, I’m almost certain that when one revises and dismisses a child’s experience of their reality, on a continual basis, even monitoring and intruding in conversations with a new boyfriend, that there might be an ulterior or suspect motive. That will be explored later. So mom made a monumental mistake in parenting. What parent doesn’t? She taught us that to get what you want…exactly what you want…you just twist things a little bit. A white lie or a half-truth becomes a really destructive tool that has far reaching consequences one truly is not prepared for.

I’ve done my fair share of lying such as sugarcoating the truth or telling white lies. Easy right? It’s easier than always speaking the truth anyhow. But which is the easiest? Which produces immediate gratification? The lie.

It sucks. I mean plain and simple. Telling the truth sucks. It sucks telling it. It sucks hearing it. It just sucks. No sugarcoating that.

A half truth is the same as being buried three feet under. Three feet under or six feet under you’re still dead. A half truth, which rarely even contains that much truth is still an outright lie. So spin, twist and manipulate your words ever so cleverly, and you may actually begin to experience the lie changing shape a bit. As you continue to repeat it consistently, the lines start to become a little more fuzzy and it might start to feel like a comfortable truth, that is so long as your audience continues believes it. And honestly you actually feel like your being kind and protective in a way because you’re not technically or by definition actually lying.

Whoa! What the hell was that? I call bullshit right now.

Do you see what I did there?

“You actually feel like your being kind and protective, thus not technically or by definition actually lying.”


“And it was determined that THAT was a lie. “

Maury Povich

I learned an awesome recovery tool and it could benefit a lot of people actually. Today, when conversing with others, should I choose to embellish (and it IS in fact a conscious choice) whether the reasoning be that I take artistic liberties for my ego, to sustain a role as a victim or whatever subliminal shit that crops up at the moment ) I will immediately call myself out.


I will say, “No, I’m lying”, then proceed, in a playful and polite manner, to correct the my statement with information to what had actually taken place. It most assuredly is a learned habit which CAN be unlearned. I tell you what it’s embarrassing. But that’s precisely why it works is because it’s embarrassing.

Healing requires dedication and work. It requires a rigorous search and rescue into the deepest layers of our often maladaptive behaviors. Prior to a gentle and revealing awareness, these behaviors had been blotted out by a profoundly, effective operating system of complete denial. Having deemed these behaviors gravely unacceptable, any sudden awareness of their existence would have threatened my belief system. The construct that had been rigidly imbedded and accepted in my early childhood was that I was only good and kind and honest. No other option was possible, ever.

This system protected the self from a complete and total breakdown. Though previously examined, understood, and released, remnants of those old behaviors may resurface on occasion.

We are not responsible for the abuse. But we are responsible for healing ourselves.

Now You know what I was.

Today I pray you will trust who I’ve become.

So you can read the rest of this and think to yourself, “Well, she’s an admitted liar, so maybe she’s lying to sell this story, or she’s an attention seeker, or…” The list is infinite.

The experiences contained within these posts are in fact mine, and they always will be. It’s really that beautifully simple. They exist and “BE”. Because they are as true as I can genuinely remember.

Yes, of course you can think whatever you like. That is a forgone conclusion. You are hereby formally invited and welcome to think for yourself. And if you think that I’m an angry, vengeful slug suffering from delusional paranoia, just do me a favor and make sure I get the really good meds!

Today with certainty I have released myself from all of my Mother’s manipulative and maladaptive mind games. At long last I can actually think whatever I like. I can feel however I like. And I am perfectly permitted to experience all of it.

••Unless… (shhh… come close, she mustn’t hear us.) unless Mother alleges that I’m suffering from delusions of maternal aggression and persecution with paranoia, thereby having me involuntarily committed to a psychiatric facility. Ugh…That would suck don’t ya think?••

Just Sayin’…wouldn’t put it past her at this point. Umm, so why’s there a link up there?

But I speak the truth today, and every day forward and here’s why.

With all of that being said, you and I are establishing a trust system right this moment. You the reader are trusting that I the writer, am not here to mislead you or make you appear the fool. Correct? I mean that’s the biggest wound of all that is caused by the lie. The receiver/believer of the lie feels like a fool. “You really thought I was that dumb?” And the seller of the lie typically wasn’t thinking that at all. They just wanted to get what or where they wanted or they were trying to get out of a tight corner. I know that’s how it was for me. Six years ago, well probably more if I’m being honest. (Pun intended!). I became a professional. It was all amateur up until that point. So just how exactly did I get to black belt liar status?

Simple. I became a drug addict.

The dentist wants to see me. Now understand. I was in NO pain. But I also had NO Vicodin remaining. So off we went to go remedy that. Holy Shit. Bad idea. Not phenomenal in the least. He said I had “dry sockets” wtf? Ok…so what…where’s the Vicodin?

I dabbled in becoming a drug addict for much of my life. Started at 13 actually. Had my wisdom teeth removed and the dentist gave me (or I should say) gave my mother vicodin for my pain. Oh my goodness! Happy happy pills. I just floated through the next 3-4 days. I’d never felt anything like it. That warm gooey yummy feeling that lets you just melt right into that sofa and Three’s Company was so funny. What amazing actors. And the rain pouring down looked like crystal droplets of tiny diamonds splashing on the ground. Beautiful. And then the Vicodin was gone. And I was back to feeling all the crappiness a chubby adolescent girl usually feels. Yuck. So I had an idea. A grand idea. A phenomenal idea! My mouth still hurts. Yes! That’s it! Wow, Mom the pain is so bad….tears forming in the corners of my eyes. ((EXCITED THOUGHT BUBBLE!)) YES! That was EASY!!! She’s on the phone. She’s calling the dentist! Prescription Vicodin on its way! Hey. Not so fast there little addict in training.

He decided to alleviate the “dry sockets” by packing those tiny holes with cotton and saline or something, I don’t know what…but holy mother of sweet baby Jesus! The pain was excruciating. This was not part of my plan at all. So now real tears are streaming down that chubby freckled little face and oh yes…he packed all four holes. I got my Vicodin all right. But the problem is, when you are in real pain. Like you just got four holes that were healing just fine, ripped back open and cold wet cottonballs shoved inside, that kind of pain…well then Vicodin doesn’t do a damn thing. Other than what it was meant to do. Help alleviate the pain. That was my first experience at lying for or about drugs. Believe me, (pun intended) I got much better at lying. In fact I became an official member of The Lemon Drop Liars Club.

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