Confessions from a Liar

I used to be a liar. Am I not a liar now? Sneaking around? Hiding my identity? I'm doing this to get better. Am I a coward to not just come as myself? Are these people all cowards? Or weird? Or dangerous? Is this a trap? Am I going to be hurt? Killed? Will it do anything at all to help? To extinguish all the burning questions and thoughts of regret?

These are the things she thought on her way to gather with others. The group didn't have a name, didn't have a set meeting place or time. It was about as vague as it could be. Like a dark web site in real life, here, there, then gone. Rumor had it that a priest with a tainted past of his own had started the group as a sort of communal confessional. Was the past really tainted if you confronted and made peace with it? That's what the participants of the gathering wanted to find out. Would they have peace if the truth was out? The truth will set you free right? The priest had seen the need that people had to confess all the things they were ashamed of and didn't want to speak aloud to people they knew.

She hesitated at the edge of the crumbling steps that led to a basement no one who wasn't truly desperate would consider going to - tonight's meeting place apparently. No sign, no welcoming light. Just a dim glow through a dusty foundation-level window and the smell of mildew.

Her hand hovered near the handle. Would they look at her and know? Would they see through the careful layers she'd put on - her steady voice, her clean, modest clothes, would they recognize the tremor beneath it all? They were here for the same reasons she was right? To confess things? Her things couldn't be the only terrible things needed to be confessed, but what if hers were the worst?

She pushed the door, it opened with a creak into a space that had the mildew smell mingled with incense in a thick atmosphere. Folding chairs were arranged in a circle. No podium. Just people sitting quietly. A man with tired eyes and a collar undone at the neck gave her a slow nod. That was all.

She took a seat.

For a long moment no one spoke. Then a middle aged woman, hands in a knot on her lab, broke the silence. "I stole money, a lot of money, from my job. Thousands of dollars. Someone else is in jail because of it and I don't think I can come forward now."

Another voice after another quiet moment, "I tell my parents that I'm still in college. I flunked out after the first semester but they keep sending me money and I just take it and party."

Heads nodded again. No gasps. No judgment. Just listening.

After a longer pause, the priest spoke, if that's who he really was, his voice gravelly. "Truth is the currency here. No names. No corrections. Just truth. Speak it, and let it go."

She stared at the floor and tried to steady her hands. The truth was wanting to come out, to burst out, but the thoughts wouldn't stop. Would there be legal ramifications if she told the truth?

"I wasn't always like this," she said, surprising herself with how loud her voice sounded in the stillness. "But I don't know if I've changed. Or if I'm just pretending better."

Someone across from her smiled - not out of mockery, but recognition. Like they knew that feeling exactly.

She breathed in, and for the first time in years, it didn't catch in her throat.

The priest's eyes met hers and he held her gaze with the calm of someone who had seen every shade of confession, and maybe even committed worse.

"I have hurt people in my past. I lied and created a whole different life for myself outside of reality. I made other people really believe it. I haven't taken responsibility for my impact on these people, ever. I don't know how to, I'm afraid to and afraid to face the consequences."

"Do you want to go on?", the priest asked.

"I do. I want to get this off my chest once and for all. - I was very promiscuous in high school and college, even let people watch me in the act. I was the party girl for sure. Drinking all the drinks, sleeping with all the guys. I had an abortion freshman year of college and don't even know who the father was. It makes me sick to think about."

Pause.

"Later on I had serious boyfriends and I told them that in high school I had a baby who had grown into a child and was adopted by the father's family. Told them and friends too that I rarely saw the child but that I cared for her. Told them when it was convenient and when I needed pity that she had just died in a serious accident. I even lied to a therapist that was supposed to be helping me through my grief. It's been years since that time in my life but it haunts me. I'm married and have four, very real, very wonderful children and a husband who takes care of us all so well. I can't imagine shattering our life as it is but my regrets haunt me. How do you live with regret so deep? What if I run into those people I lied to? What if I run into any of the guys I slept with? I am so utterly embarrassed. All the things I did in my past that I thought would stay there are with me in my mind all the time."

No one spoke. No one was shocked by her confession. She was waiting for everyone to start throwing stones but all was still. She looked at the priest and asked, "how can I be forgiven for this and everything else I've done? I've done all of that and cheated and stolen, and treated people horribly on top of it all. How do I get away from all these thoughts and questions?"

And the priest replied, "you just took the first step to doing just that."