Stop Lying
*
Eventually, when you fling bullshit, it gets on you.
“We’ve reached our third session, and you still haven’t admitted why you lie so often,” Paige said, her voice cutting through the silence.
I shifted in my seat, her sharp words forcing me to meet her unwavering gaze.
Paige wasn’t like Liz. If Liz was the warm, hippy mother figure, Paige was the no-nonsense headmistress who ran her domain with precision and authority.
Her crisp trousers and neutral-toned blouses reflected her directness, and her silver hair, pulled into an impossibly tight bun, added an air of control.
Her silver eyes locked onto me, steady and unyielding, leaving no room for avoidance.
In another life, Chic City Brianna might have wanted to emulate someone like Paige.
But this version of me, wrestling with my identity and buried fears, felt exposed in her presence.
Liz had been transparent, her nurturing demeanor shaped by her traumas and a desire to help others.
Paige, by contrast, was an enigma. Her desk was as blank as her expression: no photos, plants, or clues to the woman behind the clipboard.
When Robert came to my first session, Paige had drawn her boundaries with a bluntness that left no room for debate. “If you want real progress, he can’t stay involved,” she had said. “You use him as a crutch. You lie because you’re embarrassed and need to feel uncomfortable.”
Her precision stripped me bare, and I hated her for it.
“Brianna, stop deflecting,” Paige said now, her voice as sharp as ever. “Let’s be honest. Why haven’t you told your family about the move?”
I sighed, tension rising in my chest.
“I don’t want to make my mother sad,” I said, knowing it wasn’t true.
Paige’s lips twitched in faint amusement. “Wrong. You love fighting with your mother. Try again.”
Her bluntness hit like a slap, and she wasn’t wrong. Arguing with my mom had become second nature. I bit my lip, trying to push through the lump in my throat. “I don’t want them to tell me it’s a bad idea. I don’t want them to say I’ll fail,” I admitted finally.
Paige’s grin widened slightly.
“That’s it.”
I blinked, startled by her quick assessment.
“That’s it?”
“You’re afraid to fail,” she continued, her calm tone like a scalpel peeling back layers I didn’t want to be exposed. “Telling your family would make it real. They’ve never been reliable, and needing them terrifies you.”
Her words hit a raw nerve, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. “But I’m not alone,” I said, pushing back. “I have Robert.”
Paige tilted her head, her gaze intensifying.
“You’re not alone because you have yourself. You built your life, your career, your independence, not him. If Robert left tomorrow, you’d still survive.”
The mix of emotions in my chest twisted into a knot.
“So, I’m supposed to ignore everything Robert has done to support me?”
She leaned in, her voice softening just enough to cushion the sting.
“Acknowledging Robert’s support doesn’t mean erasing your accomplishments. You’ve done the hard work, Brianna. Own it.”
Her words didn’t settle, but I nodded, unsure how else to respond. Paige shifted her tone slightly, the edge of her bluntness giving way to something softer.
“What would help you prepare for this conversation with your family?”
I shrugged, still wrestling with the tension in my body. “Maybe we could roleplay?”
Paige nodded and adjusted her posture, settling into her chair as if readying for battle. “Okay. I’ll be your mother. Tell me the news.”
I rolled my neck, trying to shake off the growing dread. “Hey, Mom—”
“You’re late,” Paige interrupted, her arms crossing over her chest.
“What?” I blinked, caught off guard.
“You said you’d be here at 4:30. It’s five. Where were you?” Paige demanded, her tone dripping with condescension.
The anxiety in my chest flared, even though I knew she was acting.
“I’m pretty sure I said five, but I need to talk to you about something.”
“Why do you always do this?” she snapped, her voice cutting deeper.“You can’t admit when you’re wrong.”
Her words brought memories crashing back, and my fists clenched involuntarily. Even though this was just Paige, her imitation of my mother was uncanny.
“Mom, stop. After Robert’s graduation, we are moving to the UK, to York.”
Paige dropped her act abruptly, her therapist mode clicking back into place. “How did that feel?”
I exhaled sharply, my body still brimming with tension. “Frustrated. Ignored. Anxious.”
Paige jotted something in her notebook, her pen scratching the page precisely.
“Where in your body did you feel it?”
I glanced at my clenched hands, heat radiating through my chest.
“My chest and my fists,” I admitted, feeling ridiculous.
Paige nodded, jotting down more notes. “On a scale of one to ten, how intense was it?”
I considered for a moment. “Seven.”
She finished writing and met my gaze.
“So, what—you’re just going to walk out on your family?” she asked, her voice colder now.
My stomach twisted as if I’d been transported into one of my mother’s real tirades.
“No,” I said, willing my voice to steady. “My family—the one I’m building with Robert—needs this move.”
Paige crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing.
“So, we’re not your family anymore?”
I gritted my teeth, forcing the words out. “Mom, that’s not what I’m saying. Rob has an incredible opportunity, and I’m going with him. You’ve always wanted me to succeed, and this is what success looks like.”
Paige jotted a final note and leaned back, her expression softening.
“How do you feel now?”
I unclenched my fists, flexing my fingers as I slumped back in my chair.
“Brave. Relieved. Still nervous.”
“You should,” she said, her approval evident.“You stood your ground, handled emotional attacks, and didn’t crumble. That’s progress.”
Her confidence in me felt foreign, but I nodded. “That doesn’t mean I can do this with her.”
Paige shrugged. “No, but you’re more prepared. You’ve studied the material, so the test won’t seem as daunting.”
She stood, walked to her desk, and returned with a book and colored pencils. Placing them between us, she smiled faintly.
“Here’s an exercise to help you untangle your thoughts further. Coloring while reflecting can lower stress and organize emotions.”
I raised an eyebrow at the unexpected gesture, the nostalgia tugging at something deep in my chest. “Like I’m five?”
“Like you’re human,” she countered, her tone firm but kind. “But first, let’s talk about your coworker.”