How to Bury a Lie.

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The first time I buried a lie, I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

It was a small lie—almost harmless. I told my boss I had a doctor’s appointment because I needed a mental health day. Everyone needed one sometimes, I thought. But after that, it became a habit. That little white lie became a foundation under every excuse for the next four years.

Pushpin by pushpin, I nailed excuses onto a board of illusions: family emergencies, fake computer errors, phantom migraines. One by one, on calendars and time sheets. I learned that lies grew. Not from evasion alone, but from inertia—the more you bury the root, the deeper it takes hold.

• 1. Dig the Trench Carefully!

To bury a lie properly, you have to craft the truth around it.

So I spent weeks building an alternate narrative—my mother’s health scare in the summer she didn’t visit; my friend stranded overseas when I needed free time; even a dog bite (I Photoshopped a red patch). The bigger the story, the more convincing the grave.

2. Pack It Tightly!

Lies need silence and compression. Once the narrative was in place, I pressed it down. I backed up the stories with fake texts from people who didn’t exist, with Google Maps directions I never took, with fake flight itineraries saved as PDFs.

I became meticulous, bordering obsessive.

3. Cover It with Denial!

Every few months I flipped the memory like a coin, re-checking that the stories lined up. Did my mother really claim that cancellation? Did the friend respond via WhatsApp?

The more I denied the lie in public—smiling, nodding, repeating—it sank deeper into credibility. It felt powerful. Until one day, I almost believed it.

4. Water It With Guilt!

Even well-buried lies need watering, hope, and fear.

Every time I beat myself up, I added more excuses—mostly emotional covers, like “I was too stressed,” “I needed space.” I’d cry quietly at night, convinced the lie was an act of self-preservation, not cowardice.

But guilt fertilizes the forest of lies—it helps them grow roots.

5. Never Dig It Up Alone!

One afternoon, five years later, the trench collapsed. It wasn’t seismic. It was a small tremor—my friend Amelia, the real one, walked into my office unexpectedly.

She said: “I saw your messages with your family on FaceTime… weren’t you in the clinic today?”

My spine froze. That erect narrative I’d built around my mother’s hospital visit shattered at once.

The Collapse!

Amelia had never texted me that morning. Her voice was calm. But I heard thunder.

In the elevator on the way home, I replayed every lie like a broken recording. The tired lie to my boss, the fake doctor’s note, the fabricated texts. Even my apology email after Amelia confronted me—I lied in that too.

They all came rushing out. The lie stood naked in a forest of tragic honesty. I didn’t know whether to cry or run.

The Confession!

That night, I sat down at the desk where I once planned the grave for my lies. I opened my email to my boss:

"I’m so sorry for lying. I’m sorry for the time I took, the excuses I made. I will accept the consequences, and I understand if you no longer trust me. But I hope someday I can earn that trust back."

It was unsent. But I felt better.

The Reckoning!

The next morning, I walked into my boss’s office. It was hushed. I confessed everything:

The fake appointments

The fictional emergencies

The guilt behind every excuse

She listened. Slowly. Then said, “You know, sometimes truth is buried so deep you think it’s gone forever. Thank you for digging it up yourself.”

Epilogue: How to Live After the Lie

Step One: Accept the Collapse

Admitting you lied doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.

Step Two: Rebuild Slowly

I returned unused days, apologized to colleagues, offered transparency. Little truths now form the walls of a new foundation.

Step Three: Grow Silence, Grow Strength

I don't talk about past excuses unless they matter. I honor time with presence, not absence. I protect honesty with quiet strength.

🙈SEE YOU THAT 🙈