This was a classic 1980’s movie.
That was 40 years ago — the 80’s. When I was alive in the 80’s, the 40’s seemed like the olden days. Music, TV shows, and most pop culture from the 40’s were nonexistent in the 80’s. I feel like in 2024, the 80’s pop culture is alive and well.
The premise of the movie was about exposing and dissolving stereotypes in love, relationships, and sex — the kind that still show how society teaches women to lie about what they feel, what they want, and who they’re allowed to be.
That married women had to be pure and motherly and “nice.”
That single girls could be wild and sexy and party animals.
That infidelity followed a predictable script.
That friends and siblings were not always as they seemed.
That “truth” depends on who’s telling it.
Nothing has changed.
The stories we tell about women and truth
I’m currently watching a STARZ series called Three Women. It’s essentially the same story, just expressed through three separate women — each navigating her own version of truth and lies in relationships.
A wife who is ignored by her husband and subsequently cheats on him.
A wife who, with her husband, engages in extra-marital sex (while the other watches).
A young woman who goes to the police over a physical relationship she had with her high school English teacher.
Wait! There’s a fourth woman — the author — whose own unstable and emotional life (and sex life) guides her mission to share the stories of others.
To me, the main force driving all of these women is the version of truth their lives have shown them — and their desire to change it.
What even is truth?
Not surprisingly, the first definition Siri gives is a circular one: “The quality or state of being true.” To an English language learner, this means nothing.
The next definition is a bit better: “That which is in accordance with fact or reality.” Still, that definition leads to more questions than answers. Who defines reality? Who decides what’s factual? Facts should be based on an unadulterated truth — water is wet, for example.
Life isn’t that obvious.
The psychology of truth and lies gets tangled fast. Look at the political climate and the manipulation of “truth” and “fact” that each side uses to push its agenda. If you’re conservative, you believe certain things to be true about abortion that liberals might claim are false. The “facts” about abortion bans depend entirely on who you ask — and which truth you were taught to believe.
So, are women being denied post-miscarriage treatment or not? Depends on who you ask.
The lies society teaches us
Society feeds us a full menu of lies — or “versions” of truth — all the time. On every topic imaginable.
“Eat margarine; butter is bad for you.”
“Follow the food pyramid.”
“Got Milk?”
“Oxycontin is not addictive.”
“The side effects are minimal.”
“The Civil War was about states’ rights.”
“Columbus discovered America.”
“Being gay is a sin.”
“God loves everyone.”
“Girls are sweet, boys are rough.”
Sometimes lies are outright misinformation. Sometimes they’re omissions. Sometimes they’re opinions stated as fact.
But telling lies always comes with a motive.
These cultural myths are how stereotypes shape truth — and how generations learn to confuse comfort with honesty.
Growing up keeping family secrets
I’ve been having a lot of fun researching “lies” for this season of my podcast about truth and lies — funny lies, creepy lies, little white lies, scary manipulative lies, coercive lies. All of the lies.
What I thought would be a season listing every kind of lie has turned into a personal search for truth — and that’s turning out to be quite a journey.
My own life is a web of truths and lies.
I was raised to be a secret keeper — taught that my ability to keep a secret was more important than what the secrets themselves were doing to me. I wasn’t just second to the actions those lies covered up — I was second to the lies themselves.
That’s how one learns to live within their own personal truth. That’s what growing up keeping family secrets does — it blurs what’s true, what’s safe, and what’s survivable.
Lies as a form of survival
I’m learning that lies are often about survival.
Does that make them right? No.
Does it explain them in a way that softens judgment toward the liar? Yes, I think so.
From childhood, both girls and boys are trained to lie in small, socially acceptable ways. “Thank you, Grammy, I love this sweater.” “You need to give your uncle a kiss.”
We’re taught that boys who bully us actually like us. That as girls, we must care for others before ourselves — but not too much, not in the sex department anyway, though always in the family one.
This is how society teaches women to lie — to smile through discomfort, to protect others from truth, to confuse silence with kindness.
The lies we tell ourselves
Truth is often dictated by stereotypes and accepted forms of belief. It’s colored by what we’re comfortable believing. Annnnnnddd by what we’re not.
We lie to ourselves all the time, sometimes because we must. Whispering, “I am smart, I am strong, I am good,” might be no more true — and no more false — than “I am stupid, I am weak, I am bad.”
The psychology of truth and lies is messy. It’s where survival meets identity. Where comfort outweighs honesty.
Full circle
I’m watching Heartstopper on Netflix now that I’ve finished Three Women. Let’s see what sex, lies, and videotape that series has to show. I think I’ll actually re-watch that fabulous 80’s flick.
Because sometimes the only way to understand truth — real truth — is to see all the beautiful, complicated lies that got us there.
This blog is an updated version of the original published October 31, 2024.
