Ever catch yourself softening the truth to keep the peace? This honest reflection explores how people-pleasing and lingering effects of narcissistic abuse can show up in everyday moments — and what it means to trust your truth again.
Sometimes, healing doesn’t look like deep therapy sessions or major life breakthroughs. Sometimes, it shows up in tiny moments — like the words that slip out of your mouth before you even realize why you said them. Recently, during a lighthearted work icebreaker, I told a story that didn’t need fixing, but I tried to fix it anyway. What I learned afterward reminded me how subtle the residue of people-pleasing can be — and how deeply it runs after surviving narcissistic abuse.
The Lie That Didn’t Need Telling
Today at work, during an icebreaker, I told a story that didn’t need embellishing — but I embellished it anyway. Not because I wanted to lie, exactly, but because I got nervous and wanted to make someone else comfortable.
We were sharing stories about our names. I told mine — how my parents almost named me after one cousin but decided not to because, at the time, she was caught up in some bad choices. My father didn’t want me to follow in her footsteps, so they named me after her younger sister instead — quiet, serene, and smart.
But the cousin I wasn’t named after — the “bad influence” one — she was my favorite. She’d glide around the house in kitten heels and a silk robe, cigarette purse in hand, snapping it shut with this crisp little sound that, for some reason, delighted me. She was cool, grown-up, and full of flair — the kind of woman who lived life out loud.
When I told the story, everyone laughed — even my coworker I call the Lunch Lady. She’s a chain smoker, and I could tell she saw a little of herself in that cousin. But when I mentioned the cousin’s name — which just so happens to be the same as hers — her smile shifted. Maybe I imagined it, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I panicked.
So I did what nervous, peacekeeping me tends to do.
I killed off my cousin.
“I think she passed away some years ago,” I said.
She didn’t. At least, I don’t think she did. I haven’t spoken to that side of the family in decades. For all I know, she’s still out there somewhere — cigarette purse snapping, laughter echoing, living on her own terms.
It wasn’t a malicious lie. It was a reflex — that people-pleasing instinct to smooth over tension, to make everything okay. But later, I thought about it: why did I need to do that? Why did I feel the urge to fix a feeling that wasn’t even broken?
Maybe it’s leftover conditioning — the kind that comes from years of trying to manage the moods of difficult people. When you grow up or live around narcissistic personalities, you learn early how to read a room, how to cushion your words, how to keep others from getting upset. You start to believe that harmony depends on you.
But it doesn’t.
That tiny, silly lie reminded me that my truth is enough — even when it makes someone else shift in their seat. I don’t have to over-explain, soften, or shrink my stories to make other people comfortable. The truth can stand on its own two feet — kitten heels and all.
💬 A Final Thought
Healing from narcissistic abuse isn’t just about breaking away from toxic people — it’s about unlearning the quiet habits they left behind. The urge to please. The fear of discomfort. The instinct to apologize for simply existing.
So here’s to catching ourselves in those small moments — the nervous laughter, the unnecessary lie, the quick deflection — and choosing honesty instead. Each truth we tell, no matter how small, brings us closer to the freedom we’ve been fighting for all along.
My Voice Unchained 