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A Lesson in Honesty, aka "Coming Clean"

© Travis "Pat" Alexander October 2002

I'd always heard that if you tell one lie, you eventually must tell another one to cover up the first. But I didn't really understand the implications of continuing this pattern over several years. The web woven by my expanding matrix of lies grew and grew until it devastated every aspect of my life. Obviously it affected my relationship with my spouse.

My analysis starts with the "crash". I hit the low point of my life the day I was fired for viewing inappropriate websites at work. I had to go home and explain. Without much thought, I proceeded home and begged for forgiveness. I thought our discussion would be about jobs and careers and boredom at work. But my wife wanted more of an explanation. She wanted to know everything. What had I looked at? Who had I emailed? Why was I unable to avoid this outcome, after being caught and reprimanded three months earlier?

Her questioning uncovered an addiction to sex. It revealed the tip of an iceberg that I believed would never be fully disclosed. I knew there was a deep-seated problem, but I had never identified it. Even in numerous discussions with professional psychologists, it hadn't come to light. Oh, they were good. But I kept the details to myself, making it impossible for them to diagnose the problem.

Now, the rules have changed. If I want to stay in the relationship I will have to be completely honest. I will have to reveal everything I ever did that might be considered inappropriate. Every woman I was with, every bar I visited, every dollar I spent. But I can't remember them all. Really, I can't. I am confused. I am hurting, and feeling an incredible amount of guilt. Each story I tell about my indiscretions is rooted in a lie. Not only did I hurt her by acting so selfishly on those uncontrollable desires, but I lied to her. I lied to make the situations possible; I lied to cover them up; I lied to protect her.

So when she said, "Is that all, is that everything?", I believed it was all. I believed I had told the whole truth, and I was satisfied with that. I believed that because I was lying to myself. The rest didn't matter. No one would ever know about those indiscretions that remain unspoken. There was enough found out to fire me, to bury me, to leave me. That's enough, I thought. But there was more.

One painful vision at a time, they came out. Revealed by stray records of money spent, or by recovered files of emails forgotten. With each new revelation came deeper pain for my wife, who had endured all she could imagine by then. But the web of lies was thick, and it took some time to get through it all. There was much pain. Unnecessary pain, that could have been prevented by an injection of honesty anywhere along the road.

Amazing as it is, she and I are together today. Living by new rules that are preventing a new lie from getting a foothold. The new rules include 100 percent accountability for time, money, whereabouts, and behavior. When I first agreed to follow these rules, it appeared impossible. But it is possible. And now I consider the rules my friends, because they are helping to keep me where I want to be. Out of trouble and in this relationship. I wish I had understood how easily I could get in so deep. It started with one lie.
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