There is a kind of lie that doesn’t hide in the shadows — it parades in broad daylight, cloaked in the language of integrity. This is the lie told by the “honest liar” — the person who insists they always tell the truth, while quietly weaving a web of deception. I knew one intimately.

He kept a locked briefcase. Always locked. The symbolism didn’t strike me at first — just a detail, perhaps. But later, I saw it clearly: that briefcase held more than papers. It was a vault of secrets, of financial truths I was never allowed to see. He spoke endlessly of trust, of openness, of the need for honesty in a relationship — and yet, his own finances were off-limits. When I questioned this imbalance, he masked it with concern for me. “I just want to help you,” he’d say, demanding full access to my financial life. He wanted transparency — from me.

He often said, “We must always tell the truth, even about the small things.” And so I did. I shared my past, my pain, my hopes, my fears. I believed we were building something on the foundation of truth. But I would learn that his “truth” was a performance. He claimed not to care about money, professed a deep disdain for materialism — yet, time and time again, money was the only thing that seemed to matter. He couldn’t afford much, but I was expected to pay — for everything. Dinners, holidays, household expenses. Somehow, the burden always fell on me.

He painted himself as a successful businessman. A man with big plans and bigger dreams. But behind the scenes, it was his loyal secretary who held his business together — the unsung heroine propping up the illusion of success. And when things failed — as they often did — the fault was never his. No, it was always his ex-wife’s fault. Or a friend. Or an employee. He never carried the blame.

Judgment was his currency. He judged everyone and everything — their choices, their values, their lifestyles. He wore superiority like a badge, disguising deep insecurity as righteousness. He belittled others to elevate himself. And yet, when it came to his own actions, there was always an excuse, a justification, a story that cast him in the best possible light.

He took credit for everything. My efforts? His success. My accomplishments? Reflections of his influence. Even my healing, my resilience — somehow, he managed to insert himself into the narrative as the one who had ‘helped’ me grow. But growth can’t happen in the shadow of someone who manipulates and controls. Growth requires light, and truth — real truth.

This man, this “honest liar,” is not just a single person. He is a symbol. A pattern. A red flag wrapped in charm and words of virtue. He is the person who demands honesty while hiding in half-truths. Who preaches integrity but manipulates behind closed doors. Who calls you untrustworthy when you question, and selfish when you set boundaries.

The honest liar thrives on contradiction. He insists he’s open, but locks away the truth. He claims not to care for money, yet obsesses over it. He says he’s a victim, while playing the puppet master. He talks of values, but only values himself.

If you’ve known someone like this, you’re not alone. If you’ve spent your energy trying to make sense of the double standards, trying to be honest in a dishonest dynamic — take heart. There is life after deception. There is clarity after confusion.

The greatest truth I ever told was the one I told myself: This is not love. This is control.
And the greatest freedom I ever found was in walking away — not from a person, but from a lie disguised as love.

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— Linda C J Turner

Trauma Therapist | Neuroscience & Emotional Intelligence Practitioner | Advocate for Women’s Empowerment