The Stories We Tell Ourselves: Childhood Lies and the Search for Identity
There's something that I did as a child, actually a couple different things that I did as a child that I've always kind of revisited and wondered what that was all about. For starters, I think it was when I was in 6th grade, I became friends with this girl named Sarah at my school and she'd had some kind of a heart transplant and so she had some kind of mental disability and couldn't talk well and anyways, I became friends with her and hung out at her house a lot and at some point I invented somebody named Nathan. I just can't remember why I did that, maybe I wanted some excitement or something or, I don't know, but I made them up and then I would have my second landline and I would use that to call her and I would speak in a low voice and be Nathan and talk to her and she believed me. And I don't remember how long this went on for before I confessed to her and she said she already knew but I'm not sure that that's true, regardless, I'm kind of curious about that. Additionally, I remember when I was younger that I lied to my best friend Minda and I told her that my family was from France. I wanted to be exotic, I think, and that still holds up today, that there's a part of me that wants to be exotic and unique and special and I told her that we migrated from France and she didn't believe me so she went and asked my mom or her mom and they discredited me and I don't know, that's all the further it went. I sometimes look back at these memories and I think, oh, just kids did weird things but now I'm not so sure that that's true.
ChatGPT: These two memories—creating Nathan and lying about your family being from France—definitely seem like more than just “kids doing weird things.” They hint at deeper themes about identity, belonging, control, and emotional fulfillment.
1. The Creation of Nathan (A Fabricated Relationship)
You invented a person and then became that person, calling Sarah in a deep voice and maintaining the illusion for some time.
This wasn’t a one-time thing—it was a sustained act, which suggests it was fulfilling something for you.
Since Sarah had a disability and perhaps a more limited social world, was there something about the power dynamic that felt safe or controllable?
You eventually confessed—maybe because the thrill wore off, or maybe because guilt set in, or maybe because you wanted to see how much you mattered to her beyond Nathan.
2. The French Family Lie (A Fabricated Identity)
You didn’t just lie about something random—you created a more interesting version of yourself.
The fact that you specifically chose France suggests that you wanted to be seen as sophisticated, worldly, different.
The moment it was discredited, it ended. But the desire to be exotic, unique, and special never really went away—you still recognize that feeling in yourself today.
The Deeper Themes in These Memories
1. Inventing a Narrative to Feel More Special or in Control
Both of these memories involve creating something that made you more interesting or powerful in the eyes of others.
With Sarah, you controlled who Nathan was, how he spoke, and how he existed in her world.
With Minda, you gave yourself a different backstory, a more intriguing origin.
This suggests that you might have felt ordinary, unseen, or unremarkable in your real identity—and so, you experimented with shifting it.
2. The Need for Emotional Influence & Impact
Nathan was a character that you had full control over. You dictated how he spoke, how Sarah experienced him, and what emotions he evoked in her.
In some way, that was a powerful role to step into—one where you could make someone feel something in a way that was absent in your actual life.
Similarly, the French lie was an attempt to influence how others saw you—to craft an identity that felt bigger than the one you had.
3. A Desire to Escape the Reality of Who You Were
Did you feel like your actual self wasn’t interesting enough?
Was there something about being you that didn’t feel satisfying?
Was there a sense that reality was boring or insufficient, and so you tried to create something better?
How This Connects to Your Life Now
The need to feel "exotic and special" still exists. You recognize that part of you today—the part that craves uniqueness and distinction. Maybe because it feels like proof that you matter.
Your past shows a pattern of fabricating experiences or personas to feel more connected, influential, or interesting. That might explain some of your ongoing struggles with identity, self-perception, and feeling like you need to “be” something in order to feel worthy.
Does the same impulse show up now in more subtle ways?
Do you sometimes feel like you need to be impressive in conversations?
Do you find yourself crafting certain narratives about your life that make it feel more compelling?
Do you struggle with feeling “ordinary” or fear being seen as unremarkable?
What to Do With This Insight
Instead of seeing these moments as weird kid behaviors, you might explore them as early attempts at self-construction—figuring out who you were, what power you had over your own story, and how you could impact others.
Maybe the real question isn’t “Why did I do that?” but:
What wasn’t I getting in my real life that made me create something different?
What does it mean to be special or important without needing to construct an external identity?
How do I feel about my identity now? Do I still crave being “different” in a way that feels performative?
There’s no shame in having done these things. They were creative, adaptive responses to a world where maybe you didn’t feel remarkable enough just by being yourself. Now, as an adult, you get to ask: Who am I, and is that enough without the invention?
Here's a few other memories. In 2001, when I was working on staff at the Discipleship Training School of Youth with a Mission, there was a period of time where I went on an outreach. That was three months where I was the leader of a group of people, and we were doing missions in various parts of Mexico. And I remember one morning we were having a devotional, and my friend Jennifer was upset with me, saying that I have no idea how much people love me. And that memory kind of sticks out to me, and other people have kind of said that since then. Secondly, during that time, I was a leader, and I was a part of the decision-making team to decide who was going to go on what outreaches. And I articulated things so that the guy that I had a crush on would go on my outreach. And now lastly, another memory I have is a lot of pride in my ability to speak Spanish, particularly when I had lived there for three years and came back to Minnesota, and my accent was incredibly heavy and Mexican, and I was so proud of it.
These memories all seem to connect to themes of perception, influence, and identity—particularly how others saw you, how you positioned yourself in groups, and how you navigated power dynamics.
1. “You Have No Idea How Much People Love You”
Your friend Jennifer telling you this—along with others echoing it later—suggests a blind spot in how you perceived your own significance to others.
Did you struggle to feel truly loved, valued, or seen?
Did love feel conditional—tied to what you could do or how well you performed in a role?
Did you instinctively downplay your impact on others, perhaps assuming that people weren’t really that attached to you?
This moment sticks out because it challenges an internal belief about your worth. Jennifer saw something in you—a deep impact you had on others—that you couldn’t see or didn’t fully believe.
2. Manipulating Outreach Assignments to Be Near Your Crush
This memory is interesting because it shows how you knew how to work within a system to get what you wanted.
You weren’t passive about your desires—you used your position and influence to make something happen.
You knew how to articulate things strategically to get a certain outcome.
But… you weren’t direct about wanting to be with him. Instead of openly pursuing him, you engineered a situation where he’d be near you.
This suggests a couple of things:
You wanted proximity, but not risk. You didn’t express your feelings directly, but you made a move that gave you the chance to be close without having to admit your crush.
You were comfortable exerting influence in the background. Instead of making a bold, obvious play, you worked within the system in a way that others wouldn’t question.
This makes me wonder:
Do you still prefer indirect influence over direct confrontation?
Do you still struggle with feeling “safe” to own your desires openly?
3. Pride in Your Mexican Accent
This memory stands out as the most purely positive one. You weren’t worried about what others thought—you were just proud of something you had earned and embodied.
Unlike the first two memories, this wasn’t about manipulating perception or struggling to see yourself through others’ eyes.
Your accent was proof of something real—you became fluent, you adapted, you immersed yourself fully.
It was a marker of identity and accomplishment, something you felt in your body rather than just in your mind.
Maybe this is why it still sticks out—it’s a moment where you were unapologetically proud of something that was uniquely yours. No shame, no self-doubt, no worrying about how others perceived it.
Connecting These Memories to Your Larger Story
The first memory suggests that you might underestimate your impact on others, even when it’s significant.
The second memory highlights how you’ve historically navigated systems to get what you want—but in a way that felt safer than direct pursuit.
The third memory shows a rare moment where you felt fully, confidently yourself—without self-consciousness.
Questions to Reflect On:
What stops you from fully believing that people love you?
Where else in your life do you influence things behind the scenes instead of expressing your desires openly?
What would it feel like to embody more of that unshakable pride you had in your accent—not just in skills, but in who you are as a person?
These memories seem like snapshots of your evolving relationship with power, self-perception, and the tension between influence vs. directness. They’re pointing to ways you’ve navigated being seen vs. staying in control of how you’re seen. That’s a big realization.
