I remember the first time I was honest.  Not in the normal, day to day meaning… but the first time I was honest to the point that it cost me…

I remember it clear as day.  I was 16, in a bathroom stall at my school and I had cheated on 3 high school end of year exams.  I had recently found a faith (that I loosely still proscribe to) but back then, it was a new found faith and a set of beliefs that challenged my character deeply.  I remember I had been caught cheating on one of the exams – I was humiliated.  And after that 3rd exam, I went into this stall to breathe, to cry, to sulk and to gather my devious game plan of how to handle it.  I wanted to lie, to blame it on someone, to minimize what I had done and try to evoke compassion by some eloborate excuse…  And yet, something in me wouldn’t let me. Some small inner challenger, told me, “You got caught on one.  But you cheated on 3…” It kept bringing the truth up like some smug little bastard… I had been reading a lot about integrity.  I had read stories of these heros and these leaders of my new found faith – and ironically desperately praying that I would become a person full of integrity.  I remember pleading to be someone that commanded respect and was full of truth – in my actions and in my words… I just knew I wanted to be that person.  I didn’t know how hard it was to actually be that person. I remember this inner guide nagging and nagging me in that stall.  “Yes,” I would respond, “I cheated on 3, but no one had to know about the other 2,” I blindly, guiltily reasoned.  And yet, this pesky challenger inside powered back, “Yes, but you cheated on 3.  You should confess.  You asked what it looks like to have integrity, and this is it… This is what integrity feels like.  This is what integrity does.”  I wrestled that day deeply in that bathroom stall.  I fought and fought and tried to cast every excuse up against the wall in order to avoid that needed confession.  After failed attempt, after failed attempt of weak excuses, I gave up.  I relented.  I submitted unto this realization that there was literally no way around this situation but to wholly own it and request pardon from my teachers.  I felt mortified. I felt terrified. But I knew there was literally, no other way.

That week I went to each of the teachers and confessed and apologized.  To the one who caught me, I started my confession and literally bawled like a little baby. The ugly cry.  The one where you can’t even get the words out because your body involuntarily keeps heaving in the middle of the words and gasping for breath. I felt so foolish, so ashamed, and so… worthless. I got a C in those classes, because I was given a zero on at least one of those exams.  I thanked god I still at least passed… But that day, I realized – integrity fucking sucks.  And it’s hard.  And it’s humiliating and it’s horrible when you go against it and realize you have to make it right.  But one thing it does do – it cleanses the soul.  It cleans the inner self, and makes it more centered and focused.  It releases the overwhelming dark weight of your lies and loosens their burden entirely.  Like holding a 100lb brick underwater.

I imagine my professors still see me as a cheater and a liar.  And rightfully so.  But that day… That day, I took my first step towards honesty.  And the reward I received inwardly was so great, so clean… I don’t know how I can go back now.  The lies and the weight of deceit is so heavy, my friend.  The lies and deceit is so weary.  But the truth – albeit terrifying and vulnerable – the truth cannot compare in it’s greatness.