Let me tell you what happens when someone lies in my office. The room gets thick. Energy shifts. Something feels off, even if I can’t put my finger on exactly what.
And here’s the thing: it happens more than you’d think. Not because people are inherently deceptive, but because they’re terrified. They’re sitting across from their partner and a stranger, convinced that one wrong word will blow everything up.
There are two kinds of lying I see. There’s the person who lies because they’re scared shitless. Maybe they’re still talking to an ex they promised to cut contact with. Maybe they spent money they said they wouldn’t. They’re not evil. They’re just convinced the truth will end everything.
Then there’s strategic lying. The person who uses therapy as another chess board, feeding information to gain advantage. That’s a different animal entirely.
Here’s what most people don’t understand: I’m not just listening to your words. I’m watching your nervous system. I see how your breathing changes when certain topics surface. I notice when partners suddenly go rigid or start fidgeting. The body tells stories words can’t hide.
But let’s be honest. If someone is actively lying about something major, therapy hits a wall. You can’t build trust on quicksand. I can work with the dynamic between you, but I can’t fix what I don’t actually know about.
If you suspect your partner is lying, bring that feeling into the room. Don’t sit there stewing. Say it: “Something feels off here. I don’t think I’m getting the whole truth.” That’s not an accusation. That’s your experience. And any decent therapist will create space for that conversation.
To the person doing the lying: I get it. The terror is real. You’re convinced honesty equals annihilation. But here’s what you’re missing. That fear you have about being fully seen? That’s actually what we need to work with. Not the lie itself, but the terror underneath it.
Because until you can tolerate being completely known, you can never actually be loved. You can only be loved for the performance you’re putting on. And that performance is exhausting. It’s also incredibly lonely.
Sometimes the most courageous thing you can do in that room is stop performing and start being real. Yes, it might hurt. Yes, there might be consequences. But at least you’ll know if this relationship can handle the actual you.
And if it can’t? Better to find out now than spend years wondering what would happen if you ever stopped pretending.
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Figs is a licensed marriage and family therapist with 16+ years of experience working with couples. He’s the co-founder of Empathi, host of the “Come Here to Me” podcast, and author of an upcoming book on relationships and the systems that shape how we love.
