top of page

Lies by Heidi Davy

“STOP LYING,” “YOU ALWAYS LIE!”


The result of asking my daughter, where had all the Mentos gone?


“All over the floor & in the bin!” she replied, agitated, shouting, eyes darting back & forth.


Once again, I am helpless, as she blames me for the fact that one by one, mint by mint, she had popped the family sized bag into her mouth. I’m sure, as she did it, she would have enjoyed the rush of endorphins to her brain. I know, I used to be the same. I recall eating a whole Vienetta in one sitting, another time, an extra-large white chocolate bunny, including the truffles and every time I went to my Grandads, I would not only stuff my pockets with the mint humbugs, I found in the Kitchen drawer, but I would stuff my mouth too, until I could no longer fit another one in. In these moments, I just remember living my best life, until reality hits…


Reality being for my daughter, the sugar rush wearing off. She looks like she has just run a half marathon and firstly she is not enjoying the uncomfortable feeling of lying and secondly the low that now engulfs her brain & her body.


Lying hurts, lying feels ugly, lying is scary. She lies until the lie is soooo BIG. Not only is she living it, so am I!


“STOP LYING,” “YOU ALWAYS LIE!”


The hamster wheel just keeps on turning, the lies just keep on coming, day after day, week after week. The pattern repeats. Last week the giant skittles went all over the floor & in the bin, the bin being her tiny tummy.


20 minutes later, after she has trashed me as a person, “You’re not my mum,” “You don’t care if I eat them all & make myself feel sick,” she snarls at me through angry tears.


I wait patiently as she allows the uncomfortable feeling to leave her body.


“Darling, I was only going to ask you if I could have one,” I say quietly.


“Oh mummy,” or Mama, as she prefers to call me these days, I’ll take anything from the list of many names. At least today it wasn’t ‘YOU FRIGGIN IDIOT’, like it is most days. Just words, I remind myself, just words. Sticks & stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me…



“Oh Mama,” “I’m sorry,” she replies sobbing, grabbing me tightly/quickly, bringing me in for a hug, this is something she has done of late, the quicker she does it, she is controlling her urge to hit me. ‘I ate them all. Why can’t I stop myself? Why can’t I stop myself?’ I enjoy the hug, the warm, if not wet embrace, embrace from her tears. She must have cried a river in her short lifetime. Her little body fights the thoughts in her head & eventually she is calm, exhausted. We sit in silence for a while, we reflect & then we move on.


“Anyway Mama, when am I getting my hamster?”

Recent Posts

See All

1 Comment


Why am I crying ?🤦‍♀️

Like
bottom of page