Chance Formore

I used to lie a lot.

Not to be evil or even to manipulate. Most of the time, I lied because I didn’t want to look weak. I didn’t want to be seen as the one who didn’t know something or wasn’t good enough. Underneath all those excuses and stories I made up was one thing: insecurity.

I didn’t know that at the time.

I was smart. I had potential. But instead of owning what I didn’t know, I covered it up with confidence I hadn’t earned yet. I’d BS my way through moments, I should’ve been quiet and asked questions. I acted like I had it together when I didn’t know jack.

My mom a good woman. Strong. Loving. Gave me everything she had. But one thing she didn’t do was check me when I needed to be checked. She’d invest in my excuses instead of helping me grow past them. She wanted to protect me. That’s love, but love without accountability only delays the pain. It doesn’t remove it.

There was no father in the house to say, “Cut the crap. You’re lying, and people are laughing behind your back.” I didn’t get that honest mirror as a kid. So I grew into a man without knowing what one really was. I confused emotion with strength. I got loud when I felt small. I’d get defensive and lash out, not because I was right, but because I couldn’t admit I was wrong.

That didn’t come from nowhere.

I watched my mom. She’s an emotional person, and when she got frustrated, she’d raise her voice. I picked that up. I responded to pressure with noise instead of calm. That wasn’t her trying to damage me, that was just what she knew. But it took me too long to unlearn it.

Now, as a grown man, I don’t lie anymore. Not because I’m perfect but because I can finally admit when I’m not. I had to hold myself accountable for the way I moved through life, and how I hurt my own progress by refusing to face the truth.

And I want to say this directly — especially to moms raising boys:

If you keep making excuses for your son, the world will not.

I know you’re tired. I know you’re doing everything by yourself. I know your instinct is to protect him. But if you baby him too long, you’re not protecting him, you’re delaying the real lessons life will eventually slam him with.

It’s not cruel to tell a child the truth. It’s love in its highest form.

Your son needs structure. He needs you to call out his lies. He needs you to say, You messed up and then teach him how to fix it. Not to shame him, but to build him. Accountability isn’t punishment. It’s preparation.

And to the young ones out there like I used to be

It’s okay to admit you don’t know something. It’s okay to feel insecure. Just don’t let those feelings turn into a lifestyle. The cost of pretending is steep. You’ll pay for it in your confidence, your relationships, and your opportunities.

It took me too long to figure that out.
Now, I’m doing the work. I’ve read the books. I’ve had the mirror conversations. And I’m not hiding from who I was, I’m holding myself to the standard of who I’m becoming.

To every single mom reading this, You don’t have to be perfect. But don’t be afraid to admit what you don’t know, either. Learn it. Grow with your child. But don’t protect them from the truth just because it feels harsh. Life doesn’t care how good the excuse sounds. Teach them that early.

I’m not blaming my mom. I love her.
But I’m owning what she didn’t teach me, because accountability is mine now.

And if this post saves one boy from becoming a man who lies to himself, then it was worth writing.

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I’m speaking from experience. Because life didn’t care about my good excuses. And it won’t care about your son’s either.

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