I remember the first time I told a white lie. It was in secondary school, when my best friend, Omotola, asked if her performance in the school play was good.
Truthfully, she had stumbled over her lines, her voice cracked, and the audience had laughed at the wrong moments. But when she looked at me with those hopeful eyes, I said, “You were amazing.” Her face lit up, and for a moment, I felt like I had given her wings.
That night, however, I wrestled with guilt. Was it kindness, or was it cowardice? Omotola went on believing she had done well, and when the teacher later gave her harsh feedback, she was devastated.
She even asked me why I hadn’t warned her. My lie, meant to protect her, had only delayed the pain and made it worse.
Years later, I faced a similar dilemma with my younger sister. She had auditioned for a role in a movie which in my opinion she aced but then these things are not about how well you act but how many people you can get to like or vote on your content.
When the rejection email arrived, she was crushed. She asked me if maybe the team had made a mistake. I wanted to say yes, to soothe her, but I remembered Tola.
Instead, I told her the truth: “They didn’t choose you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not brilliant. It just means you’ll have to try again and build yourself to a point where you become a force to be reckoned with.” She sulked, but later she thanked me for being honest.
So, is it ever okay to tell a white lie? I think it depends on the intention and the consequence. A white lie about liking someone’s cooking when you don’t, that’s harmless.
But a white lie that shields someone from reality can rob them of the chance to grow. The truth may sting, but it also heals. Lies, even small ones, often fester. I’ve come to believe that honesty, delivered with compassion, is the better path.
You don’t have to be brutal. You can soften the truth, frame it with encouragement, and remind the person of their strengths. When Omotola asked me about her play, I could have said, “You had great energy, but maybe practice will help with the lines.” That would have been truthful, yet kind.
Life is full of moments where we’re tempted to lie for comfort. But comfort without truth is fragile. It breaks the moment reality intrudes. Truth, though painful, builds resilience. It teaches us to face the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.
So, here's what I feel, white lies may feel merciful in the moment, but truth, spoken gently, is the greater mercy. Lies delay pain but truth prepares us for it. And in the end, it is better to be trusted for honesty than remembered for false comfort, don't you think so too?
Image Credit is Mine
