This new identity gave me confidence and the freedom to discover different relationships. It also helped me understand, more broadly, what I really want from life
I’ve never been a good liar. I can trace it back to my early school days, where my excuses for unfinished homework were never convincing, or I’d guiltily double back on even the smallest of fibs. With a knowing look, my mother would say: “Georgina …” She instilled a reverence for the truth, which was bound to the idea of doing the right thing. She wasn’t wrong: building trust is crucial in forming strong bonds in any relationship dynamic.
But, like most teenagers, I gently smudged the boundaries of truth, from concealing my bellybutton piercing, to “borrowing” my brother’s car to meet a boy I fancied. Notably, my untruths were told in the knowledge that they would probably later be discovered (although I hadn’t banked on the flat tyre) and, looking back, they were often linked with an early exploration of my sexual identity.
