There is a lie we tell ourselves. Not once. Not occasionally. But repeatedly, quietly, and consistently. It does not announce itself when you wake up in the morning. It does not sit across from you and say, “Today, let’s pretend.” No. It is far more subtle than that. It whispers, and because it whispers, we trust it. Over time, that lie becomes so familiar that we no longer recognize it as a lie. It becomes the truth. At the core of this lie lies something deeply human. A need so primal, so ancient, that it has shaped civilizations, religions, and relationships. The need to belong. To be seen. To be heard. To be appreciated. And when that need feels threatened, we do something fascinating. We bend reality with all our mental faculties—our logic, our reasoning, our intelligence—to keep that lie alive. Not outwardly—most of us are not bold enough to lie to the world. But inwardly? We become master storytellers. We craft narratives. We edit the truth. We suppress di...
Introduction: The Day Wickedness Moved Closer Than I Was Comfortable With Growing up, I had a very clean definition of wickedness. It was convenient, actually. Wickedness lived in horror movies—the kind I never watched but heard about from friends who clearly had stronger hearts than mine. It lived in news headlines—wars, murders, and corruption scandals. It lived in those people. You know the ones. The ones we shake our heads at and say, “How could someone do that?” And so I made a quiet agreement with myself. I am not that. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. But comfort, I’m learning, is often where truth goes to hide. Recently, something shifted for me. Not dramatically. Not in a thunderbolt moment. But slowly, uncomfortably, like a mirror being turned in my direction when I wasn’t ready for it. It happened as I was reading Proverbs—not casually, but with the kind of attention that doesn’t allow you to escape yourself. And then I saw it. Not in someone else. In me....