I have been keeping so many secrets for so long that it became a weight I could no longer bear. I was thirty-six years old when a coworker asked me how I got the scar over my left eye. I hesitated. Then I reluctantly said, “I fell down the basement steps when I was little.” They did not seem surprised. I was conflicted. I went back to my desk wondering why I had just told that lie. I literally shook my head and said to myself, “You know that is not the truth. Yet you keep telling it.” I had told that lie so often it was second nature to me, but this time it made me uncomfortable.