Falling hard for a man who isn’t yours.
Learning your husband has cheated.
An unplanned pregnancy.
Thinking you’re not cut out for motherhood.
Giving up a child for adoption.
Writing The Comfort of Lies drew me to dark places. Blowing up emotional truth into a “what-if” novel forced me to visit past sins of my own, and sins that were visited upon me.
Did I give a child up for adoption? No. Did I adopt a child? No. But I struggled with issues of infidelity in ways that allowed The Comfort of Lies to come alive in my mind (and hopefully on paper). I haven’t suffered through all of the above, but I’ve been close enough to imagine them all far too well.
Exploring lies is the backbone of this book—the lies we tell ourselves to feel better, and the lies we tell others (that we think are to protect them, but usually serve to hide our darker side). In the end, I could only conclude that the comfort of lies is a false consolation indeed.
“It is better to be told a hurtful truth than to be told
a comforting lie. In the end, the truth will make its
way out and will hurt much more than it ever had to.”