“My Entire Life Is Built On A Lie”: 58 Anonymous Confessions Folks Could Never Say Out Loud

My 13 year old [passed away] in Peru after getting caught in a whirlpool. We were on vacation. His mom (my ex) blamed me and our other son also blames me so he doesn't speak to me. He's now 13 too. I don't force him to see me. When I drive home from work, I pretend that I am talking to my son about how his day was at school, what kind of music he wants to listen to, what he wants for dinner, etc. That is why I haven't gotten a new car. There are just too many memories.

They’re so annoying, only posting stuff about their baby like it’s the only thing going on in their life. It gets worse after the baby is born because they end up posting like 50 pictures of their kid doing [stuff] kids normally do. Usually it’s a friend’s girlfriend or wife. I know it’s a nit picky thing to do, but I hate babies anyway.

Edit: Maybe I should have been more specific. The women who are my friend’s girlfriend or wife. These aren’t my close friends, they’re more like acquaintances, so it’s not like I’m abandoning my best friend or [something]. Jeez.

To the incels who think I also unfollow women once they get in a relationship or when they get married:

NO I don’t unfollow them when they get a boyfriend or get married. Astonishingly, I don’t only befriend women in hopes that we [sleep together]. I just don’t like kids and I think babies are ugly and annoying.

I've come to the realization that I just flat out do not like my wife anymore. It isn't a rough patch or something that I will work through. She is simply a person that I do not enjoy being around. She is a complete Karen who will literally demand a manager for every perceived sleight and it is embarrassing as hell. She is constantly bragging and laughing about all the people she has argued with and blocked on various platforms like Facebook and Nextdoor. She never shuts up but never has anything of importance or relevance to say. Everything that she does is just nails on a chalkboard to me. But I couldn't imagine only spending half the amount of time with my kids, there is absolutely no way I could live with that. So I will just keep going pretending that I love her and am some devoted husband so I can try and set a good example for my kids and spend as much time with them as possible.

i’m a psychologist who is often frustrated by all the self defeating, maladaptive behaviors i see in my friends that would be honestly quite easy to adjust if they were open to hearing about it and doing the work needed to succeed.

but no one likes hearing that. i’ve had 2 friends ask me what their flaws were and they did NOT like hearing it. it’s just a thing people do, they don’t wanna hear what their emotional weakness is.

but i got into tarot in the last year or so and everyone kept saying im really good at it. like my readings come true and the things i tell them to anticipate and work for actually pan out and for half a second i delulu’d myself into wondering if im some kinda seer.

but no, certainly not. tarot cards are barnum statements and that means they can mean /whatever/ you want them to.

including for example “this card says you’re bringing a lot of trauma from your previous relationships and into this new one. the next card says when communication is needed, you shut down instead of listening to what is being said. you’ll never be happy in a relationship if you let this pattern continue. uh THE CARDS SAY instead of lashing out in the moment, you should take time to yourself to contemplate and understand before acting.”

like if you make people think it’s the CARDS telling them rather than you, suddenly they are highly responsive to therapeutic methods

LOOOL GET TREATED IDIOTS

I’ve been married 8 years. I’m 30, my wife is 33. We have two kids; a boy (5) and a girl (3).

I get up every week day at 4:00am. Clean up the litter box, walk the dog, sweep up the house (no vacuum because everyone is still sleeping). I fold the clothes that had dried overnight in the dryer. I check the children’s laundry baskets, and start new loads.

I go for a three miles run in the dark at 5:00am. I’m showered and on the road by 6:00am. I commute for an hour and a half to a job I’m not particularly thrilled about but I’m good at it and I’m paid well. I’d rather be home building furniture and learning to be a chef.

Officially I work from 8:00am to 5:00pm but we rarely finish at the office before 6:30pm. I drive home another hour and a half.

When I get home the house is a mess. There’s no dinner. I’m starving. Did they eat? Yes they did. Uber Eats. Did they order anything for dad? Maybe, if I’m lucky. Wife will be on her phone. Daughter sometimes sleeping, sometimes not, son sometimes sleeping, sometimes not.

I’d like to spend time with them, but I need to eat. Bowl of cereal or TV dinner, then.

I check the laundry machine. Yep. Laundry from this morning is still there, and a huge pile that didn’t even get started is next to the machine. I put the first load into the dryer and start the next ones.

Wife lectures me on how stressful and hard her day was. How hard can it be when I hired a day nanny.

Oh she means stressful drama with her friends. Oh yes, tell me about what a [jerk] Brenda is and what a perfect mom she thinks she is and how she’s fake. My, that’s so interesting.

She tells me about how I never have time for any of them and how I’m an absentee father and I need to “step up” my contribution at home. Well, this weekend I have to mow the lawn and paint the garage and do all sorts of other chores you insist need to be done only by me, I’m sorry if there’s not two of me and I can’t go on play dates with you and go to champagne brunches where you all pat one another on the back and tell one another how brave and hard working you are to be sitting in a restaurant paying $50 for a plate of food at noon on a weekday for a three hour lunch and yoga afterward when your husband gets a Stouffer’s TV dinner that he heats himself.

I’m sorry I can’t be like the J Crew family in the ad and be smiling all the time. Someone has to pay for the house you insisted on, the SUVs you insisted on, the Montessori school you insisted on, the fashionable clothes you insisted on, the organic this and that you insisted on, the hair salon and nail appointments you insisted on.

Thanks for calling me selfish for spending time on myself on my three mile runs. It’s the only thing for me I ever get to do, thanks, and it’s while you’re sleeping.

I really wish you wouldn’t condescend to me when you discuss me to your friends, as if I’m obsessed with my career and that’s why you’re stuck being supermom. You already know I’m happy with an apartment and used economy cars and buying our clothes at Target and working a job where I get to be home to see my kids.

Why are you and the nanny so busy that your combined efforts can’t put the load of laundry in the dryer and press a button. Why do you leave dishes in the sink for me to do after I come home.

If you want me to keep working my 160k a year job to to fun your lifestyle that’s fine, I’m your hubby and that’s what I signed up for. I’m your man and it’s my job to support you.

I wish you would act like you’re on my side, though, realize that I want to be home, but if you want all the stuff you insist are non negotiable, someone’’s got to go out there and pay for them because that [stuff] ain’t free.

Thing is, all of it would be more okay if you just said thanks, Mike, I know you’re working hard or us and that you’re doing your part to keep this train rolling.

Instead you paint this picture on social media like you’re [working very hard] and I’m just off playing golf instead of stressing every second if I’m making enough money to support the lifestyle you want and feel entitled to.

You paint me like I’m into myself when I want to be into all of us, be part of the bubble you’re keeping me out of.

Why do you resent it so much when our son says he loves me and appreciates me and wants to spend time with me. Why do you hate it when our daughter wants to stay up and watch me eat and talk to me.

I’m a husband and a father. I’m a workhorse. That’s life.

I’ve told you how I feel but you tell me I’m crazy and being a crybaby. I don’t think asking you to order something for me if you’re going to spend money on dinner is unreasonable.

If you really want to impress me, cook something for all of us.

Marriage is a partnership. It feels like I’m doing more of the lifting than half. That’s okay. But I need you to not gaslight me and treat me like I do nothing while you do everything. That’s not cool.

I’m not your dad but I feel like I’ve just taken custody of you and our kids and just get treated like [trash].

Please stop rolling y our eyes like it’s cringe when I try to play guitar and sing with our kids. They love it. You don’t have to but please don’t encourage them to laugh at me.

This is not a contest. This is marriage. I do my part, you do your part. Your part shouldn’t be laughing at my part, thanks.

Also, it’s hard to get [it up] when you’re berating me. Be glad I can get it up at all when we make love.

Thanks.

My son has Asperger's which is like autism-lite. We've done extensive therapy and intervention and for the most part he is no different than any other kid his age except he comes across as shy and a bit nerdy (saying that with love).

The only issue we had at school was that he would become overwhelmed, panic and run out of the classroom. Of course that is not okay. We and school decided to allow him to take quick breaks to decompress when he starts feeling overwhelmed. He has not had an "incident" since the 3rd grade.

He started the 6th grade last year and it's hard for any kid, especially for an Aspie's kid. We met with all of his teacher's and reminded them that he has this accommodation in writing and he will likely need to use it since middle school is tough for an Aspie kid. All but one of his teacher's understood that and were supportive.

His math teacher is just a nasty [jerk]. She's one of those teachers that should not be a teacher. We're not those crazy in-your-face parents. We just want what's best for our son and work with his teachers to do so. We kept on reminding her, verbally and in writing, especially as our son's anxiety started to grow around her.

Imagine my surprise when I get a call from his counselor telling me to pick my son up. Apparently he had bolted from her classroom and ran out to the field. The principal and a counselor tried to escort him to the office and he refused unless they called me. It horrified me because I've seen videos of cops being called and tasering or hitting special needs kids. When I got there, my son was very upset. It was like watching years of progress unravel.

Apparently, he started to feel overwhelmed in her class because she's a [jerk]. She tuned on the heat too high and closed all the doors. He felt trapped and claustrophobic. When he asked for a break, she refused and told him to sit down or get detention. That only fueled his anxiety more and he exploded.

The school quickly accepted that the situation was handled poorly by the teacher. I requested that he switch classes and even threaten to get a lawyer for not following the accommodations that they are required by law to follow. That got their attention quickly. They did not send him back to her class; rather he went to another class until the matter was resolved. The teacher did get into trouble and wanted to discuss it with us before pulling him out of her class.

We met with her and she was just a nasty [jerk]. She accused our son of using his diagnosis as a crutch and he needed to grow up. I wanted to slap her. She went to take a phone call and I saw her keys on her desk. I put them in my pocket and we finished our conversation and I politely thanked her for her time.

Then I threw her keys in a dumpster and got my son pulled out of her class the next day. That made my day lol.

We were married on February 4th, 1989. I was 15 years old. He was 16 years old. He looked at me like I hung the stars in the sky.

Our parents had approved of us. The wedding preparations had been in process for a few weeks, but we had met at the beginning of the week, when we were engaged. He did all the talking. I didn't see him again until the wedding.

It was a beautiful day. It's hard to remember now, and everything blurs together, but I remember thinking about how my world was ending by the time the end of the day came.

I never wanted to be married. I never wanted to have kids. But I didn't say anything that first night, or any nights after that. Not after the birth of our first son, nor after the birth of the twins. He did everything to make me happy, and I'll never forget that.

I've gotten the divorce papers ready. I've moved out my things. He's devastated, the children hate me, but that's okay. I know I'm a terrible person for ruining this. I have no idea what I'll do after this. I have no high school education, no work experience either. I'm in my 40s, and I've wasted a lot of my life being unhappy. If there's anything you can learn from this, don't be like me.

When I was a student at a major university in the late 80's, I was failing several classes miserably. I had completely screwed up in 2 of my 6 classes and I needed to make a plan of how not to flunk out.

For one class, I decided to dedicate all my spare time in correcting where I went wrong and fix it by acing the final exam. The other class, which was much more technical, required that I come up with a plan. Keep in mind, that I was a total goody-two shoes kid who felt like they were in a desperate situation. Failing out of college was not something I could allow to happen. Desperate times, desperate measures.

The class that I needed to pass was a science/engineering class that I had not bothered to go to. So i went to the very last Thursday class to figure out my plan. One thing the professor did say was that if you had a 93 or higher average in the class you could opt out of the final exam that was happening in 1 week. I had a 64 average so I had to take the exam. How was I going to ace this exam? My grades were too low to get pulled up enough. The only way to fix this was to get my grades changed. So I came up with a "Hail Mary" plan. One that involved a few rules to be broken, and by rules, I mean laws.

The science building were the class was given would close for the weekend. This meant that the professors' offices were locked and most of the labs were locked as well. You could still get into the main parts of the building but you had to talk to a security person if it was after hours. (There wasn't digital badges and [sruff] like that back then.)

So here was my plan. On Friday afternoon after most classes were over, I scoped out the whole building. It was a u-shaped building that was 3 stories tall. I had to find a way in. Luckily, I found one of the 1st floor labs on the inside of the "u" had large horizontal windows that could be unlocked and would allow for someone to crawl through. Even better, one of the labs windows were obscured by a small fenced in area that housed some of the electrical and HVAC units. Large bushes lined the fence as well. So while I was there I went into the lab and unlocked a window to allow myself a place to enter the building. The door of the lab was propped open and I unpropped it and let it close. It locked. Good to know! It also reduced the chances of someone relocking the window.

I also scoped out the professor's office. It was open but he was was not there. It was very small with no windows. Just enough room for a desk, his chair and a a couple of other chairs. His office door was an all metal door painted beige except for a small center window in the middle. The window had a wire screen built into the glass held in place by a simple screwed on frame. There were lots of manilla envelopes and schedules etc on the door as well. This would be a challenge but I had formed my plan.

At around 3:30 in the morning I arrived back at the building with my backpack and a plan to break into th building. I had a hammer, pliers, a roll of tape and some screwdrivers that I had scrounged and I was nervous as hell. I made way through the bushes and climbed over the fence. I checked the window and it was still unlocked. I pulled myself up through the window and into the dark lab. Remembering that the lab doors would lock behind you, I slowly opened the lab door and placed some tape on the lock to stop it from locking. I was expecting a quiet building but instead was greeted by the loud sound of machinery running. Another lab was conducting an all night test or something and at least 3 upper level students were there overseeing the project. In a way that was good because my presence wouldn't necessarily be noticeable by others. I would find out later that it would also cover any noises I made.

I made my way to the professor's office door which was in a more out of the way part of the building. The office was located right by one of the stair wells so I could hear anyone coming down the stairs and also, if someone happened to start coming from the other way I could use the stairs for a quick exit. I pulled out the screw driver to start unscrewing the frame around the glass window in his door and soon realized that the screws were covered in decades of paint. Not good. What I thought was going to be a 2 minute job turned into a 45 minute job. I just went to town on this window frame. I had a few starts and stops but no one came by. I got the frame off and tried to pry the glass out of the frame. It was sealed in with paint. Getting the glass out took a monumental amount of slow prying and steady effort. After 30 minutes of scraping and gentle pressure I had the glass pane out.

I slowly reached in and turned the lock to unlock the door. I grabbed a large manilla folder on the outside of door and repositioned it over the window, a perfect cover for the now mauled up window. I slide into the office and looked for something to cover the window that would block light. The desk calendar worked well and a few pieces of tape held it up well. Then I turned the lights on to survey the scene.

I was now presented with a desk a chair and small slim table behind the desk. Of all the ways my plan could go wrong, my biggest fear was that the professor may have taken all of his grades home with him. A quick look into the large flat file on his desk and I had his full hand-written grade register in my hands and the pen he used for recording grades was tucked right inside. He taught 6 classes that semester and I only needed to change one grade, my grade, however, now that I had seen how banged up the paint was on the glass window frame, I knew I had to alter the plan. I searched through the gradebook and found all of my grades and saw I had several in the 70s and some lower 60's grades. I had done SOME work in the class. I thought it over for a few seconds and started executing Plan B.

I went through every single class he had and began randomly changing anything in the 60's to read as in the 80s. Then I went through and change all the 70's I found to read as 90s. I realized that the changed grades wouldn't stand up under close scrutiny so I had to create a "herd immunity' of changed grades. I noticed a few bad students in some of his classes and made some extra efforts at changing their grades. A zero? Now an 88. This was taking awhile. With 6 classes and 50 students or so in each class, and about 10 grades per student, there was about 3000 grades in this register. I changed at least 1500 of those grades. Of course my grades were changed as well. Lots of numbers in the 90s. I closed the grade book and placed it back in the drawer exactly as I had found it but I hear a little "Plink!" sound. I pulled on the drawer and realized it was now locked but wasn't before. OK, So maybe he'll think he locked it. No big deal.

My mind began to wonder of what the aftermath of this might be. Would this work? Would I be able to get away with not taking the exam by creating this academic chaos? About this time was when I noticed the IBM PC on his back table. Hmmm. Did he record his grades on a hand written register and his PC? IF he had a backup of the grades, all of this would be for nothing. Also, I couldn't reference all the changed grades a the drawer was now locked. I booted up his IBM PC XT and saw that it had two 3.5 disk drives. There's 5 disks by the computer. What to do?

I load each disk in the drive and type "DEL *.* " and nuke them all. I hadn't planned on this but then "F**k It Mode". So let's review the plan, change so many grades that he would have to take an impossible amount of time to deconstruct the chaos and simply give out good grades or at least better grades as needed. No one particular student would be identifiable as a culprit because there were plenty who had a motivation to change the grades. This was as good of an idea as i could come up with.

After having distributed all the good grades to all the good boys and girls I gathered my tools and planned my exit strategy. The back of his door had a few items taped to it as well so i replaced the glass and frame and covered it with another manilla folder. I wrote a poorly written not on a post it that said. "Sorry mop handle cracked the glass. Replaced glass. - maintenance".

I then split, got passed the grad student running the machine, slipped out the window and never went back. Didn't show up for the final exam either because you know, higher than a (edited) 90 93 average and all....

Waited 45 long days that summer to get my grades. Got a 90 in the class. Yeah... okay no complaints.

There had to be some other people who got their grades and were happier as well.

Never suffered any consequences on this either but it was the most stressful night of my life.

I haven't done [stuff] like this ever again.

My mom was diagnosed with leukemia when I was a child and she was sick for five years. Not long after the diagnosis my dad started having an affair with another woman. When he found out mom was terminal he started telling some of his friends and family and he told them his plan was to marry his affair partner once mom was gone. Someone told me after my mom died. I was a preteen at the time and I hated that woman. At the time I was angry at my dad but not nearly enough. He did marry her and it pissed me off so bad at her.

I made her life a living hell for over two years until she left him. I told everyone that she was the other woman and slept with a sick woman's husband. I humiliated her in front of people she worked with, neighbors and people she stopped to speak to. She tried very hard to spend time with me and bond with me and I used those times to make her life awful. I think I insulted nearly every meal she cooked, I compared her in an unfavorable way to my mom and I asked her questions that were designed to make her very unhappy. Like how did it feel sleeping with another woman's husband or how did it feel to be a gross person with no morals.

Eventually she ended their marriage because she couldn't interact with a single person if I was there without them being told exactly what she did. And I believe she said I caused her to miscarry with all of the stress.

By the time I finished high school I hated my dad for what he did and stopped talking to him completely.

Back in March, I dropped my roommate's favorite ceramic mug on the kitchen tile. It shattered into fifty pieces.

It wasn't just a regular mug. It was a vintage 1970s handmade pottery piece that her late grandmother gave her before she passed. She drank black coffee out of it every single morning without fail.

i completely panicked. I swept up the ceramic shards, shoved them into an empty coffee container, and drove three blocks away to throw it in a public park dumpster so she wouldn't find it in our kitchen trash.

Then I spent four hours reverse image searching the pottery maker mark from the base.

I got lucky and found the exact same artisan model on eBay for $140. I paid an extra $50 for overnight priority shipping. The box arrived three hours before she got home from her weekend trip, and I quietly placed it back on the drying rack.

She didn't notice the switch at first. But a week later, she was holding it at breakfast and frowned. She said the handle felt slightly lighter than she remembered and wondered if her hand arthritis was flaring up again.

Last week, she actually booked an appointment with a neurologist because she is convinced she is LOSING sensory perception in her fingers.

its making me feel like a monster. If I tell the truth now, I look like a psychotic liar who hid it for months. Why did I do this?

I’m not Jewish, not even a little bit. If you asked me any questions about Judaism, I couldn’t tell you, but still, everyone thinks I’m Jewish.

It all started in high school, 11th grade. I had just moved from California to The South and it was a rough time. I was called every horrible name in the book because I talked different and got the beat multiple times. Well I slowly befriended some of the guys on the football team and my closest friend was the center, we’ll call him Greg. Now Greg is a super chill guy compared to everyone around him, but he’s still very very racist and very open about all his opinions.

Well one day I’m driving Greg and a few other football players home from school and he makes a comment about synagogues. Without even thinking, I mention that I’ve been to one... and this is where it all started. This prompted one of the other guys to joke that I was a Jew, and trying to be chill (since these were the only friends I had), I went, “Haha, yep, I’m Jewish.” And then that’s when it all went down hill. Greg told everyone on the football team how his new friend from California was a Jew, and they all believed it since most of them thought there were only Jews in California anyways. And the football players spread that to the rest of the school.

At this point, I still thought it was a joke, and everyone was just jokingly calling me Jewish, so I just kept going with it. Then I became known as “The Jewish kid” and started to actually become popular, since everyone wanted to be friends with the different kid, (and the fact my dad had money, a lot compared to the poor area I went to school, so I could afford to buy nice things and people tend to be attracted towards that). And so being Jewish almost became my identity, it became who I was. So whenever someone would ask my religion, I just automatically told them I was Jewish.

Fast forwards to the end of high school, and the councilors are walking people through scholarship stuff, and my councilor calls me into his office and hand me a slip for a $5,000 Jewish American scholarship. Now, as soon as I read Jewish American scholarship, I was going to walk out and throw it out, but he made me sit down and fill it out with him, and then took it from me to submit it. I felt horrible for even doing it, but somewhat relieved when I heard that they only gave it to people who were also ethnically Jewish, so I knew I wouldn’t get it.

I got it. I received a letter in the mail saying I was chosen as the winner of this $5000 scholarship, I got accepted to Dartmouth due to the fact I worked [hard] in high school and was the valedictorian, though my competition wasn’t plentiful to say the least. But I never thought I would have been able to afford it, but this scholarship was huge in helping me towards that. I considered spilling everything then, declining the scholarship, telling everyone at school, telling almost every single form I’ve filled out, saying I’m not actually Jewish... I decided to tell my dad and ask him for advice as he’s always been a guy you can talk to about anything whatsoever. So I tell him everything, I tell him about the joke, then the lie, then everything, and now the scholarship (which I hadn’t told any of my family about because 1. I never thought I’d get it, and 2. They’d question why a very not jewish person is getting a jewish American scholarship) and as soon as I told my father, he looked me in the eyes with the most serious, disappointed face.... and then burst into tears laughing. The way he reacted, it must’ve been the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life. He told me he had gotten a letter in the mail asking if I was ethnically Jewish for a scholarship I had entered, and being the person he is, he just said the chance for college money and went “yep, Jewish,” and that was apparently all they needed. So my dad convinced me to keep the money and go to my dream college, and I did.

As soon as I arrived at university, I was met with some people from the group that gave me this scholarship, some jewish American organization funded by wealthy Israelis, and they told me/enlisted me into all these jewish clubs and they got me set up in a synagogue, and I everyone there (I’d later learn 2 of the people there would be my professors, who were very jewish) and finally they told me they’d set me up with the whole “birthright” thing, where they fly American Jews out to Israel. I was so shocked, I was at my dream school, plus I was being hit with all of this, it was too much. I thought about coming clean a lot of times. But I feel like all the people around me would suddenly feel betrayed and leave me.

I became good friends with a lot of people in these Jewish clubs, I bonded with my teachers a lot better since they believed I was Jewish, I met the most beautiful Jewish girl (who I met through her mother, when she came up to me in a cafe, asked if I was Jewish, since I was with the local Rabbi, I said yes, and she told me that I’d love her daughter. We went on a date and instantly hit it off) and I got a free trip to Israel. All the while, I was dealing with severe depression since I felt horrible every second of every day, in addition to the already enormous amounts of stress university puts on you. I came so close, so many times to just throw myself off a bridge or tall building, but I could never bring myself to do it.

I managed to get all the way through 11 years of college to get my doctorate, got a job at a history museum back on the west coast, married that Jewish girl, had a Jewish wedding with her entire family, and my two parents (my dad had spilled the beans to my mom about two days after I told him, she also found it equally as funny) we’ve had 3 little jewish babies, the museum put me in charge of organizing and creating a huge Jewish American history exhibit (even though that’s not my specific field even in the slightest.) And in a few months, when the current Curator retires at the age of 96, I will hopefully be taking his place. (He’s been training me for the job, I’ve worked there the longest, and I’ve made sure that I’m good at my job)

My life has turned out great but deep down it will always haunt me that my entire life, is built on a lie. My kids lives, my life, my wife’s life, all came from a joke in a car 20 years ago... I was never going to tell a soul this, but today my oldest son (he’s 9) told me that he doesn’t think he believes in god, and I told him I agreed. It was the first time in 20 years that I told the truth about my religion, and didn’t lie. My son wants to tell his mom that he doesn’t want to continue being Jewish and I might use this as my way of getting out as well... I told him we’d tell her tomorrow at dinner and he seems almost as excited as I am, but equally as nervous.

Wish us luck, I guess... I still am unsure if I should tell her the whole truth, or if I should just leave it with that I no longer want to be Jewish.

TL;DR: A friend from 20 years ago made a joke about me being a Jew since I moved there from California. This turned into everyone in my life thinking I’m Jewish, causing me to meet a Jewish girl, get a free trip to Israel, get to go to my dream school, everything, but it’s all built on a lie, and I feel horrible about it every single day. Telling my wife tomorrow that I’m not Jewish, but I'm still unsure if I should tell her everything.

EDIT: Just for clarification, because people have been questioning my use of the word “university” in place for “college”. Yes I know they’re not the same thing, I’ve just been surrounded by British people lately and they all use “university” so I’ve been saying that instead of college. It’s a recently adopted habit and I can assure you I’m American. Born in Folsom California, moving to Orange County and then to Santa Clarita, California where I lived for most of my younger life until my family moved to Americus, Georgia. I can assure you I’m definitely American. And as for my wife not finding out from my side of the family, it’s mainly due to the fact that we don’t talk to my side of the family for personal reasons and I haven’t talked to them in years, and she’s only ever met them once at the wedding, but she also wants nothing to do with them. I’ve decided I’m just going to tell her I’m not jewish. I won’t tell her I’ve lied about being Jewish for all these years, but I’m just going to tell her that I’m not jewish. Someone also said that since bother sides of my family are Czech, there’s a good chance I’m Jewish, so I’m thinking of doing a DNA test soon. Also when I said, “I know nothing about Judaism” that was an extreme exaggeration. I’ve obviously picked up a lot of knowledge over the years and I think my wife may have an idea due to the fact, whenever a Jewish holiday is coming up, she’ll remind me about it and tell me when it is/ what it’s for if I don’t already know. I’ll update later tonight on how it goes!

EDIT 2: So I talked to her and I decided to just tell her everything.... and it didn’t go like I expected. She told me she had a feeling I wasn’t Jewish from the beginning but never married me just because I was Jewish, but married me for me, regardless of my faith. She said that she was sorry that I felt like I had to hide this from her for so many years and that I don’t have to pretend to be jewish if I don’t want to, but like a lot of people have commented, I do feel sort of culturally Jewish now. I definitely identify more as a member of the Jewish community than I do any others. We’re not going to pressure any of our kids into Judaism and we’re going to let them decide what they want to do for themselves... and my wife and I agreed that it’d be for the best if we gave back since all the opportunities afforded to me came from the Jewish community, we’re going to get involved with an organization and we’re donating to 3 different scholarships for $5,000 each, and try and help fund birthright trips whenever we can. I’d like to thank everyone who’s commented with advice and hopefully this can be a new chapter in my life!

And that includes a smile, nod or other form of acknowledgement.

Might just be that driving in general changes your personality but I find it rude.

Sometimes I downvote people who are arguing so that they think they’re downvoting each other.

But not because of hoarding. I just keep forgetting to cancel automatic Amazon orders. Apparently, after a year of forgetting, I now own a goldmine. Worse yet, I have a bidet.

My boyfriend (26M) and I (23F) living together for the last two years.

We come from somewhat different financial backgrounds. His family wasn’t particularly well off growing up, whereas mine was relatively comfortable. The first time I brought him to a soirée with some boarding school mates, he mentioned that he really liked a perfume one of them was wearing. It was a tad pricey though, so he decided against buying it.

Long story short, I eventually found an excuse to buy it for him, and he’s been wearing it ever since. After a few months, I managed to persuade him to let me replace it whenever he ran out. However, I started noticing that he was using it more sparingly than before. Even though he works in finance, I work in law and earn more than enough to comfortably afford it, he still feels guilty spending money on himself.

Since then, I’ve quietly been refilling his bottle every week from a larger bottle I keep hidden away so that it lasts much longer. The problem is that he has no idea I’ve been doing this, and now I don’t think I can ever tell him.

I've been married for going on 30 years. Many, many years ago I realized that on the weekends if I got up in the morning and did whatever I needed to do (made breakfast, took care of kids, cleaned, etc) my husband would just stay in bed all day and watch TV. If I wanted to take the kids somewhere, or suggested we go shopping or hiking or hang out with friends or literally anything, my husband would say he's worked hard all week and he wants to just relax, so we'd do nothing all weekend long. BUT if I started the morning by sleeping with him, shortly after we were done he'd get up and take a shower and be ready to go conquer the world.

So if I want to have a lazy day at home, I get up and do whatever I want. But if I want to go do something, I sleep with him first thing in the morning. I know I'm intentionally manipulating him, and I don't actually care because I feel like he's getting what he wants, and so am I.

I am a foot and a half taller than my wife. So when I take a shower I make sure to set the shower head as high as possible. Then when she gets in she can’t reach it to lower it and she has to call me in. So I get to see her [undressed]. She has yet to realize that setting is too high for even me.

Not that I can’t see her [undressed] pretty much any time but still. It’s the little things.

My boss is generally a [jerk].

I noticed his wife (who also works at the company) came up as a recommended friend on Snapchat. I copied the username and added her on my burner Snapchat.

After a few messages and a few fake selfies, she told me she is single and sent some good revealing pictures.

I feel a bit guilty now but she is hot.

Someone had fried chicken delivered to the office for all to share. The smell was potent and delicious, filling the entire building. Shortly afterward I farted, one of those long warm ones, and it was also very potent. The smells mingled in a way that nature never intended. Needless to say everyone was confused and upset. I saw someone gag into their hand and put down their chicken thigh, never picking it back up. Nobody knows it was me.