The fox, the truth, and a little self reflection

"I think I see a fox in the street.”
It was dark and I was looking out my kitchen window, but it sure looked like a fox.
I was met with, “I’m sure it’s not a fox.”

Fast forward a few days, and there it was — a Ring alert from the middle of the night. A fox, slinking right across my front porch. A few days after that, a friend randomly starts using a fox analogy in a story.

Now, for those of you who believe in signs and spirit guides, you know exactly what I did next: “spiritual meaning of fox” went straight into the Google search bar. The word that kept sticking with me was cunning. That fox was a little cosmic reminder of what was going on around me. When I stopped to think about it, I realized three different people had either lied to me, hid something, or just plain weren’t being truthful — all in one week.

So here we go — a few thoughts on untruths.

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.”
Sir Walter Scott said it best when he warned of the dangers that come with dishonesty.

I’ve always said: if you have to lie about it or hide it, it probably isn’t something you should be doing in the first place.

Truthfulness is part of our moral compass — it reflects who we are at our core. We often convince ourselves we’re lying to protect someone else, but let’s be honest — more often than not, we’re protecting ourselves. From discomfort. From being caught. From judgment or consequence.

Here’s where the brain science comes in: our brains are wired for connection and safety. When we lie, the amygdala, our brain’s fear center, lights up — triggering a stress response. We actually feel that inner discomfort, that tightening in the chest, that nervous system alert that something is out of alignment.

But the more we lie, the more that stress response dulls. Research shows that repeated dishonesty decreases activity in the amygdala over time, which means we can start feeling less bad about being untruthful. That’s how little lies snowball — the brain adapts. Meanwhile, the prefrontal cortex, responsible for decision-making, values, and impulse control, stays aware. It knows when our actions don’t align with our integrity — and that disconnect creates mental and emotional strain.

So the cost of dishonesty isn’t just emotional or relational — it’s also neurological. Dishonesty actually disrupts the harmony of the brain, body, and nervous system.  

On a relationship level. every time we tell a lie, we chip away at trust. And trust is the foundation of every meaningful relationship — personal or professional. Without it, there’s no safety, no depth, no real connection. And yes, most of the time, the truth eventually makes its way to the surface.

There’s a difference between kindness and dishonesty. Saying “I love your new haircut” when someone’s clearly looking for reassurance? That’s compassion.But hiding the truth or denying your actions out of fear? That’s self-protection dressed up as care — and it quietly breaks the bond.

When we live in alignment with who we are — when we choose authenticity — we don’t have to lie. We don’t have to hide. We can stand in our truth, even when it’s uncomfortable, and trust that our relationships can handle honesty, especially when it’s delivered with love and respect.

I’ve gained some wisdom in my growing years to recognize that when I’m pointing out a behavior in others, I also need to turn inward and do a bit of self-reflection.
Are there places where I’m not being fully honest — with others or even with myself? What am I afraid of? Am I being truthful with my feelings?

Sometimes the lies we tell are subtle — not speaking up, pretending something’s okay when it’s not, downplaying our needs.
But being honest starts with checking in and telling ourselves the truth first. That’s where real change begins.

Can lies be forgiven? Sure. We’ve all made mistakes. But the healing takes time, and the fracture of broken trust can linger. Once someone starts questioning your honesty, it’s hard to erase. The only path forward is action — showing, not just saying, that you're willing to do the work to rebuild.

Because in the end, it’s true what they say: actions speak louder than words.

So thank you, Universe, for sending me the fox and all the other signs along the way.
Each one is a message, a mirror, a nudge to pause, reflect, and learn — about myself, others, and what it means to live in truth.