Guide Stars Lessons: Big Fat Liars
They don’t kick down doors or come with warning signs. They smile. They praise. They lean in just enough to make you feel seen. And that’s how it starts. They mirror your passions, echo your values, act like they’ve finally found someone who gets it. But it’s all performance. A trap dressed in flattery. You don’t even realize you’re being studied, every word you say, every strength you show, every crack you expose, they’re collecting it, piece by piece, to wear like a mask. And when they’ve taken what they came for, they vanish. What they leave behind isn’t just silence, it’s shame. Shame that you handed them the blueprint to your soul and they walked away wearing your face. And now, every time you see them thriving off the parts of you they stole, you’re not just angry. You’re haunted by the echo of your own sincerity.
It messes with your wiring. That’s the part no one warns you about. Being used like that doesn’t just hurt, it scrambles something inside you. You start flinching at kindness, questioning every compliment, scanning for the trick behind the smile. You replay the moments, obsessively, trying to pinpoint when the lie first slipped through. But what haunts you most isn’t what they took, it’s what they left behind: the doubt, the paranoia, the bitter taste that love and loyalty now feel dangerous. And worst of all, you catch yourself changing. Pulling back. Building walls. Moving like a version of them, just colder, quieter, and twice as guarded. That’s the real damage. Not the betrayal itself, but how it trains you to betray yourself just to feel safe.
This isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s calculated. Psychology calls it strategic empathy. It’s when someone mirrors your tone, language, even your pain, not to connect, but to gain access. Manipulators don’t overpower you. They study you. They flatter you just enough to keep you talking. You think you’re building trust, they’re building a file. And when they’ve heard enough, they walk. Or worse, they reappear, parading your voice, your views, your vision like they lived it. That’s not just fake. That’s surgical. And by the time you realize what happened, your words are working for someone else in a room you’re locked out of.
That’s the part no one prepares you for, the aftermath. Watching someone else cash in on your authenticity while you sit in the confusion they left behind. You see their success. You recognize the language. The timing. The tone. It’s yours, but delivered with their face. And it eats at you. Not because they’re doing well, but because you know exactly what they did to get there. And all you can do is sit with the truth: they got the glory, but you carried the cost.
So what now? You either fold, or you adjust. You get sharper, not colder. You start paying closer attention to how people move, not just how they talk. You don’t stop giving, but you start measuring. You don’t stop speaking truth, but you keep a little more of it for yourself. You don’t shut down. You level up. Not to prove anything, but to protect what’s yours.
And here’s the thing: snakes shed skin, but truth doesn’t peel. People like that always get exposed. Their stories start to contradict. Their image gets too polished. They rise fast but leave no roots behind. And you? You’re still here. Still real. Still original. Being used doesn’t make you weak, it proves your value. You were worth copying. You were worth pretending to be. But the same heart they faked? You still own it. And that’s something no liar can steal.
The trick isn’t to stop trusting people, it’s to stop trusting too quickly. That’s what the research actually says. In the book Give and Take, Adam Grant explains that the most successful people aren’t naive, they just test for sincerity before they invest. It’s not complicated. Ask for dates. Ask what went wrong. Ask what they’ve put on the line. Real ones have real answers. In The Gift of Fear, Gavin de Becker calls out something else, what he names “forced teaming.” That moment when someone rushes closeness, uses “we” a little too fast, and flatters you just enough to skip the hard questions. That’s the move. But once you learn to spot it, you stop falling for it. You don’t have to be paranoid, just present. You don’t need walls, just filters. Give slowly. Watch everything. And remember: loyalty without proof is how they bait the hook.
Being generous doesn’t mean being wide open. You can still pour into people, but do it with a cup, not a pipeline. Keep records. Credit ideas publicly. Save your drafts, note your dates, protect your process. That’s not being cold, it’s being clear. If someone’s real, they won’t flinch at boundaries. But if they get uncomfortable the moment you ask for accountability or try to slow things down? That’s your sign. Users hate structure. They thrive in blurred lines where access is easy and nothing’s tracked. So draw your lines early, speak with receipts, and never let kindness be used against you as a weakness. Give, but give like someone who knows what their value is.
