Everybody Lies – Truth and Illusion in the World of BDSM

The famous line by Dr. House, "Everybody lies," isn't just a provocation. It's a diagnosis of human nature. And the longer one works with people—especially in a realm as intimate and deeply confidential as BDSM—the more one realizes that this sentence isn't cynicism. It's reality.

Who lies—and why?

We all lie. Submissives, dominants, switches, observers, even educators. We lie to others and to ourselves. And we don't always feel guilty about it. Sometimes it's so natural we don't even realize we're doing it. We lie because the truth would hurt too much. We lie to protect our own vulnerability.

The BDSM world has its masks. Submissives claim they can "handle anything" even when their body (or soul) is screaming the opposite. Dominants act like they have everything under control—even when their insecurities are silently screaming in the background. Both fear being exposed. Both believe that if they show their true face, they'll lose respect.

But BDSM is about revealing—not just the body, but the truth. That's its essence. The more we hide behind roles, the more we lie to ourselves, the less we are able to experience what BDSM truly has to offer.

How House exposed liars

Dr. House may be a fictional character, but his statement carries real weight. You don't have to be a genius doctor to realize that people lie—often to protect their most vulnerable selves. House never believed what his patients said. Why? Because he knew people lie to preserve their version of reality. It didn't matter how convincing they seemed. He looked for evidence, not stories. He paid attention to the details that revealed the hidden truth. He wasn't afraid to be uncompromising—his goal wasn't to flatter, but to uncover the core issue.

In BDSM, it's not so different. Sometimes it's enough to watch how someone behaves outside the scene. To listen to what they don't say. To notice the subtle signs of insecurity that linger beneath loud declarations. The courage to spot a lie isn't about judgment, it's about understanding the truth beneath the surface. Like House, we shouldn't be fooled by the first layer.

How to recognize lies—and work with them

Recognizing a lie isn't about confrontation. It's about creating a space where the truth can be spoken without fear. One of the simplest tools is asking open-ended questions and watching for discrepancies between words and body language. If someone says, "I'm fine," but their body is tense and their eyes avoid contact—that's a signal something's off.

Offering a safe space for truth means expressing empathy and acceptance. Instead of asking, "Why did you lie?" it may be better to say, "I know it can be hard to talk about how you feel. I want to give you the space to be honest."

Breaking through fear – the path to authenticity

Lying often stems from fear. Fear of rejection, fear of vulnerability, or fear of losing control. When we recognize those fears, we can respond with compassion. In BDSM relationships, this means creating an environment where vulnerability is seen not as weakness, but as courage.

Acknowledging fear and being honest about it are key to authenticity. It may sound cliché, but the truth really does set us free. Often, when someone feels accepted in their weaknesses, they'll dare to remove the mask and reveal their true self.

The courage to be raw

Telling the truth, even when it hurts, means risking exposure. Taking off the final layer that protects us from the world. Admitting that we're not perfect, that we're not who we so desperately pretend to be. In BDSM, this is an art. The courage to say: "I'm not as strong as I seem," or "I'm scared I'll lose you."

Being raw means admitting your fragility. And that's where the true strength lies. When we stop pretending we're bulletproof. When we allow ourselves to be real.

Truth in BDSM is not weakness

Lying is easy. Truth is hard. Owning our feelings and sharing them with someone else is, in BDSM, the ultimate act of trust. And here's the paradox—the play of pain, control, and power is, at its heart, about vulnerability.

How many dominants will admit they're emotionally dependent on their subs? How many submissives can say they crave more than just physical acts? And how many of us can admit that the game we play is sometimes just a mask for the fear of rejection?

When will we stop pretending we're not pretending?

BDSM has the power to strip us down to our core. But only if we let it. Only if we accept that we're not perfect. That sometimes, we need more than the role we've built for ourselves.

House was right—everybody lies. But in BDSM, we have the chance to stop. We have the chance to be real.

So why keep pretending?