Honesty is supposed to be a positive thing, right? So, why is it when we are either prompted by someone else, or we prompt ourselves, to “be totally honest,” our immediate reflex is usually one of emotional retraction or aversion?

 

To be clear, I’m not talking about the “Yeah, I wouldn’t wear that outdoors,” brand of honesty. (Editor’s Note: Please tell me if my outfit sucks. Please. High fashion is not a core competency of mine.)

 

I’m talking about those big truths you wrap your entire being around, because you know it needs to come out … you just don’t know how. 

 

I can only speak for myself, but when I know the only way up, down, around, or through is truth, fear becomes my best friend.

 

Sure, the truth will set me free (in theory), but will giving oxygen to whatever is in my heart only serve to break it further? Will the truth become a wedge, the mechanism by which I push away those closest to me? Or will the truth show me I wasn’t as close to someone as I thought?

 

When I don't know how to answer those questions, I do nothing.

 

 

Eventually, though, I push my way through the discomfort. I have to.

 

You either believe in the relationship at the center of your truth, or you don’t. You either believe you have the space and emotional safety to show up 100% as yourself with someone, or you don’t. And if you’re not sure in either case, you owe it to yourself to find out. There is no room for self-delusion in the relationships you count on.

 

What someone does with your truth can be quite revealing.

 

If someone you love weaponizes your truth against you, that’s not a reflection on you. If they fire back with scorched-earth ultimatums that show you they’re more interested in controlling you — instead of trying to understand your perspective or pushing to work together to find a meaningful compromise — they’re showing you who they are. They're not interested in being the team you should be, and that is a truth you need to see. Pay attention. 

 

With the right person, however, the truth (no matter what it is) is like a binding agent. Even if you don't agree at first. Rather than a mechanism of division, the truth becomes the mechanism by which you grow closer. The truth becomes your map to unity.

 

Sure, we can stack up lots of unforgettable memories together through parties, holidays, and nights snuggled up on the couch watching movies. But the only way we forge lasting bonds, experience uplifting growth, or take massive, loving leaps forward together are through moments of radical, unadulterated truth.

 

That's why I don't like that age-old saying ,“Hurt me with the truth, don’t comfort me with the lie.”

 

I much prefer, “Love me with the truth, don’t comfort me with the lie.”

 

Love. That’s what the truth is … or can be, at least. The truth is the most powerful love letter you can ever write to another person.

 

The truth is a most sacred missive that communicates how much you trust the person across from you to catch you on the other side — to see that incredible, squishy, whole version of yourself you likely rarely share with others ... and then allow them the space and ability to love you more for it.

 

And you deserve to be loved. For who you are and for your truth.