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.

 

I say nothing.

 

 

That’s precisely the moment my deeply committed relationship with staying silent sets in.

 

 

You don’t have all the facts, the story is still playing out, or you need to give yourself a minute to make sure your cold hard facts and your trigger-happy feelings are (at the very least) on the same continent, if not in the same room.

 

Unfortunately, you have to own those instances when your silence slips from patience and strategy into cowardice and denial. I don't say that as a character indictment, we've all done it before.

 

It’s why the idea of “playing your cards close to your chest” has always felt misguided and exhausting. Does it make sense in poker and certain business circumstances, where some amount of peacock-adjacent, performative gameplay is part of the appeal?

 

I assume so. I’m trash at poker, so maybe I’m just lashing out.

 

But still, outside of those contexts, adopting that clutched-card posture is obvious and frustrating. Yes, you may be holding cards close to your chest, but I can still see you’re holding cards.

 

Do I know what those cards are?

 

 

But I can feel their presence and how you, with intention, are refusing to play your hand because, in some way, it is to your benefit. You’re not fooling anyone.

 

At first, silence feels like control. You tell yourself you’re playing it just right. You're waiting for the perfect moment to do… something? Until then, you’re gathering all the facts, letting things unfold.

 

At some point, however, you need to admit that your silence isn't about wisdom or patience, it's about control. 

 

Not the nefarious kind of control. I'm talking about the kind of control that keeps you safe from the harm and pain you’ve experienced before. In your haste to keep yourself protected, you aren’t defaulting to understanding, closure, or consensus the way you believe. You're hoping to tilt the odds in your favor without ever having to play your hand.

 

At some point though, you’ll grow tired of the pointless marathon you’ve orchestrated for yourself.

 

At some point, you’ll finally gather the courage to speak. To say everything you should have said weeks, months, years, or even a lifetime ago. But by then, the people who needed to hear it will be long gone. And the only response left waiting for you will also be silence.

 

 

What you are silent about is what you give power to to control you.

 

What you are silent about is what you allow to govern your life.

 

What you are silent about creates a divide between you and those who matter most.

 

What you are silent about becomes a permission slip to lose everything you hold dear.

 

What you are silent about becomes a death sentence to anything you consider sacred.

 

Most importantly, what you are silent about is never actually silent at all.

 

Your silence possesses more energy than you can possibly imagine. And everyone around you can feel it. The unspoken may be a volcano that never erupts, but don’t kid yourself: the mountain is still right there on the horizon, looming above the clouds, for all to see.

 

 

Silence has a funny way of turning on you. One minute, you’re the composed, enigmatic genius keeping your cards close. Next, you’ve somehow become an unlocked diary everyone else is writing in.

 

When you choose not to speak, the world doesn’t pause and wait for you to find the right words. Right or wrong, we’ll just fill in the blanks without you.

 

Your held tongue becomes an open invitation for the world to tell your story.

 

To make educated guesses about your true motivations.

 

To place bets on what move you’ll make next.

 

To misconstrue your intentions.

 

To misinterpret what’s in your heart.

 

To misunderstand your silence isn’t malice, it’s love being suffocated by fear.

 

To assume the worst.

 

To be very clear, I don’t write this to you all today because I’m preaching from some lofty moral high ground. I can only speak with such conviction and authority on this topic because I’ve made all of these mistakes myself. Repeatedly.

 

I’ve been the calculated coward.

 

I’ve been the silent coconspirator in my own emotional demise.

 

I’ve wounded others with my inaction.

 

I’ve held my tongue when all I’ve wanted to do is say, “I’m sorry, I love you, I am just trapped inside my own head, and I don't know how to get out.”

 

I’ve hurt people I loved because I was too afraid to speak.

 

I’ve missed opportunities because I couldn’t bring myself to be an active participant in my own life.

 

 

 

If you’re realizing now that you’ve been running in circles, if you feel the weight of everything unsaid sitting heavy on your chest, that means you still have time.

 

The doors aren’t all locked. The people who matter aren’t all gone. Not yet.

 

But you also have to decide that silence is no longer an option.

 

Not because it’s easy. 

 

Not because speaking guarantees the outcome you want. But because carrying the weight of unspoken truth is so much worse.

 

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 someone who is really in it with you, the truth (whatever it is) doesn’t blow everything up. It binds.

 

They see you. They hear you. 

 

They understand that contradictions are part of being human. They don’t demand that you have every answer figured out before you open your mouth.

 

 

You still might not agree at first. You still might hurt each other. But with the right person, the truth stops being a weapon or a verdict. It becomes the way you find your way back to each other, or the way you bless what you had and part with some dignity. The truth becomes the map, not the wrecking ball.

 

That’s why I’ve never loved the line, “Hurt me with the truth, don’t comfort me with the lie.”

 

I’d rather say, “Love me with the truth, don’t comfort me with the lie.”

 

Love tells the truth even when it’s inconvenient.

 

Even when it risks changing the shape of the relationship.

 

Even when the truth is, “I misjudged you,” or “I panicked,” or “I’m not as certain as I pretended to be.”

 

The truth is the most powerful love letter you can write to another person. The truth says, “I respect you enough to live in the same reality with you.”

 

The truth is a sacred missive that says: “I trust you enough to show you the unedited version of me. To let you see the whole, squishy, contradictory self I rarely share with anyone else… and to trust that you’ll decide what to do with that honestly.”

 

Sometimes that looks like being caught on the other side and loved even more for it, for just being you. 

 

Sometimes it looks like choosing different paths, but at least you’re both standing in the truth, not in a story someone made up to feel safe.

 

Either way, truth is the only thing sturdy enough to build anything real on. And with the right person, you will never be punished, lectured, or denigrated for being a human being… just like the rest of us. 

 

You deserve that.

 

You deserve to be loved for who you are and for what’s true, not for whatever version of you makes things easier to live with.

 

Because you are lovable right now, in this moment. In the dark. In the haze of fear and confusion you can't see your way out of.      With all of your contradictions, edges, and humanity.

 

Without exception. ❤️