Honesty is everything to me.
Despite the PTSD that ate away at my brain in those early days, I never once forgot any of the hard conversations after my loss. They were BRUTAL, the most painful I’ve ever experienced. There was no sugar coating, no trying to caretake, no softening the blow. The things that were said—not just to me, but also about me—they ripped me clean in two, broke my heart all over again, made me want to throw up and pass out. I had to physically be held upright at times.
And I SO appreciated every moment of it.
They were the reason I could begin to mend.
They formed bonds I’ll cherish forever.
They gave me insights I wouldn’t have had otherwise.
They answered questions I would have asked for a lifetime.
They left nothing unsaid or unknown.
They made me feel safe.
Someone once told me that brutal honesty leaves a clean cut, which gives it a far better chance at fully mending. Anything less and it can be too jagged and rough, leaving scars that never stop hurting.
Honesty is everything.
Real. Raw. Truth.
It’s messy and it can hurt like hell. It’s impossibly vulnerable and scary. And sometimes it means things won’t go how you want them to. But wouldn’t you rather KNOW that you showed up fully, said what was true for you, and really gave it your all? That you left nothing unsaid? That you didn’t “lie by omission” or through actions that weren’t congruent with what was in your heart? That you were willing to be as real as possible with the ones you love?
Tell the truth.
Incongruent living is exhausting.