My heart still pounds every time I tell someone a truth I know they may not want to hear.
I can feel it racing in my chest as my hands shake and my breath shortens.
Because telling the truth wasn’t always safe.
It created so much loss.
It led to punishment and abuse.
And still, I tell the truth with shaking hands and terror coursing through my veins. Still, I use my voice even when it cracks and requires immense courage and effort to express. Still, I value truth and transparency so highly that I speak it as quickly as I feel it.
Because truth was never the problem.
Truth was never the cause of all the horrible things that happened; it was simply a factor in a series of events that unfolded based on what others chose to do with it.
Plus, I trust myself to navigate whatever happens after truth leaves my lips. I trust myself to survive the losses and set boundaries when people respond toxically. I trust that others will manage their side of the street however they need, and it’s not on me to take responsibility for their experience.
I tell the truth.
With care and consideration.
With as much grace as I can muster.
And I trust.
Because telling the truth, as much pain as has sometimes followed, always opens me and my life to so much good—and the other person, if they choose to see it for the gift that it is. Telling the truth has always been the greatest act of alignment and love, even when hearts break in the process (mine included).
Tell the truth, friends, even when it’s scary and especially when it’s hard.
As Brené Brown says, incongruent living is exhausting. And I know from experience that it will make you physically and spiritually sick.
Truth is love.
For yourself and others.