25. "Honesty"
My brain has been real sneaky this week—masking my defense mechanisms under the guise of “honesty”.
Honesty and “honesty” are not the same. While honesty entails sincerity, integrity, and vulnerability, “honesty” is self-deception.
I value honest, direct, and open communication. My brain knows that…and has used it against me.
I’ve been known to send intense, feelings forward, and perhaps brutally “honest” multi-paragraph texts—particularly as a means of confrontation. If you’ve been around me for a while, then you know exactly what type of text I’m talking about.
It’s like an “honesty” bomb. And you don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of my “honesty” bombs. (As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that “honesty” bomb is a riff on truth bomb, but I’m sticking with it.)
What generally goes down is that I start feeling some type of way. I turn to my trusted outlet of expression: the written word. After I type out a text that could easily be mistaken for a novel, my brain pumps me up with adrenaline—the excitement of leaning into discomfort and laying it all out there for the sake of “honesty”. I hit send. Inadvertently, my message reinforces the walls of guardedness and mistrust that I’m trying to tear down. So the aftermath is usually counterproductive to my overall life goal of cultivating greater human connection and intimacy.
“Honesty” looks deceptively similar to honesty, which is how my brain gets me on board.
My brain will say:
"you're being honest"
"they deserve to know how they made you feel"
"practice how you'd want to communicate in a relationship"
"they can take it or leave it"
"this is just how you communicate"
Though these things sound good, I’ve realized that they’re still stories my brain tells to keep me protected, guarded, safe…and far away from true vulnerability. These seemingly good things trick me into self-sabotaging behavior—my conditioned, automatic response to uncomfortable stimuli. By dropping an “honesty” bomb, I attempt to preemptively control a situation from behind the safety of a screen.
In contrast, the few times I’ve had uncomfortable yet honest conversations in person, I’ve felt tremendously vulnerable—“I’m physically shaking and can’t hold eye contact” level of discomfort.
It’s easier to be “honest”. But we’re not alive on this planet for easy.
The honesty I aspire to comes from grounded neutrality and stillness, whereas “honesty” comes from an attempt to escape discomfort, anxiety, and contraction.
My brain will try to pull this trick again. And next time it does, I’ll be ready to pause and check in with my intentions.