Honesty (apparently) is a lot to ask for. Often mistaken as “the easier route,” sugar-coating and emotional padding have slowly replaced real, authentic communication. And as a retired people-pleaser, I have some thoughts on the phenomenon.
I understand the many excuses we use to bend the truth: the truth doesn’t matter, it’ll hurt their feelings, you don’t want to be mean. The list is endless. But no matter the justification, honesty takes the cake every time. And I say that as someone who has officially run out of excuses to give.
We’ve been conditioned to soften our words and tiptoe around hard truths in the name of kindness. But what if that softness, however well-intentioned, is actually doing more harm than good? Bluntness gets a bad reputation; labeled as rude, harsh, or cruel. But what if we flipped the script and talked about the rare kind of respect that comes from saying what you mean, and the real reasons why we don’t?
I used to sugarcoat everything. I thought I was being kind: protecting people’s feelings, avoiding awkwardness, smoothing out rough edges. But over time, I realized I wasn’t helping anyone. Not really. I was just avoiding discomfort, mine and theirs, while convincing myself I was doing the noble thing.
Most of the time, our silence isn’t some generous act of emotional charity. It’s a trade between real connection and temporary relief. And the more we avoid, the less honest, and ultimately, the less human our relationships become. That noble thing? Is just an attempt to control the situation.
I used to date a lot, and with dating, every frog you kiss isn’t going to be your prince charming. That’s normal. But when you’re in the midst of growing a connection in the beloved “talking stage,” actually ending things is hard.
Ghosting is a route I know a little too well. It’s the classic disappearing act: one person left in the dust, the other slipping away unscathed. Selfish, absolutely. Easy, unfortunately. It was all fun and games until it happened to me. Suddenly I’m the poster child for healthy communication, “What a coward. Couldn’t even communicate something so simple.”
Having tasted a sip of my own medicine, I tried a different approach (one still guided by the people-pleaser in me.) Instead of disappearing, I would “end things the right way.” Not with the truth, but concepts of the truth, “I’m just really busy right now. It’s not you, it’s me!”
It worked for a while. Definitely easier than saying, “The way you called me a female instead of a woman threw me off, and I’d rather we never speak again.”
Then I met my match. Ever try to cut someone off who simply refuses to be cut off? Every excuse was met with a solution, every soft boundary countered with enthusiasm. Eventually, I had no choice but to be honest. “Okay fine, I didn’t get drafted. You just don’t excite me in the way I need.“
Enter my next route: bluntness. I remember my hands trembling as I pressed send on a message that would have incapacitated me if the roles were reversed. The text was, quite literally, the truth. “I’m not feeling it. It’s not there. Nothing is wrong with you, nothing is wrong with me. It just doesn’t work, and I respect you enough to not waste any more of your time.”
God, I’m an asshole, I thought. This is so mean.
And then the reply came.
“Okay. Thanks for being honest with me.”
Results may vary depending on the emotional intelligence of the recipient, I can still hear that one singer’s diss track in my head… but the relief that moved through me felt like a smack to the back of the head. I didn’t have to curate lies to spare someone’s feelings? It could have been this simple?
That was the moment I finally understood the difference between being blunt and being brutal. Not mean, honest. Not rude, real. Direct. No fluff. And people respected it. Because when I had the option to lead someone on, I chose the opposite.
The thing about me: I overthink simple situations until I’ve magnified them beyond recognition. I care more about how my message will be received than the message itself, often forgetting that I am not responsible for the way my truths are received. In trying to control how a situation is perceived, I end up being fake. And that’s not how I want to show up in this world.
So when I need to end things with someone, speak up about a crossed boundary, or something that bothers me, I do so in the same way I would with things that excite me. I pick and choose when to communicate as if the option isn’t always available. There’s no shortage of words dependent on the extremity of the situation.
I wish I could say a life-changing epiphany got me out of this bad habit. But the honest answer is: I stopped caring so much. And not in a selfish, mean girl way, but in a respectful, considerate way. The constant bending to “keep the peace” and the tip-toe around the truth out of fear of conflict or confrontation isn’t worth the disconnect.
Communication is not a weapon. It’s a tool. How lucky we are to be able to express our hopes, fears, doubts, desires, boundaries, and triggers. Not everyone has the courage to say what they mean, but we all have the responsibility to try. Silence may feel safer, but honesty is what actually moves our relationships forward. Say it clearly. Say it kindly. Say it anyway.
What a gift it is to have words that express what hurts, what matters, and what we need. When we choose honesty, we offer others the chance to meet us where we truly are. That is where connection finally begins.
