telling the truth

“The writer’s job is to tell the truth. I believe that if all writers were to tell the truth, the world would change.” — James Baldwin

Coming soon:

May 30. Connective Threads: What Connects a Collection // 11 am - 1 pm et
— free for paid subscribers and inner story members

June 6. First Friday Freewriting Workshop // 7 - 8 pm et
— free for all subscribers

June 12. Creative Courage Writing Intensive Early Bird Enrollment Opens

June 21. Author visit with Rowana Abbensetts- Dobson // 11 am - 12 pm et
— free for all subscribers

June 22 + 29. Vulnerability in Personal Storytelling (via The Writer’s Center) // 11 am - 1:30 pm et

Weekly Story Work Exercise

Our current theme is against the grain. You can find our recent themes here. You can find all the archives here.

Photo by Tamarcus Brown on Unsplash

Telling the truth is often unpopular.

And yet, what the world needs most is individuals who speak and live from their hearts.

In a world dominated by performance and pretense, where displays of power are valued more than acts of vulnerability, giving voice to your emotional truth is a radical act.

Emotional truth is what is real and human about us without our masks and defenses.

When I talk about healing, I’m talking about living in emotional truth—honoring and expressing your real emotional experience without distortion, denial, or suppression.

When you start healing, you begin to question rules, roles, beliefs, and how things have always been. This questioning creates friction.

As you seek expression for the emotional truths that you’ve been trained to hide or weaponize, or maybe that you weren’t even aware of, your soul searching and self-honesty lead you to opinions, preferences, and boundaries that go against family and community norms, cultural conditioning, and societal expectations.

Tension builds between who you have been and who you are becoming.

Tension builds in the relationships and unspoken agreements you’ve made to show up in the world a certain way.

When you are called to heal through writing or some other form of creative expression, your calling includes harnessing this tension and expressing what others might be afraid to, both through your craft and the way you choose to live.

The truth is disruptive.

It’s going to break patterns, alter relationships, and overturn the things that once numbed and protected you.

The art of healing lies in moving through the tension with mindful awareness, trusting that the disruption is leading to necessary transformations that will improve your quality of life.

Telling the truth didn’t happen overnight for me.

It started occurring one word at a time: No.

One observation at a time: This doesn’t feel right.

Then one layer at a time: This job sucks the life out of me. My authentic self doesn’t feel safe to show up in this relationship. This behavior doesn’t align with my values or the person I know I am beyond my fears.

In Story Work, I talk about realizing that I was an unreliable narrator in my own story because I wasn’t being honest with myself.

“When we avoid being honest with ourselves—when we don’t investigate what’s fueling old patterns that we can’t shake and the stories we’re telling that don’t feel true—the way we recall events, scenes, and situations serves the deceptive narrative that we’ve attached ourselves to for safety, validation, or whatever need we are subconsciously seeking to fulfill. So much so that we often come to believe our own falsities. Like when we tell our friends that our relationship is perfect when in reality we are arguing every day. Or perhaps when we convince ourselves that we don't have a drinking, eating, or gambling problem, that we can quit at any time. In my case, I was all in on writing about self-discovery and transformation, but I wasn’t being honest with myself about the deeper work I needed to do to embody that knowledge off the page, to bring about actual change in my relationships and endeavors.”

A big part of learning to tell the truth was finding attunement with my body—the ultimate truth-teller. I realized that if I wanted to live more authentically, then my body and I had to be in sync. I could no longer ignore or disregard it when it spoke to me.

Telling the truth requires embodiment.

Our bodies don’t lie. Often, what makes us smile, cry, tingle, wince, or go numb tells the truth of our stories more honestly than words ever could.

When I am listening to my body and attuned to its language, my intuition is heightened, and I am more naturally led towards the paths that serve my highest good.

I am still in the messy middle of getting reacquainted with my body, but let me tell you:

Reestablishing this connection can’t be skipped if you are serious about healing.

Like me, you may have dissociated from your body long ago to keep yourself safe. You learned to survive by analyzing everything with your mind, relying only on limited facts, quick reactions, and forced decisions—rarely, if ever, turning inward to let your body speak its truth. Perhaps you even came to see your body as a source of betrayal. You thought you couldn’t trust it.

I hope you feel renewed hope in knowing that, in time, you can.

Telling the truth requires solitude.

What I mean is that you start this journey alone, and along the way, you find yourself alone quite often.

In order to discover who you really are and what is true for you, you have to turn down the volume on all the external noise that has been drowning out your natural knowing.

You have to learn how to tolerate the discomfort of standing alone with your truth.

Affirming yourself:

I said what I said. I have permission to change my mind. I have permission to disagree. My point-of-view matters.

The truth will feel isolating at times because healing requires the expression of unpopular opinions. Speaking your truth may cost you approval in places where you crave connection and belonging.

Have you ever found yourself thinking: