Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "truth"
The Truth Shall Not Be Told
The truth shall not set you free—at least not the brutal truth.
Who came up with the idea that we should all be “brutally honest”? I don’t want to be. I don’t like it and I choose to not tell every thought in my head just for the sake of “keeping it real”. What does it help anyone and who does it hurt when we decide to spew our version of the truth to someone who may not really want to know it?
What if we really did tell everyone the absolute truth?
Instead of saying to someone whom is in the midst of a crisis, “It’ll be okay...” What if we said instead, “You know what? You might as well just go jump off that bridge right now because your life sucks and I doubt you’ll get out of this one at all.”
Instead of saying, “That color looks nice on you…” We could always include, “That color looks nice on you but otherwise you are a disgusting pig and it’s no wonder you’re alone.”
How about saying, “You are the stupidest human I have ever heard speak.” Instead of, “You have the right to your own opinion.”
We could be so honest too and say, “I don’t love you. No one loves you. No one could possibly ever love you.” Instead of just saying, “I’m sorry; I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Where does that get us? There is no place for brutality in seeking, obtaining or sharing the truth. We do not have to destroy anyone to “keep it real”. There are times we are better off being guilty of saying nothing.
We also do not need to disclose every minute detail of our own lives that are not necessary to disclose.
If we were honest, we would tell our boss, “Hey, sorry I’m late. I had to go to the bathroom and it took longer than I anticipated.” I think the boss would rather hear, “I got caught by a train…”
How about a direct answer for the teacher, “The reason I didn’t do my homework is because I think you are a neo-nazi just trying to break all of us kids down into one of your little regime. Your assignments teach nothing and I have no respect for you as a teacher let alone a human.” Instead of, “I forgot my book at school.”
When asked by our spouse, “What’s wrong?” we could say, “Honey? I think you have gotten quite gross after all these years. You make me want to scream most days and I hate that we ever thought we could share our life together. I think I made a huge mistake and I wish you would fall off the face of the earth rather than touch me tonight.” Rather than simply saying, “I’m really tired, I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
The truth, brutal or otherwise is fleeting and changes from moment to moment. And this truth we need to keep real all the time—it is only our own perception of what we think the truth of the matter is. Just because we call it our truth does not mean we are right.
Keep your brutal honesty to yourself if you are going to cause pain or humiliation. I don’t need anyone to point out the obvious of what most of us already know.
Lie to me instead so I can get on with my day.
Who came up with the idea that we should all be “brutally honest”? I don’t want to be. I don’t like it and I choose to not tell every thought in my head just for the sake of “keeping it real”. What does it help anyone and who does it hurt when we decide to spew our version of the truth to someone who may not really want to know it?
What if we really did tell everyone the absolute truth?
Instead of saying to someone whom is in the midst of a crisis, “It’ll be okay...” What if we said instead, “You know what? You might as well just go jump off that bridge right now because your life sucks and I doubt you’ll get out of this one at all.”
Instead of saying, “That color looks nice on you…” We could always include, “That color looks nice on you but otherwise you are a disgusting pig and it’s no wonder you’re alone.”
How about saying, “You are the stupidest human I have ever heard speak.” Instead of, “You have the right to your own opinion.”
We could be so honest too and say, “I don’t love you. No one loves you. No one could possibly ever love you.” Instead of just saying, “I’m sorry; I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Where does that get us? There is no place for brutality in seeking, obtaining or sharing the truth. We do not have to destroy anyone to “keep it real”. There are times we are better off being guilty of saying nothing.
We also do not need to disclose every minute detail of our own lives that are not necessary to disclose.
If we were honest, we would tell our boss, “Hey, sorry I’m late. I had to go to the bathroom and it took longer than I anticipated.” I think the boss would rather hear, “I got caught by a train…”
How about a direct answer for the teacher, “The reason I didn’t do my homework is because I think you are a neo-nazi just trying to break all of us kids down into one of your little regime. Your assignments teach nothing and I have no respect for you as a teacher let alone a human.” Instead of, “I forgot my book at school.”
When asked by our spouse, “What’s wrong?” we could say, “Honey? I think you have gotten quite gross after all these years. You make me want to scream most days and I hate that we ever thought we could share our life together. I think I made a huge mistake and I wish you would fall off the face of the earth rather than touch me tonight.” Rather than simply saying, “I’m really tired, I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
The truth, brutal or otherwise is fleeting and changes from moment to moment. And this truth we need to keep real all the time—it is only our own perception of what we think the truth of the matter is. Just because we call it our truth does not mean we are right.
Keep your brutal honesty to yourself if you are going to cause pain or humiliation. I don’t need anyone to point out the obvious of what most of us already know.
Lie to me instead so I can get on with my day.
Letter to the Man of My Future
There are things you will not know about me in the beginning. We are supposed to show our best sides first and be on our best behavior in the beginning. We are imposed upon with that rule by whatever deity created it.
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
