If Honesty Is the Best Policy, Why Is It So Fucking Hard?
We're told from the time we're little that honesty is the best policy. We have collectively agreed honesty is healthy, authenticity is important, and communication is essential. Then we grow up and discover that actually telling people what we think, feel, want, need, don't want, can't do, won't do, or simply don't agree with can feel anywhere from mildly twitchy to a trap door opening and plummeting to one's death.
Are we all seeing how absurdly difficult this arrangement is??
Cool cool cool.
We talk a lot about communication in relationships—and certainly in relationship counseling. And for good reason. But I've come to believe that sometimes what looks like a communication problem isn't really a communication problem.
Sometimes we know exactly what we want to say.
We're just terrified to say it.
Honesty Isn't Particularly Complicated
Think about how simple some of the sentences are:
I don't want to do that.
That hurt my feelings.
I need more from you.
I'm not okay with this.
I changed my mind.
I think we can agree these are not linguistically sophisticated sentences.
And yet instead, we hint. We accommodate. We resent. We over-explain. We passively-aggressively comply. We wait until we're so frustrated that the carefully avoided conversation finally comes bursting out sideways (so productive)!
And then we conclude:
I'm terrible at communication.
Maybe.
But let's reverse-engineer this.
Before You Learned to Communicate, You Learned What Communication Cost
Our earliest relationships teach us much more than words.
They teach us what happens when we use them.
What happened when you disagreed? When you needed something inconvenient? Could people tolerate disappointment? Or did someone withdraw, explode, shame, punish, guilt, control, disappear—or make you responsible for making everything okay again?
Children are astonishingly good students of relationship.
They have to be.
When you're little, the people you're learning to communicate with are also the people you depend upon for survival, safety and belonging. So your nervous system is paying attention.
Tone? Noted.
Body language? Noted.
Micro—or macro—facial expressions? Definitely noted.
Did they say “fine” in the fine way or the FINE way?
Is Mom quiet because she's tired or because I did something wrong?
Is everyone okay? Am I okay?
Eventually we start figuring out:
Who do I need to be?
Easy? Helpful? Successful? Funny? Undemanding? Agreeable? Invisible?
Maybe being completely honest isn't such a great policy after all.
(That's not confusing at all.)
Sometimes Honesty Feels Like an Attachment Threat
Sometimes people aren't afraid of honesty itself.
They're afraid of what honesty might cost them.
If I tell you what I really think, will you be angry? Will you withdraw? Will you reject me? Will I discover something about our relationship that I don't want to know?
Will I still belong?
Now we're no longer talking about vocabulary.
We're talking about attachment.
And your nervous system takes attachment very seriously.
Your adult brain may know perfectly well that you're allowed to tell your partner you don't want to go to their parents' house for Thanksgiving.
Meanwhile, somewhere considerably less reasonable inside your body:
APPARENTLY THIS IS NOW A FIVE-ALARM ATTACHMENT EMERGENCY, AND WE ARE RISKING THE ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP OVER TURKEY.
This is where I think a lot of perfectly good relationship counseling advice accidentally starts halfway through the story.
“Use I-statements.” “Clearly express your needs.” “Set healthy boundaries.”
Great.
I agree.
But what if saying I need... makes your heart race?
What if setting a boundary floods you with guilt?
What if someone else's disappointment feels unbearable?
What if disagreement registers as danger?
Effective communication requires more than learning how to speak.
It requires developing the capacity to survive being heard. And that's a very different skill.
That capacity is part of what we can work on in relationship therapy: not just finding better words, but understanding why certain words feel so dangerous to say in the first place. Sometimes individual therapy for relationship issues can explore the same question: What am I afraid will happen if I actually say what I think, feel, want or need?
Because honesty isn't a guarantee that nobody will be angry, disappointed, or leave.
It's developing something sturdier:
I can tell the truth and remain myself.
I can tolerate your disappointment.
I can listen to your truth without disappearing inside it.
We can disagree without treating difference as danger.
And maybe, eventually, our relationships can exist less because we're terrified of losing them and more because we're genuinely choosing them.
Which brings us back to honesty.
Apparently, it probably is the best policy.
It just would have been nice if somebody had mentioned how fucking hard it can be.
If you’re finding that honesty, communication, or feeling truly understood has become difficult in your relationship, relationship counseling can help you explore what’s happening beneath the surface. Together, we can work toward creating a relationship where both people feel safe enough to be honest, heard, and fully themselves.