The Hard Truth About Emotional Honesty
Here’s what I’ve been thinking about: I used to believe emotional honesty was simply about saying what you feel, no filter. That if I felt angry, I should say, “I’m angry,” and if I felt hurt, “You hurt me.” I thought this was the highest form of integrity—raw, unvarnished truth. The philosophers called this “authenticity,” and I wore it like a badge.
Then came the shattering moment. Years ago, a student handed back my ethics paper with a note: “Your lecture was boring. I fell asleep.” I’d spent weeks preparing, and her words felt like a knife. I was honest—she’d felt bored and said it. But the truth wasn’t the point. Her honesty, delivered without care for my effort, was a weapon. It wasn’t about truth; it was about her need to feel superior. I realized then: emotional honesty without compassion is just noise. It’s not integrity—it’s self-centeredness.
I saw it again last week at a coffee shop. I snapped at the barista for cold coffee, my voice sharp with a headache. She paused, then quietly said, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it fresh.” No defensiveness. No “You’re being rude.” Just care. Her honesty wasn’t about her feelings—it was about my need in that moment. It was the opposite of the student’s note. It was truth that served connection, not destruction.
So here’s the hard truth: Emotional honesty isn’t about your feelings being heard. It’s about whether your words, however true, serve the other person’s humanity. It’s not “Say what you feel.” It’s “Say what needs to be said for the sake of us.” The philosophers called this the “ethics of speech,” but it’s simpler than that. It’s asking: Does this help us be human together?
I still stumble. I still want to say the sharp thing. But now I pause. I ask: Is this truth necessary, or is it just mine? And sometimes, the most honest thing is silence, or a gentle “I’m sorry I snapped.”
— Ray Bates, still asking questions