How honest are you with yourself?
I finished Charles Blow’s Fire Shut Up in My Bones a few days ago. I’ve tried to write a review [three times, actually] but every version felt wrong. So this is not that. Instead, I want to talk about the thing that kept whispering through the pages: honesty. Or maybe more truthfully, the road to honesty.
It takes a lot of unraveling to stop telling yourself lies.
Some are small ones, almost harmless at first. Diet lies: “I’ll start tomorrow.” Success lies: “I’m doing this for me… to prove something to myself.” Workaholic lies: “I’m working hard so they won’t have to.” They sound noble, even responsible. But left unchecked, they grow heavy. And then there are the other lies, the ones that cloak the truth with dagger and shadow. The ones that hide in our relationships, our jobs, our bodies, our hearts.
I know I’m not alone in this. But I’ve learned that to deal with all the unmentionables, you have to acknowledge that they exist. You have to look them square in the face and say, “Okay, you’re here. How can I understand you?” Only in truth do we find freedom. I believe that with my whole heart.
The other day I was talking to my editor about how my writing has changed over the years. When I look back at my older work, it feels distant, like someone else wrote it. He said something that stuck with me: “Make sure you’re still telling the truth. Even if your writing style changes, does it still tell the truth?”
It sounded simple, but it hit deep. Even in fiction you have to tell the truth. You have to be honest about feelings, motives, and contradictions. You have to tell the truth about love and hate, grace and pride, joy and despair. Because even though Raskolnikov never walked the earth, his story told the truth about how pride and guilt corrode a soul; how one person can carry both good and evil. That’s truth.
And just as Dostoevsky showed in Crime and Punishment, there is freedom, release, when you finally decide to walk in truth.
It’s easier said than done, of course. It’s tempting to wrap every blog post with a neat bow, to end with a reflection and a tidy prayer, to make it all fit together… even though you know, deep down, you’re still wearing a girdle. Honesty asks us to breathe differently. To let the seams show. To admit those discomforts about our faith and our choices.
You can’t see in the mirror with the lights turned off.
Maybe the path to wholeness and the path to honesty are not two roads at all but one and the same. One that, as Thoreau wrote, we must walk with love and reverence, however narrow and crooked.
If this post spoke to you…
Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |
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