I’d Rather Hurt with the Truth Than Heal with a Lie

There comes a moment in everyone’s life when they stand at a crossroad — one path paved with comforting lies, the other rugged with harsh truths. And I’ve learned, painfully and over time, that I would rather stumble down the latter.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to give people the benefit of the doubt, used to cling to the hope that maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That maybe someone’s silence didn’t mean they were ignoring me, that maybe broken promises had valid reasons, that love still existed even when it had stopped showing up.

But lies have a way of dressing up beautifully. They wear the scent of comfort, they come softly with half-smiles and “I’ll call you back”s, they whisper “everything’s fine” even as your gut is screaming that it’s not. I’ve lived in that kind of lie — smiling through uncertainty, making excuses for someone else’s changing behaviour, blaming myself for the unease that kept growing louder inside me.

And one day, I broke.

Not because someone screamed at me or hurt me in an obvious way. But because I had become a stranger to myself, constantly doubting my own feelings just to maintain an illusion someone else had built for me. I was living a story that looked good from the outside but was hollow on the inside — a dark lie where my instincts were gaslighted, where my questions were met with guilt-trips, and where I was just… surviving.

So, I made a choice.

No more sugarcoated sentences. No more ignoring the obvious. If you’re not emotionally present — say it. If you don’t love me anymore — I’d rather know. If you’re not okay with me — let me go. Because I promise you, I’ll take the pain of truth any day over the slow burn of deception.

And yes, truth hurts. It bruises. Sometimes, it tears you apart. But once it’s out, it sets you free. That kind of pain has clarity. You know where you stand. You know what to heal. You know when to walk away.

I’ve lost people because I’ve asked for honesty. I’ve been told I’m too intense, too direct, too much. But I’ve also gained peace. I sleep better now, even if the bed feels emptier. I don’t second-guess texts, don’t re-read messages hoping to find meaning in silence. I’ve accepted that truth may make people leave — but it also makes space for the right ones to stay.

So if it ever comes down to choosing between a harsh truth or a dark lie dressed in comfort, I hope you choose the truth too. Even if it means walking away. Even if it means standing alone. Because anything that needs to be hidden isn’t worth being held on to.

I’d rather feel the pain of honesty than the numbness of pretending.