Radical Honesty

"When we reveal more, we have less to hide. When we have less to hide, we are less worried about being found out. When we are less worried about being found out, we can pay better attention to someone else. In this way, telling the truth makes intimacy and freedom possible."

Never has a book moved me as powerfully as Radical Honesty, by Brad Blanton, clinical psychologist. Simply and bluntly, Blanton shows us how to transform our relationships, and therefore our lives, by stating the plain, honest truth. Being radically honest means "telling all your secrets and your secret feelings to whomever you don't want to tell." This sometimes seems difficult in the face of a disease Blanton calls moralism, our tendency to assert our beliefs and values as the Absolute Truth. Well-being can be achieved by getting out of our headtrips and into our experience of the moment. And according to the author, "Nothing interrupts the mind like telling the truth."

I've prided myself for years on my ability and willingness to tell the truth, but Radical Honesty has made me aware of how often and how much I continue to withhold. Withholding the truth sucks the life out of us. It keeps us separate from others because part of our attention is tied up in holding back what's really on our minds. Furthermore, when we withhold information from someone, s/he isn't relating to us as human beings but is relating to a lie. Withholding the truth is withholding a part of ourselves, thereby presenting a false self to the world.

Our minds work hard at devising endless excuses to validate our numerous untold truths. We can even convince ourselves that lying, or telling partial truths, is in the best interest of all parties involved. But only in halting the righteous mind chatter can we notice how withholding effects our bodies. For me, untold truths manifest as a fluttery feeling in my stomach, or a sinking feeling all over, sometimes accompanied by the rolling of my eyes or a heavy sigh. When my mind works overtime to bury lies in the unconscious, other symptoms develop that may not seem related to the truth at all-like compulsive eating and fidgeting.

Moralism, according to the author, results from the belief that our thoughts are the right interpretation of reality. For instance, as an animal rights advocate, I used to insist that eating meat was wrong. And in the process of opening to spirituality, I performed frequent mental gymnastics in a concerted effort to prove to myself that vegetarianism was a fundamental law of the universe. My belief was often challenged, however, and I remember feeling especially hurt upon learning that the Dalai Lama himself is an omnivore. But through the long process of growing to accept and even embrace uncertainty, I came to believe that the only Absolute Truth is this: there are no absolutes. Letting go of my need for permanence and the illusion of security in this ever-changing world has freed up my passion for life and intimacy.

Most of us are involved in an ongoing struggle between beingness and the intellect. We've been filled with ideas about what we should do, thus blocking our ability to make decisions based on what we viscerally know. Blanton says, "People have trouble thinking because they don't perceive with their senses; and they don't perceive with their senses because they don't interrupt their minds' constant reshuffling of worn-out but familiar concepts... [T]o perceive and conceive anew, rather than reconceive, is the whole challenge." As a beginning massage therapist, I agreed to a trade with a 20-year veteran of bodywork. Assuming that all bodyworkers followed the same sheet etiquette, I crawled comfortably under the covers. But no less than five minutes into the massage, the massage technician nonchalantly whisked the sheet off my nude and self-conscious body. My mind, oblivious to the tension permeating me, kicked into full gear with some very convincing rationalizations: "It's OK. He's a professional bodyworker. This is just a massage. Besides, his wife is in the other room." This struggle between my body's extreme discomfort and my mind's logic culminated in a victory for the mind, completely invalidating a very real, subjective experience.

Telling the truth has nothing to do with morality. It's about intimacy and freedom-freedom from the numerous effects of withholding the truth-bodily tension, worrying, incessant conversations in our heads, lack of connection. It's about removing the block-dishonestyÑthat keeps us separate from others. "The person who learns to tell the truth is the most free, most alive kind of adult human being you'll ever see, but is more insecure than normal. The insecurity comes from having fewer beliefs to rely on for security." Thanks, Brad Blanton, for reminding me of the necessity of honesty and the wonder of uncertainty. Look out, y'all. Here I come!