When telling the truth feels disloyal…

After writing my last blog, I ended it with a paragraph that felt like a caveat . Not because I said anything cruel or untrue, but because I felt guilty for speaking honestly about something personal that involved someone else. I don’t mind sharing my own story, but when it includes others, it feels more complicated.

That guilt didn’t come from my partner. It came from somewhere deeper, older, the part of me that feels guilty simply for telling my story, my truth. Somehow, I soften or hedge my words, balancing any hard truths with positives. I protect others’ reputations and offer disclaimers just for having a story to tell.

I love my partner, that’s never been in question. But love doesn’t mean silence. And loyalty doesn’t mean burying your own experience to keep the peace.

It’s taken me a long time to understand that I can tell the truth and still be respectful. That naming what happened isn’t a betrayal, it’s healing. And that speaking from a place of reflection, not resentment, doesn’t make me unkind. It makes me human.

Somewhere down the track, I hope I’ll reach a place where I no longer feel the need for a footnote. Where I can just tell my story, share how it made me feel, and own my truth without worrying about softening it for anyone else. A place where my writing clearly shows I’m not trying to discredit anyone, but simply being transparent about my perception. Where speaking honestly isn’t weighed down by the fear of hurting others or needing to make amends for simply being real.

This is another part of my story I’ve grappled with for a long time, another truth I’m slowly coming to terms with. And each time I share a truth or reshape the telling of a truth, I get a little closer to really embracing the things that happened to me. If for no other reason than to truly be at peace with them.