The Courage to Live and Write Your Truth
Where the truths we hide become the stories that heal
original image created in Canva by B. Littleton
by Bren Littleton
There comes a time when the stories we tell ourselves about who we are no longer fit. The mask gets heavy, the silence feels suffocating, and the cost of not speaking becomes greater than the risk of honesty. That is the edge where truth begins.
John O’Donohue said, “When you lose touch with yourself, you lose your way in the world.” How often do we lose touch because we are trying to belong? How often do we trade authenticity for approval, thinking it will make life easier, only to find ourselves lonelier than before?
Truth-telling is not just about the words we speak aloud. It is about how we show up, how we write, how we live. When we’re out of alignment with what we know in our bones, anxiety, doubt, and defensiveness rise up like warning flares. They whisper, “This isn’t it. This isn’t you.”
Writers know this better than most. The page has a way of exposing us. You sit down to write and suddenly you realize you’ve been avoiding your own heart. Henry Miller once admitted, “The real leader has no need to lead. He is content to point the way.” For him, writing was not about performance but about pointing toward truth, however uncomfortable.
Anne Lamott, who has wrestled with the messiness of truth for decades, reminds us: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” It is both funny and painfully liberating. Writing the truth often means facing down the fear of disappointing others.
Barbara Kingsolver adds, “Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.” When we censor ourselves for approval, we give away our only true gift.
Mary Oliver asked the piercing question: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” She wasn’t talking about safety or about polishing ourselves until no one is offended. She was calling us to the wildness of truth, to the place where our voice shakes but still speaks.
And this isn’t only about writing. It’s about living. Are you speaking the words you actually mean? Are you showing the face that belongs to you, or the one that makes others more comfortable? Do you love in a way that is real, or in a way that is rehearsed?
The truth always gives itself away in the body. When we hide, we feel anxious. When we pretend, we feel hollow. When we lie, even by omission, we defend ourselves endlessly, hoping others will believe what we barely believe ourselves. But when we tell the truth, there is a grounding, a strength. Our words carry weight because they come from the deepest part of us.
Living truthfully does not mean you never make mistakes. It means you stop hiding them. It means you stop abandoning yourself to keep others happy. It means you forgive yourself for the years you lived half-truths and decide, today, to live whole.
And for writers, there is an added challenge: Where are you hiding on the page? Where do you resist going because it feels too vulnerable, too messy, too raw? Carl Jung once said, “What you resist, persists.” What you resist writing is the very material that keeps surfacing in your heart, the very truth that longs to be spoken.
Maybe that starts small. A confession in your journal. A sentence written in your own raw voice. A conversation where you choose honesty over comfort.
Here are a few reminders to hold close:
Having no secrets sets me free.
I love to fully be authentic and real.
I forgive myself for hiding secrets and half truths.
I trust myself to be honest and real with me.
Truth-telling is an act of courage. It is also an act of love. Love for yourself. Love for those who walk beside you. Love for the world that desperately needs people willing to live unmasked.
Writing Prompt
Take ten minutes with your journal and ask yourself:
Where am I hiding in my writing?
What stories do I resist telling, and why?
If I wrote one raw, unpolished sentence of truth today, what would it be?
Do not edit. Do not soften. Let the words come out exactly as they arrive. Remember: what you resist, persists. What you write may be the beginning of healing, not just for you, but for someone waiting to hear that truth.
A Blessing for Truth-Tellers
May you find the courage to loosen the mask and let your real face be seen.
May the words you write reveal the voice you have long silenced.
May the secrets you have carried find their way into light, and in the telling, lose their power.
May you discover that truth is never a punishment but a homecoming.
And may you walk forward lighter, freer, and more alive in the beauty of your own unhidden life.
written by Bren Littleton
original image created in Canva by B. Littleton
Tin Flea Press c. 2025