They say they do. They perform it. They applaud it when it’s aimed at someone else. But the second it gets close enough to land on them, it’s suddenly “too harsh,” “too negative,” or my personal favourite — “unnecessary.”
Unnecessary.
As if truth is something that should wait for permission.
Most people don’t want honesty. They want something that sounds like honesty but has already been adjusted for comfort. Rounded off. Explained. Given just enough context so they don’t have to do anything with it except agree.
That’s why certain things do well. Not because they’re insightful. Because they’re safe.
You can read them, nod, and move on with your life unchanged.
No friction. No pause. No moment where you have to wonder if you’re part of the problem being described.
That’s the line most writing doesn’t cross.
Not because it can’t.
Because it knows exactly what happens when it does.
People don’t argue with it. Not really. They just step away from it. Quietly. Like it stopped being for them halfway through.
So most of the time, that line doesn’t get crossed. Things get pulled back just before that point. Not obviously. Just enough.
This is one of those.
There’s a version of this that goes further. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would get attention. Just enough that you wouldn’t be able to sit with it as easily.
It doesn’t belong here.
It’s on SecretWomen.They perform it. They applaud it when it’s aimed at someone else. But the second it gets close enough to land on them, it’s suddenly “too harsh,” “too negative,” or my personal favourite — “unnecessary.”
Unnecessary.
As if truth is something that should wait for permission.
Most people don’t want honesty. They want something that sounds like honesty but has already been adjusted for comfort. Rounded off. Explained. Given just enough context so they don’t have to do anything with it except agree.
That’s why certain things do well. Not because they’re insightful. Because they’re safe.
You can read them, nod, and move on with your life unchanged.
No friction. No pause. No moment where you have to wonder if you’re part of the problem being described.
That’s the line most writing doesn’t cross.
Not because it can’t.
Because it knows exactly what happens when it does.
People don’t argue with it. Not really. They just step away from it. Quietly. Like it stopped being for them halfway through.
So most of the time, that line doesn’t get crossed. Things get pulled back just before that point. Not obviously. Just enough.
This is one of those.
There’s a version of this that goes further. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would get attention. Just enough that you wouldn’t be able to sit with it as easily.
It doesn’t belong here.
It’s on SecretWomen.
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Thanks. Better check it out but it should be up today!