I have come to understand that I am a truth-teller. Speaking my truth helps me make sense of what is happening around me. However, I have also learned that many people are not comfortable discussing certain aspects of their lives—often due to fear. Fear that those around them won’t accept them. Fear of criticism. Or fear that exposing the truth might shatter the image others hold of them.

Shame thrives in that silence.

For me, sharing my story has become a powerful way to release that shame.

Each time I have opened up—whether in a conversation, a journal, or a quiet moment with someone I trust—I have been met with a familiar phrase: “Me too.” It turns out, we’re all carrying something. Some of us are going through it now. Others have been there and come out the other side. But without sharing, we’d never know how connected we are.

That said, choosing the right people to be vulnerable with is key. Not everyone can hold the weight of another person’s truth. I have learned this the hard way—especially within my own family. Avoidance can feel safer than truth-telling for some. And I’ve had to accept that it’s their choice if they are not ready to face or heal from what’s been unspoken.

Still, I have also realized this: I no longer feel obligated to keep others comfortable at my own expense.

My history with complicated family dynamics has taught me that. Releasing shame means releasing the pressure to protect people who were part of my pain. Some may never be ready to face uncomfortable truths. Some will say, “It’s your family—just keep it together.” Or “That’s just how it is.” But I disagree.

Because here’s the truth: real, meaningful relationships can’t be built on silence. They can’t grow where there’s only performance, not presence.

Telling our stories—especially the hard ones—is how we begin to feel seen. It’s how we invite others to see themselves. It’s how we stop enabling the patterns that keep us small and disconnected. And it’s how we reclaim the parts of ourselves that shame told us to hide.

That’s why I write stories of women. It’s why I have written an epistolary memoir—a life review told through letters—to speak truth and to see the many versions of myself that once felt fragmented or lost. I see them now as shadows cast against the wall of truth. And I want to walk up to every single one of them smile and say, Thank you. Thank you for not giving up, even when I know you wanted to. Thank you for finding your voice, even in the silence.

There’s a quote that speaks to me deeply: “To discover new land, we must be willing to lose sight of the shore.” That has become my compass. I am learning to let go of the emotional attachments to people I once made feel special by keeping their truths locked inside me. Now, I understand: detachment reveals truth. And in that space, I am free to build something more honest, more aligned, and more whole.

We don’t tell the truth to destroy. We tell it to set ourselves free.