When I Love Again: The Courage of 5% More Honesty

While on a personal development programme, we explored the hidden parts of ourselves that silently drive our actions and shape our reality. For me, that hidden part was my sensitivity.

That word had been thrown at me like an insult ; like something to be ashamed of. It was no wonder I had buried every action that could bring it to the surface. No one wants to be labelled with what feels like the wrong description. It did not matter that the understanding behind the label was flawed, distorted by the lenses of the person using it. What mattered was what could be proved. And the words "you are too sensitive" had been plastered on me like a deficiency.

It usually surfaced when my emotions appeared unmanageable ; not to me, but to those around me. So I hid that part. At least from them. And from anyone who had more than surface-level access to me.

And all seemed fine. From what was visible.

But hiding one part of yourself is never just about that one part. It means concealing everything else that could lead to it or bring it to the fore. It means withholding pieces of yourself from the people closest to you. I was not lying, but I was not stating it all either.

And this was never a conscious decision. It had been born from not feeling safe enough to come as I was ; with all my flaws. Some flaws were acceptable to show; others were not. Sensitivity had been condemned, so it went underground. In every relationship, friendships, family, romantic. I would suppress what I truly felt. Anger. Pain. Disappointment. Heartbreak. I could deal with them alone. With no one knowing.

And so I continued on that path: hiding what I really felt so I would not be called out.

Then, during one of our sessions, I was asked a deceptively simple question: Imagine one relationship where you could safely reveal just 5% more honesty.

Just five per cent. Not a complete unveiling. Not radical vulnerability overnight. Just a small, brave shift.

For me, that 5% would mean feeling bold enough to cry in front of my friends or family. It would mean naming the emotion I was feeling, even if the other person could not agree with me. It would mean being brave enough to express my fears, my concerns, my worries, and my anxiety without editing them first to make them palatable.

It would mean expressing my emotions without fearing that I was too much. That I was a burden people around me could not carry or understand.

It would mean unguarded conversations without the constant fear of being misunderstood. It would mean more honesty between me and the other person, whether that party is my Lord, a parent, a sibling, a friend, or a future spouse.

When I love again, when I build new relationships and tend to the ones already in my life, I hope I can offer that 5% more. Not hiding. Not suppressing. Not denying what I feel out of fear that my emotions will be brushed aside or misread.

And I hope I can do the same for the other person. Hold space for them. Not ridiculing their emotions. Not minimising what they feel.

Just two people being honest with one another. Having good expectations of each other, and of the One who brought them together.

That it would be their forever ; in this world, and in the hereafter.