When Truth-Telling Hurts:

Authenticity, Boundaries, and Trauma Recovery

This post is for anyone who finds themselves compulsively honest, radically transparent, or constantly explaining themselves, even to people who have shown they don’t deserve that level of access.

When Authenticity Becomes Exposure

For people who deeply value authenticity, especially those who are neurodivergent or trauma impacted with a real want to be seen as good and be understood, truth-telling can feel like an ethical imperative. You may believe that to be authentic, you must share the whole truth. But there’s a difference between authenticity and exposure.

Authenticity is not the same as transparency without discernment.

Authenticity is about alignment with your values and integrity.
Exposure is what happens when we share our truths with people who:

Haven’t earned that access
Have a track record of misusing it
Use our honesty to distort, guilt, manipulate, or harm us

In these cases, truth-telling becomes a form of self-sacrifice, not self-expression.

Truth-telling can also be a way of individuating. A necessary rebellion. A way of proving courag-feeling fear and doing it anyway. This can be how people begin to separate from those around them and discover who they are. Having different views is a start to individuation, and if not kept to yourself, revealing it can create conflict. On one hand, you might be noticed and finally feel like you matter. On the other, it can place you in the line of attack or have you seen as a problem to be fixed or dismissed.

It's also important to recognise that exposure is often confused with vulnerability - especially for those of us learning accountability later in life. Vulnerability is a healthy, necessary part of growth and connection, and it plays a key role in developing trust and self-awareness. But when vulnerability isn’t met with care, or when it happens without safety and consent, it can slip into exposure. This confusion can keep us stuck in patterns where we offer too much too soon, believing we're being open, when we’re actually reenacting old dynamics where our truth wasn't protected.

This confusion is especially challenging when vulnerability feels like proof of growth or maturity—when in fact, discernment is the more accurate measure of healing.

When we look to nature, the concept of authenticity and exposure becomes almost effortless to understand. In nature, to exist is to be vulnerable—plants open to sunlight, animals forage, rest, migrate, and molt. But even in this vulnerability, the natural world teaches us how exposure must happen within limits. It doesn’t blame, hide, or make excuses—it simply responds to what is needed and possible in the moment.

A plant’s purpose is to live and grow, contributing to its ecosystem by doing what it does naturally—photosynthesising, producing oxygen, bearing fruit—until attrition, decay, or death becomes the next stage of its purpose. Along the way, sunlight, air, and water are vital. But these forms of exposure are not equal for all plants. Some thrive in harsh conditions; others collapse under the slightest excess of moisture or heat.

Authenticity in nature is about observing, accepting, and adjusting to what’s needed in the moment. Exposure to the elements—sun, rain, pollinators, soil, animals—must be suited to the species and its capacity. Everything is real and necessary, but it also has limits. Boundaries are inherent.

While this analogy may not perfectly map onto the human experience, it offers a calming reflection. Whether it’s a garden, a pet, or a patch of wild growth, many parts of our world embody truth at all times. They demonstrate that authenticity doesn’t require constant exposure, nor does it demand our full access. It honours what is true—and what is needed to stay alive.

Truth-Telling as a Survival Strategy

In families or environments where boundaries weren’t respected, many of us learned that truth-telling wasn’t a choice—it was a survival strategy. Over-disclosure often comes from:
A desire to prevent punishment or rejection
The hope that if we’re fully seen, we’ll finally be understood or loved
A need to stay morally "good" or beyond reproach
This is especially true in environments where secrecy or privacy was treated as disobedience, dishonesty, or betrayal. If you were punished for keeping things to yourself, then radical openness might feel like the only way to be safe.
In my home, secrets and lies wove themselves into the fabric of our interactions. It brought my family together and silence or repetition of the story showed loyalty, especially if the stories written in the lounge room were shared outside. What would be born from helping someone feel stronger or clearer in the home, like a character in a feel-good TV drama, would then add to a feeling of cohesion and teamwork if the story was taken and spoken elsewhere. Staying silent was a somewhat dangerous option because it meant you were not really 'with the program', you probably needed management and were possibly one step away from actively denouncing or saying something in opposition.

When Trust Was Assumed, and Repair Wasn’t Taught

When we come into a family, as babies and in childhood, the first adults that we are around just 'get' our trust. In some ways, we learn through the experiences of confusion, betrayal, or shock that not only are we misunderstood, but information about ourselves can be used to hurt us (weaponised information). Sometimes even worse, there is no interest nor desire to respond to us, and the story is going to be and stay about the other person, i.e. the parent.

In this way, trust is given to our first families and carers automatically, and it is through misunderstanding, confusion, and mistakes that versions of repair can be learned. But this isn’t possible in environments where the adults don’t know how to take accountability or practice repair.

For generations, offering alternatives like gifts, flowers, money—or, between partners, having sex—were seen as ways of showing good intention. But none of these methods taught people how to repair with accountability. None of these ways modelled how to show care or make change in a way that truly healed and restored connection.

Many people will quickly and readily identify the people in their life who tried to smooth things over through gifts or actions. And they’ll just as easily tell you whether that actually built a relationship—or simply maintained it. We all know the difference between a house that is cleaned, maintained, and thoughtfully renovated, versus one that is patched up only when major issues arise.

For so long, putting a bandaid on any part of the body was considered completely fine. Children were taught things like, “See, Dad took you to McDonald’s—that’s his way of saying sorry.” And they were told—often with social reinforcement—that whatever is offered has to be enough.

Even if the bandaid is placed on the wrong spot, you’re expected to say thank you. To point to your bleeding hand and say, “But I’m hurt here,” is seen as mean, ungrateful, or difficult. You’re told to be grateful for the effort—not honest about the impact.

Unmet Needs, Old Patterns

Often, the compulsion to tell the truth—even to unsafe people—comes from an unmet need for repair, justice, or being finally understood. This may sound like:

“If I explain clearly enough, maybe this time they’ll get it.”
“If I’m fully honest, they can’t say I lied or manipulated.”
“Maybe if I show my integrity, I won’t be rejected.”

These hopes aren’t foolish-they’re human. But in coercive or abusive dynamics, these instincts get hijacked. Our vulnerable truths are weaponised against us. And yet we return, over and over, hoping this time it will land differently.

The Role of Boundaries

When boundaries weren’t modelled in childhood-especially during the crucial adolescent years-we don’t internalise the right to protect our inner world. Instead, we learn that:

People are entitled to know everything about us
Withholding is selfish, deceptive, or dangerous
Being loved means being fully available, all the time

This confusion often continues into adulthood, especially in relationships where guilt, emotional blackmail, or threats (including suicide threats) are used to regain control.

Reframing Authenticity

True authenticity includes discernment. It means knowing who has earned the right to witness your vulnerability. It means asking:

"Is this truth part of my integrity, or part of my fear?"
"Is sharing this an act of connection—or of compulsion?"
"Am I offering this truth because it needs to be seen, or because I’m afraid of being misunderstood if I don’t?"

Withholding information from someone who has harmed or manipulated you isn’t a betrayal of your values. It’s a sign that you’re developing internal boundaries. That’s not deception—that’s protection.

Authenticity includes choosing who is safe enough to see certain parts of you.

From Exposure to Choice

As we heal, the goal isn’t to become closed or guarded. The goal is to move from reflexive exposure to conscious choice-to recognise that authenticity includes protecting your emotional safety, and that some truths belong only in spaces that can hold them with care.

If you’ve always led with radical honesty, know this: you’re not failing if you start choosing who gets to hear your story. You are not less authentic for being more discerning. You are simply learning to live inside your own boundaries.

And that is its own form of truth.

Small Shifts for Real Change

At a time where many partnerships become an imbalance of over- and under-functioning, anxious and avoidant dynamics, or any variation of the “opposites attract” mythos that has romanticised unhealthy attachment for centuries—it is important to remember that there is hope. The thoughts and actions needed to bring yourself into healthier engagement are often small but powerful steps done consistently. And like taking iron supplements without Vitamin C limits absorption, some boundary-related actions only take hold when you’re also equipped to respond to the sadness that surfaces—the grief of unmet needs, or the ache of learning late what you should’ve known earlier. This is inner child work, and it matters.

Here are five starting points:

If you are a parent, focus on your responses. Everything you do is modelling and informing your child’s life. Whether they absorb your patterns through acceptance or rebellion is not in your control, but modelling care and boundaries is still worth doing.
Recognise that omission is not always deception. While omission or vagueness can be harmful if used to avoid accountability, not all information belongs in all spaces. You can say, “I’m in debt and need support” to a trusted friend or advisor—but not to your boss or neighbour. You are not lying to your child when you don't tell them everything you did on your weekend away. This ability to filter truth appropriately is often learned by watching the adults around you. If you didn’t have that modelling, revisit what you share—like cleaning out the fridge. Some things will need to be thrown out. Others might still be useful, just differently.
Instead of oversharing, pause and ask: “What am I hoping will happen if I share this?” If the answer is about soothing fear, securing closeness, or avoiding guilt, consider holding the thought instead. Write it down. Speak it in a safe space. Let it live with you first. Ask yourself: “Is this a truth that needs to be witnessed, or a truth that needs to be held?”
Learn what it feels like to hold something sacred and unsaid. Not secret in a shameful way, but as yours. A truth can be deeply authentic and not immediately shared. Some truths are like seeds—they need the right season to be planted. Discernment is not dishonesty. You can say, “That’s not something I’m open to talking about right now,” and still be living your truth.
Practice inner reparenting. Share only with those who have shown a consistent pattern of honouring your truth—not distorting it. When an old part of you feels compelled to over-disclose, gently check in. Talk to that younger version of you who believes that truth is the only form of safety or goodness. Let them know: you are the safe adult now.

Closing Reflection

Over the last five to ten years, gaining a better understanding of my neurology and checking in with what is driven by my autistic ADHD self vs trauma vs habit keeps me revisiting previous topics such as boundaries and truth and authenticity. This is one of those times when another layer of the onion peels. It is only natural that the inclination might be to move away or shed a tear from the ongoing learning. But learning aside, what becomes equally if not more important is knowing how to make the small changes which, made consistently, will build and strengthen and allow for a healthier existence.

As I see it!

Friday, 11 July 2025