The Truth

I have long admired the work of the late British philosopher Alan Watts. One of the ideas that has stayed with me is the importance of telling the truth.

Why? Because if you consistently tell the truth—even when it is uncomfortable—you don't have to remember different versions of events. Reality has an internal consistency that eventually reveals itself.

Unfortunately, our society often struggles to have honest conversations about difficult subjects. Trauma, abuse, mental illness, and family conflict are all topics that people frequently avoid because they are painful or socially uncomfortable. Yet avoiding those conversations rarely helps anyone.

One lesson I have learned is to distinguish between what I know, what I have been told, and what I simply do not know. For example, early in my relationship, my partner told me she had experienced sexual abuse within her family, and I believed what she shared with me. As time went on, however, I found aspects of the story difficult to reconcile. Today, the most truthful statement I can make is that I do not know exactly what happened. I know what I was told, I know that there have been inconsistencies, and I know the limits of my own knowledge.

That distinction matters. Truth is not pretending certainty where none exists. Truth is being honest about uncertainty.

I have also witnessed behaviour that convinced me my partner was experiencing profound psychological distress. There were periods when she appeared almost catatonic, suffered intense paranoia, and seemed overwhelmed by fear in certain situations. Those experiences were real, and they left me deeply concerned. I cannot say with certainty what caused them, but they were not imaginary.

At the time, I felt overwhelmed myself. I was trying to keep my business running while also supporting someone who was clearly struggling. I reached out to members of her family in the hope that they might provide practical support, even if only for a few hours. From my perspective, that support never materialized, and I found that deeply disappointing.

In my experience, families affected by trauma often become trapped in patterns of silence. Whether out of fear, loyalty, shame, or simply not knowing what to do, difficult conversations never happen. The result is that everyone carries unresolved questions, and those questions continue to affect everyone involved.

I do not believe the answer is to suppress discussion. On the contrary, people need safe environments where they can speak openly, where they can change their minds, where they can admit uncertainty, and where conflicting memories can be examined without fear. Honest conversations are often messy, but avoiding them can be even more damaging.

The goal should not be to force a particular conclusion. The goal should be to create conditions where the truth—whatever it ultimately is—has the opportunity to emerge. If a claim is true, it should withstand careful examination. If it is not, inconsistencies will eventually become apparent. Either way, openness serves everyone better than silence.

That is why I believe we need to make it safer to have difficult conversations. Not because every allegation is true, and not because every accusation is false, but because the only way to understand complicated human experiences is to create space for honest, dialogue even if that dialogue is loud. These things need to said.