The courage to admit anything — and stay whole
The Trap of Perpetual Happiness
We live in a culture that sells us on permanent positivity. Motivational posters, Instagram captions, self-help gurus — all whisper (or shout): “If you’re not happy, something is wrong with you.”
But expecting perpetual happiness is unrealistic, and worse, it pressures us to fake it.
We paste on a two-dimensional Cheshire grin while our real feelings fester beneath. We betray our values, and ourselves, when we betray our emotions.
Why Honesty Matters
Raphael Cushnir captured it in one line: “Emotions don’t need to be felt forever, or obsessively, but just long enough to have their say.”
When we repress sorrow, shame, or despair, we don’t become stronger — we become estranged from ourselves. Suppressed emotions eventually claw their way out in self-sabotaging forms. Nathaniel Branden warned of this when he described people crucifying their feelings in the name of lofty ideals, only to leave “the human beings they actually are in a very bad place”.
Being honest with ourselves, even brutally so, is the first step in becoming friends with ourselves.
To Cry as Well as Laugh
As I mention in Life Savor: “We are only real if we cry as well as laugh.”
It is sentiment — the recognition of what matters — that roots us in meaning. And sometimes sentiment hurts.
If we deny our tears, we deny the fact that something mattered. We amputate the very evidence of value.
The Virtue of Vulnerability
Anna Quindlen offered a reminder: “The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”
That work begins with vulnerability — allowing ourselves to feel, even when the feelings clash with our idealized self-image. As Beau Taplin put it: “Softness is not weakness. It takes courage to stay delicate in a world this cruel.”
Vulnerability is not naivete. It is conscious openness — the courage to remain receptive to life’s full range, even at the cost of pain.
“You Shouldn’t Feel This Way”
Picture a teenager whose parent scolds them for being moody. “You’re too sensitive,” the parent says. “You have no reason to feel this way.” The teen nods but feels the dismissal deep in their bones.
Years later, the pattern repeats inside. Whenever they feel grief or rage, a voice echoes: You shouldn’t feel this. And so they cover it, numb it, drown it.
But then something shifts. They read Proust: “We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.” They try an experiment — letting the grief stand naked, no excuses. And to their surprise, instead of destroying them, it begins to wash them clean. They discover that by feeling fully, they reconnect with their authentic soul.
Being Friends With Ourselves
Being a friend to yourself means being the one person you never have to lie to. It means you can admit despair without fear of rejection, confess shame without losing dignity, own rage without being judged.
When others say, “Buck up,” friendship with yourself answers, “Not yet. Right now I need to feel this.”
When society insists on cheerfulness, friendship with yourself whispers, “I will laugh when laughter is true. Until then, I will honor what I feel.”
This is not wallowing. This is alignment. This is self-respect.
Closing Thought
The goal is not to be happy all the time. The goal is to be whole. And wholeness requires honesty.
So let us stay friends with ourselves. Let us cry as well as laugh, rage as well as rejoice, grieve as well as hope. Let us honor our emotions as companions on the road — signals that we cared, that we mattered, that life mattered.
Because the person you most need on your side, in the end, is you.
