Unspoken

Why do we censor ourselves? Being a polite people, I know we have to temper those things we want to say to others and to a critical community at large. We want to be perceived by others as considerate and abiding and well, gosh darn it, really nice people.

I do know this. Most of us censor the full breadth of our vitriol when we speak to work colleagues because we probably like something about them and we don't want our positive work dynamic to change. Or to our direct reports because we don't want a lawsuit to ensue. Or to romantic partners because they can be especially sensitive (or full of dangerous retribution). We live in fear of free expression. That seems as natural as it seems weird.

By nature, I put it out there to most people I meet. I assume the same familiarity with friends as I do strangers. That is my mettle and it's too late for that to change now. Yet with some people, it is still terribly difficult to be out and out blunt.

I had an example from work this week which disturbed me. One of my editors was very (and I do mean VERY) upset that he had not gotten a promotion he felt was due him. Truth be told, he was utterly ill suited for the job predominantly due to the fact that he can be a volatile and aloof personality. What's more, he has demonstrated he does not do a great job managing others.

When he called to confront me, I was shocked by his loud and angry outburst. I was initially diplomatic in my replies to him. He kept pushing. Finally, I blurted out that his prickly and non communicative style made him incompatible with the job. Damn. That felt good. Take that, I thought, and here's another for good measure. It ended the diatribe at any rate.

So now that this incident has reminded me that truth telling can be a good thing, here are a few I have been wanting to get off my chest:

Mom: I am not a fugly woman that men will never find attractive. And thanks for undermining my confidence on the matter for 30 years.
Dad: I do not procrastinate unless of course the task really, really sucks. And then I will procrastinate.
Mrs. Hoffeditz: I can make a living in publishing without being just a secretary.
Brian Malloy: You're an asshole, dude. And this time, I mean it.
Queen Bee: Yes, I know what you mean.
Carpey Diem: If you stopped talking, perhaps you could actually listen and absorb something.
My dermatologist: Perhaps if YOU injected Botox to improve your own rippled forehead then I might consider your recommendation that I put some in mine.
To my good male friends: Can we stop talking about sex and just get down to it? (Uh well, maybe not).

Oh, I could go on. Are there any truths you want to reveal?