Communicating Your Truth

Ten years ago my brother died by suicide. For years, I found it hard to talk about. When I’d try to open my mouth, I’d find the words stuck in my throat or I’d trip over how I wanted them to come out. This difficulty was surprising for someone who’s spent decades in the communication business. But I’d never had to figure out how to open up about deep loss.

It’s a fraught subject, of course. But I’ve also learned how hard it is to communicate your truth when it can make others uncomfortable, or even be unsafe. Truth can be sharp-edged, emotional, intense.

Losing my brother was devastating. Unable to be open about it, I had to find another way to grieve. Instead of talking, I’ve spent ten years writing about my experience. While searching for answers, I found few definitive explanations for what went wrong. However, as I’ve plumbed ever deeper depths, I’ve realized that at the end of his life, my brother also felt unable to communicate his truth. He didn’t feel seen, heard, or accepted. That kind of isolation and alienation can be toxic.

In the work I do, I strive to help people connect authentically with others so they can lead full, rewarding lives. Because I couldn’t find a way to do that for my brother, I wanted to help others.

Ten years after I lost my brother, my father died in the same way. While his circumstances were different, I could see a familiar throughline: being unable to communicate their feelings, or feeling censored, plagued by growing anxiety, anguish, and emotional trauma. It can leave people feeling “othered”, crushing their spirit. Even their will to live. So, I’m doubling down on getting this message out:

To connect, we need to communicate.

To connect authentically we need to communicate truthfully.

Communicating your truth gives you the power to live authentically.

Living authentically is the secret to leading a full life.

I’m aware that speaking our truth is especially challenging during such politically divisive times. So many of us are afraid to speak up about what we feel and believe. But silencing ourselves can compromise our mental health. It can also deprive others of learning about alternative perspectives.

So how do you finally open up, speak out? Especially in a way that feels safe?

There’s a fine line we have to walk. We don’t want to bombard others with a wallop of often unprocessed feelings and or unvarnished opinions. Simply downloading without stopping first to consider how what you’re saying might land can lead to unintended, negative reactions. If you want to create understanding, empathy and connection—and not create a bigger divide—there’s another way. Even though not everyone is practicing this, I believe in trying.

Many people suggest practicing something called Compassionate Communication. I like to think it’s centered on the golden rule: treat others the way you’d like to be treated. It’s an idea created by a psychology expert named Marshall Rosenberg, from Detroit. Essentially, he believed in expressing beliefs, boundaries, needs and desires in a constructive, emotionally intelligent way.

This kind of communication is also called Nonviolent Communication. To practice it, first observe and identify your feelings. Dig down to the “why” beneath them. Take a close look at why you need to express them. This requires identifying your values e.g. 100% honesty or “do no harm”. Then look at your motivations: do you just want to be “right”? Or do you really want to start an open dialogue?

Of course doing this kind of deep work requires courage, practice, and homework. There are lots of articles about how to do this, focused mainly on the principles of nonviolent communication and on using specific words.

For all that, it still took me ten years to find a way to communicate what happened in my family. Even though it changed my life, changed who I am. It’s hard to navigate societal taboos around discussing suicide openly. There are rules. There’s also a general discomfort in many modernized societies about discussing death. Too much grief, or grieving too long, are both frowned upon in the Western World. And there are many topics that feel just as sensitive, even dangerous.

But sweeping things under the rug often leads them to fester inside us.

I’ve finally found ways to process my emotions and dig down to my whys. I’m now able to speak my truth. To compassionately tell the story I was left with. Why do I want to? To heal, but also to help protect others who are risk of suffering: PTSD, depression, suicidal ideation. In speaking my truth, I’m hoping to help others find the way and the courage to communicate whatever lies buried inside.