Writing out loud, balancing truth and kindness
I’m learning that honesty and compassion aren’t opposites. They’re a delicate balancing act.
Two of my posts — about body image and pregnancy at 40 — got mixed reactions from people who get it and people who don’t.
I appreciate all the messages, but my favorite was from Din, which even led to a lovely phone call. ♥️
I consider those two posts the most daring ones I’ve published so far.
Daring because they scared me.
Scary because I knew they might rub people the wrong way.
I knew some words might make readers uncomfortable or make heads shake. After all:
I was honest about mourning a child-free life (when so many couples are moving mountains to have a baby).
I shared how body comments shaped my self-image as a kid (when I, too, have been guilty of making careless comments about others).
The Tug-of-War: Truth vs. Tact
There’s a part of me that needs to express myself: to write it, say it, let it out.
That part constantly wrestles with the one that’s careful not to offend.
“Don’t rock the boat,” she says.
“Someone might get mad!”
(Then proceeds to tiptoe around everyone’s eggshells.🐣)
Maybe that’s why I gravitated toward writing — writing in private.
It helps me process, understand, and release what’s swirling inside.
But sometimes, even writing isn’t enough.
When something Mikel says triggers sadness, anger, or annoyance, I need to tell him. After my moment of silence, tampo, and breathing into my belly, I might say: “When you did A, I felt B, probably because of C.”
It’s not just the saying that helps. It’s the being heard.
He doesn’t need to agree, but when he says “Lo entiendo,” I feel this rush of relief, love, and immense gratitude.
Being understood, not necessarily agreed with, is what soothes my soul.
But not everyone listens like that.
Fewer people will get it.
Even less would express it.
People interpret through their own filters.
They take what resonates (or offends) and run it through the maze of their own experiences, the intricacies of their own minds, the railroads of their varying emotions.
I’m not saying it’s wrong. It’s just human nature.
My reaction is mine. And yours is yours — beyond my control.
Which can be terrifying.
It’s easier to shrug off a stranger’s feedback.
But when it’s friends, family, people whose love matters most, then the stakes rise.
Will this open me up to judgment?
Who hasn’t paused at that thought before hitting post?
Won’t they take this the wrong way?
A reason so many of us bite our tongue.
Might this offend my parents?
There’s no way you’ve never thought this before.
In the Filipino-Catholic tradition of “honor thy father and mother,” plus the unspoken rule of “don’t air dirty laundry,” you’ve got a cultural cocktail that makes honest expression feel… forbidden.
Drawing My Own Line
So here I am, scared to write the “but.” 🫣
But here goes:
How strong are our relationships, really, if they can’t handle our truth?
I’m not talking about venting or attacking or judging.
I mean your truth: your lived experience, your emotions, the ways something shaped you, and the lessons you hope will keep shaping you still.
I want to believe that the people who love me can handle that.
That they’ll see my honesty for what it is: not rebellion (at least not anymore) and not resentment, but reflection.
One that doesn’t chip away at love but helps solidify it.
That said, there’s a fine line between honesty with compassion and straight-up oversharing or self-sabotage.💣
Where is that line?
Like everything else: it depends.
I’ve realized I need my own compass, a personal “honesty filter” before I hit publish. Kind of like the Rotary Club’s Four-Way Test you’ll see in many barangays.😅
Here’s what ChatGPT and I are working with so far:
My Writing-With-Compassion Compass
Write from my own experience, not someone else’s.
If I’m sharing my emotions, my memories, my perspective — that’s fair ground. If I’m interpreting someone else’s story, it’s not mine to tell.Understand and appreciate before I critique.
If I can’t acknowledge what was good, formative, or even funny about the experience, I’m probably not ready to write about it yet.Check my heart.
If I’m writing from love, curiosity, or understanding — go for it.
If I’m writing from anger, blame, or defensiveness — pause and wait.Write to connect, not to convince.
If my goal is to be understood, share.
If my goal is to prove a point, rethink it.Accept what I can’t control.
I can aim for kindness, but not everyone will receive it that way.
If I’m okay with that, then publish away.
If you were to write your own rules for honest storytelling, what would make your list?
Honest and Kind?
Can my writing be honest and kind?
Yes, but to the standards I set for myself.
Will everyone “get it” the way I intended?
No.
My standards might not be yours.
My experiences might not mirror yours.
Even my values might be different.
But if I’ve examined my heart, told my truth with compassion, and accepted the uncertainty of being misunderstood, then I can hit publish with peace.
(Writes Janine, who will probably keep this in drafts until she finds the courage to hit send. 🥴)
(☝🏻️ I was right lol. This was written the latter part of October 2025.)
