We live in a world that encourages authenticity, yet often recoils in fear when faced with it. In friendships, romantic relationships, workplaces, and even families, people often say they want openness, transparency, and truth. And yet, when truth is spoken without layers of softening, it can feel unbearable. We call it harsh, cold, aggressive, triggering or insensitive.

This sits at the heart of human paradox: we crave honesty, but we are also terrified of it. Thus, communication becomes an exhausting dance between wanting truth and fear of getting hurt, leaving many stuck in anxiety-inducing ambiguity.

Not to mention how passive aggression, ghosting, avoidance, ambiguous messages, and all sorts of creative indirect ways of communication are rampant in society. We condemn them when we are on the receiving end, yet many of us unconsciously participate in them without even knowing it. Why?

Because indirectness feels safer, at least in the moment... It allows us to express something without taking full responsibility for the impact. It lets us hint at discontent without risking rejection. However, ambiguity erodes trust. It forces people into guessing games, alienation, disassociation, decoding signals, and living with uncertainty.

Research shows that humans are far more stressed by ambiguity than by negative certainty (Grupe & Nitschke, 2013). In other words, knowing bad news is often easier to handle than not knowing at all. When people are clear with us, even if it hurts, we can begin to process, heal, and adapt. When they are unclear, we remain stuck in a cycle of confusion and doubt.

Craving Truth, Fearing Truth.

Why does this paradox exist?

On one hand, honesty is essential for authentic and lasting connections. When we know where we stand with someone, when we can trust their words and actions, a sense of safety emerges. We no longer need to second-guess their intentions or decode hidden meanings. On the other hand, honesty often demands we confront reality as it is, not as we wish it to be and demand a level of acceptance that others may feel in a different way and most times has nothing to do with us!

If someone says, “This relationship is not working for me,” or “This project isn’t what I want,” it immediately challenges our hopes, expectations, fantasies and sometimes even our sense of self and this is why human beings are wired to avoid pain.

Neuroscience shows that the amygdala, the brain’s threat detector, reacts not only to physical danger but also to social and emotional threats (LeDoux, 1996). A blunt “this is over” or “I don’t agree with you” can activate the same fight-or-flight response as a physical threat. Psychologists have long noted that people are motivated not only by the pursuit of pleasure but also by the avoidance of pain. The truth, in its unfiltered form, often carries pain: the pain of rejection, the pain of disappointment, the pain of realising our illusions have been shattered.

Research on “ego threat” shows that many of us interpret feedback not as information about behavior, but as judgment of our whole identity (Baumeister et al., 1998). One piece of criticism can feel like an attack on the whole self. Our sense of identity becomes so enmeshed with our actions that to hear “this was wrong” can translate internally into “I am wrong.”

Carol Dweck’s research on fixed vs. growth mindset (2006) illustrates that those with a fixed mindset see criticism as a threat to their worth, while those with a growth mindset can integrate feedback without collapsing.

The Silent Epidemic:

Anxiety and the Cost of Dishonest Communication in the Western World

When we avoid definitive choices, we condemn ourselves to the anxiety of uncertainty.

“Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” Søren Kierkegaard

Anxiety is one of the fastest-growing mental health challenges in the Western world. Reports from the World Health Organization show that in the past two decades, rates of anxiety disorders have nearly doubled in Europe and North America. Psychologists like Robert Leahy (author of The Worry Cure) note that uncertainty is one of the strongest triggers of anxiety. When people don’t speak their truth, whether by ghosting, sugar-coating, or avoiding confrontation, they leave others in a limbo of unanswered questions. This “open loop” in the brain activates stress responses, as the mind struggles to fill in the blanks with imagined scenarios. Irvin Yalom (1980) argues in Existential Psychotherapy, much of human anxiety arises from avoiding fundamental truths, mortality, isolation, freedom, and meaninglessness. To confront truth directly requires courage, but also leads to growth.

In Western cultures, instead of viewing critique as information about behavior, many internalise it as evidence of personal failure. To protect fragile egos, people soften or distort communication. But this lack of straightforwardness undermines trust and leaves everyone more insecure. Brené Brown calls this dynamic the “armor of avoidance”, protecting feelings in the short term at the cost of authentic connection.

We avoid closing doors. We leave them half-open, even when we know we will never walk through them again. Procrastination becomes an anesthetic: postponing the pain of endings, even when deep down we already know the truth, because letting go means facing grief. Yet by not saying what needs to be said, we prolong the inevitable, often creating more suffering. Psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross emphasised that closure is part of the natural grieving cycle; without it, people remain trapped in unfinished emotional business, a breeding ground for anxiety.

The inability to be direct has real consequences:

Rising levels of social anxiety, as people fear saying the “wrong” thing.
A culture of ghosting, leaving relationships unresolved and people emotionally unsettled.
Workplaces filled with passive-aggressive communication, eroding trust and productivity.
Loneliness, as authentic bonds struggle to form when people hide behind politeness or avoidance.

Open Loops & The Burden of Ambiguity

There is a particular kind of heaviness that comes not from what we have lost, but from what remains unresolved. We all know the feeling: the relationship that ended without explanation, the project left half-done, the conversation that never reached its conclusion. These fragments linger in our minds, replaying endlessly, as if demanding to be completed. This is the stress of the unfinished.

In the 1920s, psychologist Bluma Zeigarnik observed that waiters in a café could remember orders with great accuracy, until the orders were served. Once completed, the memory quickly faded. From this came the “Zeigarnik Effect”: our minds are far more likely to hold onto incomplete tasks than completed ones.

What is unfinished continues to take up mental space. It is as if our psyche has an internal “to-do list” that does not let go until the loop is closed. This is adaptive in some ways, it ensures we follow through, but it also means that unresolved matters can haunt us far beyond their actual importance.

When it comes to relationships, this effect is magnified. An unfinished ending, ghosting, ambiguous communication, a friendship that fades without words, can preoccupy us for months or years. The mind, desperate for closure, keeps searching for answers: Why did it end? What did I do wrong? Could it have been different?

Unfinished endings are especially stressful because they keep us suspended between possibilities. When a door is left half-open, part of us remains attached to it, hoping we might walk through it again. This prevents us from fully investing in new beginnings.

Emotional Clutter

Just as our homes accumulate clutter, our inner lives can fill with unresolved emotional debris. Each unfinished relationship or unspoken truth is like an object left out of place. A single item may not weigh much, but over time, the accumulation creates a heavy atmosphere. We may feel inexplicably tired, restless, or distracted, not realizing that much of our energy is tied up in keeping open loops alive.

Therapists often speak of “unfinished business” in the context of Gestalt therapy (Perls, 1969). These are experiences from the past that remain incomplete, often because the feelings attached to them were never fully expressed or integrated. Unless addressed, unfinished business continues to shape our present relationships and choices.

The cultural paradox of “directness”

Part of the problem lies in how honesty itself is perceived. Communication is not universal, it is shaped by culture. In some societies, blunt words are considered respectful, a sign of clarity and efficiency. In others, truth is wrapped in nuance, silence, or suggestion, because preserving harmony and dignity matters more than precision. In Western culture, especially in the context of “positivity culture,” we are encouraged to camouflage reality. The so-called “feedback sandwich” (positive-negative-positive) is widely practiced in workplaces, but often leaves people confused rather than clear.

Research in communication psychology shows that individuals often avoid giving negative feedback directly because they fear relational fallout (Holmes, 2013). This avoidance, however, fosters confusion and mistrust. When doors are left half-open, friendships not clearly ended, jobs not decisively declined, relationships not honestly addressed, we remain stuck in limbo. The unfinished business weighs heavier than the pain of closure.

Philosopher Sissela Bok (1978) argued that even small lies erode trust over time. The “little white lie” meant to protect someone’s feelings may, in the long run, undermine the integrity of the relationship. Honesty, though harder in the short term, creates a stronger foundation for trust.

Cultural snapshots

United Kingdom — Indirectness via politeness strategies (hedging, understatement, softeners) helps protect “negative face” (others’ freedom from imposition). History of class/politeness norms made this style prestigious.
Northern European cultures (e.g., Germany, the Netherlands) see directness as respect: the clearer the message, the stronger the trust.
Mediterranean cultures (Italy, Spain) prize passion and expressiveness, but soften or circle around hard truths to preserve relationships and social harmony.
Anglo-American cultures value a balance, but often lean toward politeness and understatement, what anthropologist Kate Fox calls the “polite fiction” in her book Watching the English.
East Asian cultures (Japan, China) emphasise indirectness as a way of protecting group cohesion and avoiding shame.

Early Attachment: The Roots of Communication

One of the deepest reasons we struggle with honesty and endings lies in our attachment patterns. How we learned to bond, or fail to bond, with our earliest caregivers profoundly shapes our ability to communicate directly, to tolerate rejection, and to end relationships with clarity. The adult behaviors we call “ghosting,” “avoidance,” or “passive aggression” are not random quirks; they are often rooted in old strategies that once helped us survive emotionally, but now limit our capacity to connect.

Attachment theory, first developed by John Bowlby and expanded by Mary Ainsworth, explains that infants develop distinct ways of relating based on how consistently their caregivers respond to their needs. These early bonds create internal working models, templates for how relationships “should” work such as;

Secure attachment, Anxious attachment, Avoidant attachment, Disorganised attachment, Isolated-Masking Attachment/ Fear of invasion.

These attachment patterns do not remain confined to childhood. They shape how we relate in adult friendships, romantic partnerships, workplaces, and even therapy.

To move beyond the paradox of honesty, we must rewrite the attachment stories we carry. For the avoidant, this means learning that vulnerability does not equal danger. For the anxious, it means learning that endings do not erase one’s worth. For all of us, it means embracing the discomfort of truth as the very soil in which trust and freedom grow.

Endings, when done with clarity and integrity, can become healing experiences rather than wounds. They can rewire our nervous systems to trust that closure does not mean abandonment, and that honesty is not cruelty but love in its purest form.

Moving Beyond Blame

The truth is, every behaviour has its reasons and we all inherit patterns of avoidance and masking; condemning them entirely misses the point. The more important inquiry is: Am I growing with this? Am I evolving, and is the world evolving through me?

This is where the practice of integrity begins. Integrity is about alignment, making sure that words, feelings, and actions point in the same direction. It begins with ourselves. If we wish to live in a world where incongruence no longer drives us mad, we must first commit to honesty in our own communication. To say no when we mean no. To close the door when it is time. To speak truth without cruelty, and to listen to truth without collapsing.

At the heart of all this lies a deeper question: Is this coming from love? Masked behaviours often arise from fear, fear of conflict, fear of rejection, fear of causing pain. But love can hold the discomfort of truth. Love does not require camouflaging or smart strategies; it requires respect, clarity, and courage.

When we orient toward love,our inner fears soften. We no longer blame ourselves for others’ incongruence, because we know it belongs to them. We also no longer participate in patterns of avoidance, because we choose honesty as an act of care. Each time we align our words and actions, we contribute not only to our own growth but to the slow evolution of a culture that remembers how to speak truth with compassion.

The Sacred Art of Closing Cycles

Energy leaks happen when we don’t close our cycles. Every unfinished relationship, every project left hanging, every door we refuse to shut keeps a part of our energy entangled in the past. These open loops may seem harmless, but on a subtle level they drain us. They feed anxiety, rumination, and that lingering sense of being stuck between who we were and who we are becoming.

We often celebrate beginnings with excitement and ceremony, yet we meet endings with resistance, fear, or avoidance. Endings remind us of loss, failure, or uncertainty. But if we could greet endings with the same reverence we give to beginnings, the world, and our inner world, would be lighter, freer.

Closing a cycle is not only a psychological necessity but also an energetic one. When we fail to end consciously, strings of connection remain attached, binding us to what no longer nourishes us. We keep pouring our life force into relationships, identities, or situations that belong to yesterday. Instead of feeding our growth, we unconsciously keep alive what has already died.

To close a cycle means to reclaim our energy. It is not about erasing or rejecting the past, but about acknowledging it fully, honouring what has been, and releasing it with integrity. In doing so, we not only free ourselves but also free the other person, the other story, from unconscious attachment. Ending well restores dignity to the bond: it recognises the journey shared while making space for new life to unfold.

Endings are not failures. They are sacred thresholds, moments where we gather back our scattered energy, honour what was, and step forward whole, unburdened, and free to begin again.

Healing Through Closure

The paradox of honesty teaches us an important lesson: what we most desire is often what we most fear. To resolve this paradox, we need to build resilience, both in giving and receiving truth.

In giving truth, we can practice compassionate directness. Honesty does not have to be brutal. Nonviolent Communication (Rosenberg, 1999) shows us that we can express truth clearly while also showing care for the other person’s feelings.
In receiving truth, we can cultivate the ability to sit with discomfort without collapsing. This means separating criticism of our behavior from rejection of our self-worth. It means understanding that endings and rejections do not diminish our value, they simply redirect our energy toward where it belongs and we can receive it with compassion.

If dishonest communication fuels anxiety, then courageous communication is part of the cure. Closing loops does not mean erasing the past. It means acknowledging it fully and placing it where it belongs. In practical terms, this may involve:

Having the conversation we have avoided.
Writing a letter, whether or not we send it.
Ritualising an ending through symbolic acts such as burning, burying, or blessing an object.
Naming the truth to ourselves, even if the other person will never hear it.
Clarity: Saying what we mean without endless detours.

These acts help the psyche release its grip. They transform the open loop into a completed chapter. The mind can rest because the story has found its end. When we consciously close cycles, we free ourselves from the stress of the unfinished. We also make room for the new. Just as a cluttered room cannot receive new furniture, a cluttered inner world cannot receive new relationships, opportunities, or insights. Completion is not just about the past, it is also about creating space for the future.

Endings, then, are not failures. They are integral to the rhythm of life. By closing what is finished, we honour both what has been and what is yet to come. The stress of the unfinished dissolves, replaced by the freedom of clarity.

As Brené Brown reminds us, “Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind”.

Reflective Questions

Where in my life do I feel a disconnect between my feelings, words, and what I do?
Are there situations where I am pretending, masking, or avoiding the truth?
What emotions arise when I notice this incongruence?
How can I close loops, set boundaries, or communicate clearly compassionately?

The Paradox of Society: Our Fear of Honesty