For most of my life, I thought being honest meant being open.

Fully. Immediately. All at once.

I thought transparency was a virtue in and of itself.

That to withhold was to deceive.

That any flicker of strategy was a betrayal of my spiritual center.

Christian Science shaped me that way.

So did girlhood, and early feminism, and all the quiet messages that said,

“Your goodness is directly linked to how exposed you’re willing to be.”

So I practiced radical honesty with no discernment.

I showed my hand in every room.

I narrated my fears before they could be used against me.

I explained my value before anyone even asked.

I thought I was leading with truth.

But really, I was leading with vulnerability as a defense mechanism.

And then I realized something else.

I am still a woman of integrity. But now, I have boundaries.

I am still spiritually honest. But I no longer owe full transparency to systems that haven’t earned it.

My word is my word. But I get to choose when I speak it.

I’m not playing people.

I’m playing the game — objectively, tactfully, with love.

And if that feels manipulative, it’s only because I’ve been conditioned to believe that women aren’t allowed to hold both clarity and power at once.

But I am. And I do.

Because here’s what’s true:

If I feel ease and contentment in my work,

They get a better version of me.

A more present, vibrant, generous me.

This is not deception.

It’s devotion — to sustainability, to alignment, to the slow, holy work of staying whole in a system that tries to carve us into pieces.

What you see is what you get.

But now I get to decide when you see it.

And that, too, is truth.