truth be told

among many other things in which i believe, i believe in telling the truth. now, telling the truth is not always one of my favorite things, but neither is the pythagorean theorum or going to church for three hours a week, and i believe in those things, too. i had to tell the truth-- the real, until-then-hidden truth-- just the other night, and it gave me one bad dream and a 12-hour panic attack. but i believe in being honest about what you think and what you feel and so i did it even though, for a few seconds, i would rather have died. or at least had a brief but life-threatening illness that let me off the hook.

and you know what?

when i was done telling the truth i felt so calm. and relieved. and happy. and i also felt really, really, really brave. i didn't put it in an e-mail. i didn't shove it to the back of my head. i didn't hint around. i said it. out loud. and there was a lot of power for me in that experience, whether or not the anticipation took five years off my life.

and that sort of powerful experience is why i have sort of a problem with the anonymous blogosphere. i started thinking about this back in may, at the rocky mountain retreat, during a panel discussion about mormon feminism on the internet.

now, i recognize that not everyone is as in love with honesty as i am, and that i have been lucky to grow up and exist in environments where it was safe for me to tell the truth. for many of the women on this panel, and at the retreat, the internet had become that environment; a place to find kindred spirits and share thoughts and feelings without fear of repercussions or judgements.

i can certainly see the value in that kind of space. we all need and deserve a place to be open and communicate as ourselves. but i also think hiding behind the mask of anonymity is just that: hiding. and it ends up shortchanging us in the end.

for starters, people say all kinds of invaluable and unkind things when no one knows who they are. (i guess i should clarify that my love affair with honesty does not include the kind that unnecessarily or maliciously hurts people's feelings.) it's plenty easy to be snarky, judgmental or just plain wrong when no one can call you out because they don't know who "you" are. it's sort of like leaving steaming poo on someone's doorstep, ringing the bell and running away (gross). i just don't like it. anonymity can also absolve us of the need to back up what we say. i can rant and rave all i want with no foundation or proof if no one can find me to demand that foundation or proof.

(editor's note: i realize that we are dealing in generalities here, and i hope you do, too. there are, obviously, exceptions to every rule, and some anonymous honesty is worthwhile and valuable. in general, though, i think it just gives us an excuse to be jerks, an excuse we are all too happy to accept whenever we can.)

more importantly, though, i think relying on anonymity to communicate important and hard truths cheats us out of the power of the experience that truth-telling can be. i do agree with the author of this article that your identity is not as important as your message. but, your identity makes your message that much stronger. we grow, we learn, we perfect as we do hard things. and when i am looking for advice, consolation, celebration of a shared experience, i am not looking for anonymous. i am looking for you.

most importantly, i really believe that if we are to see the change that truth promises, we have to be willing and able to put ourselves squarely behind that truth. we have to say it. out loud. with our names and everything else attached. it's all fine and good to vent feelings and frustrations behind the mask, but if i ever want those feelings and frustrations to be resolved, some day i am going to have to woman-up and deal with them in the real world. i am going to have to tell someone what i, not anonymous, thinks and feels. i am going to have to tell the truth.

easy? no. but, for the strength and power i believe the truth gives us, a nightmare and 12 hours of anxiety, even a little embarrassment, vulnerability or judgment, is a small price to pay.