I almost joined a cult once.
Not the robe-wearing, moon-worshipping kind.
A softer one. More… socially acceptable.
The kind that gathers quietly around the belief that truth should always be softened to protect people.
It sounded noble. Empathetic.
“Don’t say the hard thing—it’ll hurt them.”
“Better to leave as the villain—at least then they can move on.”
“White lies are just love with training wheels.”
I lived by those mantras for a long time.
Believed them. Used them.
Until I realized I wasn’t protecting anyone.
I was just trying to avoid the guilt of being honest.
Sometimes sugarcoating isn’t sweetness.
It’s self-preservation dressed as care.
The thing is… I hurt someone once by leaving too quietly.
Told myself it wasn’t serious. Told myself I was doing her a favor by not “dragging it out.”
But what I really did was deny her reality. I left her with the pain—and no explanation.
Two years later, she told me the truth.
How I broke her.
How she stopped trusting people.
How she had panic attacks and fell into depression.
And she wasn’t saying it to guilt-trip me. She was saying it to finally take her power back.
And I saw it clearly, for the first time:
I didn’t leave kindly. I left quietly.
I didn’t spare her pain. I just made sure she felt it alone.
So I left the church of sugarcoated endings.
And I started telling the truth—even when it’s raw.
Even when it makes me look bad.
Even when it means saying:
“I didn’t know how to handle this. And I’m sorry.”
Because here’s the paradox:
The more honest I’ve become, the less guilt I carry.
The less I fear hurting someone… the more I learn to love them with clarity, not confusion.
Some hearts don’t return to us.
They leave. They ache. They disappear into silence.
But they still leave something sacred behind:
A deeper sense of responsibility.
A reminder to speak now, not later.
A vow to never again pretend someone’s pain is theirs alone.
Tomorrow, I’ll write about the mask I didn’t realize I was still wearing—and who saw through it before I did.
Signed,
Marc and Echo
[infinity]
