Secrets Die in the Light: On Honesty, Integrity, and Finally Telling the Truth
Why I choose to live out loud
There’s a quote that I stumbled upon one day, like a quiet whisper, and has stuck with me:
“Secrets die in the light.”
Not all at once. Some die slow, gasping on their way out. Some die in a blaze of truth that wrecks everything in its path—but leaves room to rebuild. But they do die, eventually, when they’re no longer hidden. Shame will soon follow. As I mentioned in my recent podcast, shame will be killed if we share our stories.
The truth is, I built an entire identity around silence. Around half-truths. Around looking good while slowly dying on the inside. I told myself I was fine. That my drinking wasn’t a problem. That my relationships were solid. That my past wasn’t still affecting me. And above all, I told myself I couldn’t tell the truth because it would be too much—for others and for me. I just knew if I came out and told the truth I would lose my Marriage and family therapy license, I would be in a lot of trouble and could possibly never be allowed to do my job. The job I nearly died for.
But secrets are like mold: they grow in the dark. They thrive in shame, in isolation, in "just keep it together" mode.
And they kill your integrity.
What is integrity, really?
We throw the word around like it’s just about being a “good person.” But for me, integrity is when your insides match your outsides. When what you believe, say, and do are all aligned. Like we say in the 12 steps, “don’t listen to my words, watch my feet. Watch what I do.” And let me tell you, living out of integrity—while knowing deep down that you're lying, performing, hiding—is hell. A living, terrifying hell.
I lived that way for years.
Functioning. Smiling. Showing up.
And drowning. Living in a million forms of fear.
I didn’t know that radical honesty would be my freedom. That telling the truth—first to myself, then to others—would be the very thing that saved my life. My children. My career. And my sanity.
The First Truth I Told
It was a pretty dramatic confession. It became very loud and all of a sudden. I was sitting on my couch, angry, drinking vodka in the morning or else I would tremor and possibly seize as I had the night before. I said out loud,
“I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
“I can’t do this anymore. Enough is enough.”
“My children need better.”
That was it. But it cracked the door open. And once light gets in, it’s hard to keep pretending.
From there, the truths started coming. About my drinking. About my Methamphetamine use. About my grief. About the shame I carried from my entire life. About the ways I betrayed myself over and over in the name of people-pleasing and survival.
Each truth I spoke felt like a death—but also like a rebirth.
A funeral and an awakening.
Letting the secrets die, so I could live. So my children could be safe.
Why Honesty Is the Bedrock of Recovery (and Everything Else)
If you’re in any kind of healing process—addiction, mental health, trauma, spiritual growth—you cannot bypass honesty. You can’t heal what you won’t name. You can’t become whole if half of you is hidden.
Honesty doesn’t mean dumping your truth on everyone without care. It means being congruent. It means telling the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it costs you something. Especially then.
And integrity? Integrity is when you keep telling the truth even when no one’s watching. Even when it would be easier not to. Even when you are scared.
But what if your truth is messy?
Good. It means you’re human.
And humans are messy.
We make mistakes. We break. We rebuild.
And we can do it with honesty, and with heart.
So here’s my offering to you today:
If you’re carrying a secret,
If you’re living out of alignment,
If your soul is tired of performing—
Start small.
Tell one truth.
Crack the door.
Let the light in.
Let your secrets die.
You’re allowed to live in peace now.
With you in the messy middle,
– Soul Centered Recovery
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