The Truth Hurts, But It Heals | Writing Honestly

“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” ~ Natalie Goldberg

Writing requires an intimacy few are ready for. To write with vulnerability on the page is to bare your soul, to peel back what protects you, to expose the raw truths of your life, some of which you may not, in fact, fully grasp yourself. It’s frightening, messy, and gut-wrenchingly human. But instead, it is that vulnerability that makes writing not just words on a page but a lifeline that connects us to other people. This is the fundamental truth of vulnerability that enables stories to resonate, yet achieving it is not effortless.

For the majority of us, the fear of being judged is ever present. Vulnerability means revealing your fears, desires, and truths—and thus relinquishing control over how others see you. You are declaring to the world, “This is who I am,” and inviting the world to respond. Do they embrace you, or do they consider your words mere piffle and your truths undesirable? This fear silences many writers, imprisoning their deepest truths.

I know this fear very well because I am still struggling with it. And I want to dig deep; I want to uncover what is beneath the surface. But whenever I come close to it, I waver. What happens if I face judgment? What if what I expose is too much? And yet, I also recognized that my writing without vulnerability will never touch the depths I so admire in others.

Recently, I wrote in my journal about this struggle, attempting to give shape to my thoughts. Here is an excerpt:

I have a muse, and I don’t know how long this affair with him will last. Let’s call him a "he." He has inspired me in ways I never anticipated, uncovering memories and stories I had buried deep within myself for nearly 30 years. These memories are ripe with potential, rich material for my writing. But they are also deeply personal. Writing them down makes me feel exposed, as if I’ve peeled back the protective layers I’ve spent decades building.

For so long, I felt compelled to bury these memories, weighed down by a profound sense of shame. Even though many of these experiences were beautiful in their time, I couldn’t separate them from the shame I carried. Now, as I write them down one by one, I’m finally allowing myself to face them. If you ever read these stories, you may think of them as trash, boring, or mediocre. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am writing them as honestly as I can. I’m capturing the vulnerability, the yearning, the fear, the exhilaration, the fantasy, the lust, the love. I don’t know where these words will take me, but for now, I’m writing for myself. I’m writing the truth.

Reading back on this, I see how much I have hidden myself over the years. No one taught me to embrace vulnerability. Instead, I learned to shield myself, to appear strong and impervious. But writing requires the opposite. It invites you to soften, to let down your defenses, and to allow the world in. For me, this process resembles the gradual opening of a long-closed door.

Writing with vulnerability is akin to navigating a narrow path. It asks you to face your own truths without self-censorship and resist the temptation to embellish or dramatize for effect. Authentic vulnerability is subtle; it doesn’t shout, “Look at me!” It tells truths—truths that ring true because they’re passionately felt.

And despite this knowledge, vulnerability remains elusive. Writing for myself, as I have done with my journal, is one thing; it’s another to share that writing with others. This process of exposing your vulnerability is analogous to entering a stage naked under the bright glare of a spotlight. It is terrifying, but it is also necessary.

I frequently reflect on my reasons for writing. Do I write to make myself heard, to understand others, or just to connect? Perhaps it’s all three. What I do know is that the writers I admire most are those who are unafraid to be vulnerable. Their words linger, because they have the bravery to speak their truths, however flawed or uncomfortable. This is the kind of writer I aspire to be—one who writes with honesty and heart, one who has enough courage to be exposed.

The process of getting to this level of openness is ongoing. There are days when I feel courageous enough to face my truths and days when I slink back, too scared to face judgment. But every word I write brings me a little closer to that ideal. Vulnerability is not weakness but strength, I tell myself. It’s what makes us human, and it’s what makes writing worth reading.

So here I am, writing my truths, one hesitant word at a time. I don’t know where I’ll go from here, but I do know that I’m finally beginning to embrace the vulnerability that once terrified me. And in doing so, I hope to uncover not only the stories within me but also the courage to share them with the world.

That's it for now. If you read this far, thank you. I appreciate it so much! Kindly give me a follow if you like my content. I mostly write about making art, writing, life musings, and our mundane yet charming family life here in Klang Valley, Malaysia.

Note: All images used belong to me unless stated otherwise.

Thank you for visiting and reading my post. I hope you like it!