Speak truth to bullshit.
It was a chapter title in a Brené Brown book I finished two months ago. However, as with everything Brené Brown says, the meaning of her words unfolds in layers of understanding within my mind.
And particularly this week, I can’t stop thinking about the phrase.
Speak truth to bullshit.
There’s something so succinct about it, so terribly powerful, I can’t help but repeat it like a mantra in my head.
And to me, the truth is something I come by more easily than others. As I’ve shared before, my husband jokes that “I’m loyal only to the truth”—which I see as the highest of compliments.
However, in the world we live in, that might not always be perceived as a compliment.
It’s funny because this is one of those topics I attribute to my autism—one of those topics where I can see the sequence of the thought chain that compels people to feel this way, but one I can never quite sink my teeth into because I lack the deep, bone-level ah yes, that’s me and I’ve been there kind of feeling.
I’ve talked to my husband about this a lot over the past year as I’ve worked to reframe my autism diagnosis.
I’m not your stereotypical “saying things that would be deemed socially unacceptable,” per se; however, I’ve definitely said things that raised eyebrows in a “Wow, she’s got some serious balls for saying that out loud” kind of way. Meanwhile, to me, what I’m saying seems so glaringly, painfully obvious, I don’t understand how I’m the only one saying it.
And I’ve come to my husband with that very question: Why am I the only one who feels a call so undeniable it’s like the words themselves—speaking truth to what I deem bullshit—are crawling up my throat and clawing out of my mouth, while everyone else remains silent? Why aren’t more people talking about these things openly and honestly?
I’ve dove into this many times—even before my diagnosis.
There was certainly a layer of the bystander effect at play when it came to injustices I observed.
But this goes far beyond a simple lack of justice—this reaches into the depths of what it means to be nice versus kind, blowing smoke in business and saving face versus being authentic and honest.
It’s been a deep source of perceived difference in myself—a fossilized source of disconnection from the world around me.
Was I insane for seeing these things? Surely, if everyone saw them, they’d bring them up and we’d talk about them more—right?
So sometimes, I’d test the waters and say these things.
I’d speak truth to bullshit. Civilly.
But here’s the thing—here’s the answer my husband gave me, one I still can’t wrap my head around. No matter how much I try to spin it, evaluate it, or process it, my autistic brain can’t accept it.
He told me people see the truth as scary. That they see the truth as hard and uncomfortable. That lying makes daily life easier because people can’t handle the weight of the truth.
Essentially, the truth hurts—and people are just trying to survive. And pain is seen as a threat to survival.
And I comprehend this. I can wrap my head around the science and evolutionary psychology of it. Lying and avoiding the truth are seen as archaic survival mechanisms—lizard brain and mammalian brain behaviors. So humans continue to do it.
However, I have to say it—I have to speak truth to this particular bullshit.
Yes, the truth can hurt. The truth has sometimes brought me to my knees, sobbing.
But you know what hurts worse?
Lies.
Covering up reality with fantasy creates a whole chain reaction of pain and emotion that would never have existed if the truth had just been told. Because not only are you dealing with the pain of the truth, but also the pain that comes with deceit—the pain of making decisions based on inaccurate or incomplete information. You deal with the pain of broken trust and question the validity of everything you hear afterward.
It’s like when a company lies on its financial statements, reporting an influx of income when there’s not a penny in the bank, because they’re not ready to face the truth that they’ve lost everyone’s retirement funds. Rather than telling the truth, they commit fraud—extending the fantasy and withholding truth from the people who deserve to know it most.
And what does that do?
It takes away agency from those investors. It hurts more people—because maybe the lie goes on for years, robbing investors of time they could have used to invest elsewhere and recover. It cuts more deeply—because deceit hurts more than failure.
And those slices of emotional savagery create the kind of pain that severs trust—the kind that severs our connection with one another as human beings. The very connection we desperately need in an increasingly disconnected and polarized world.
I’ll caveat this with one note: I’m not saying go out there and say everything that pops into your unfiltered mind. That’s not speaking truth to bullshit. I’m talking about being mindful and curious. About being the one courageous enough to ask the questions that hang in the air—unspoken but needed.
Because while the truth may hurt, it can also set us free.
Free from lies that disempower and misinform us. Free from the facades we wear that keep us from tapping into our highest selves.
Owning the truth—and being brave enough to embrace the pain that may come with it—can make us exceptional.
What are your thoughts on this? Does speaking truth to bullshit feel scary, empowering, or both to you? Let me know below!
Also, don’t forget to click SUBSCRIBE before you go!
Exceptional Living 
Leave a comment