You like the truth until it's about you
Honesty is easy to love when nobody is describing your own behavior.
You love honest people. Direct people. The ones who tell it like it is, don't mince words, and don't waste time being polite to idiots.
Especially when the idiots are somebody else.
Then you nod, send it to friends, write “finally, someone said it.” You enjoy being on the side of someone who understands everything. You just need to make sure they never start understanding you.
Someone else's laziness is obvious. Yours requires context. Their rudeness reveals their character. Yours is explained by a difficult period. They lie. You couldn't disclose everything immediately because the situation was complicated.
I'm not saying circumstances don't exist. They do. Other people have them too, believe it or not.
But somehow you require a detailed biography for your own defense and consider a single episode sufficient for someone else's conviction.
The interesting part starts when the person you valued for their directness says something unpleasant to you.
You constantly interrupt. You promised and didn't deliver. You take advantage of people finding it hard to refuse you. You made everyone accommodate you again, then called it no big deal.
Suddenly honesty needs to be gentle. They could have chosen a better time. A real friend would have considered how it sounded.
Maybe they really could have said it better. But where did the question about the broken promise go?
Tone can be awful. Criticism can be inaccurate, malicious, or simply stupid. You don't have to agree with every asshole who calls an insult feedback.
But it's convenient to use one rude sentence to throw away the entire conversation. They raised their voice, so I no longer have to answer for what they were talking about. Excellent. Now all you need to do is drive them to shouting, and you're innocent again.
I find it useful to separate two questions: how are they speaking to me, and is anything they're describing something I actually do?
Sometimes both answers are unpleasant.
You can ask for an example. Check the facts. Take time before answering. Say some of the accusation is unfair, but they're right about this part.
You don't have to declare yourself worthless. Admitting a specific mistake isn't signing a lifetime agreement to be humiliated.
But if every observation threatens your entire identity, everyone around you will have to lie or leave. Eventually you'll be surrounded by very pleasant people who know exactly what they must never say to you.
And you'll be proud of having found like-minded friends.
This blog has the same problem. It's easy to read angry essays and always think of someone who should receive them. An ex. A colleague. A relative. The entire fucking country.
Then close the page, because your own case is settled: you're not like that.
Maybe. But if no uncomfortable text ever applies to you, it isn't necessarily evidence of your exceptional decency. You may simply have learned to read in a way that keeps you outside the conversation.
Try not forwarding anything for once. Sit with the thought you immediately wanted to address to somebody else.