On telling

I remember as a medical student being told by a psychiatrist who was teaching us about clinical communication skills to always ask yourself “is this for the patient or for me?” A little bit of self-disclosure in clinical scenarios is helpful; it helps establish rapport, trust, and confidence that the person we have entrusted with our psychological care knows exactly what it’s like to be human. That’s the purpose of self-disclosure in medicine, that’s how we can justify telling patients our sins, our glories, and just our everyday occurrences. Besides that, all we are being paid to do is provide a clinical service of diagnosis and treatment. Needless to say, it’s not appropriate to start telling our patients intimate details about our personal lives and thus introduce potentially biasing information that will impact on the patient themselves or their views on us as their clinician or the clinical advise/treatment we provide. But this rule about what we tell and don’t tell got me to thinking to how it applies to life in general, not just as it applies to health professionals.

Two key features of a successful and happy relationship are honesty and trust. You want to be able to trust that your spouse/partner/friend/business associate/etc. is an honest person that does not lie or betray you, right? But at the same time you need to be able to trust that they won’t, otherwise the relationship will be ruined by the constant questioning of their (or your) honesty. Consider, for example, an ideal romantic partnership where the two people involved love and care for each other and have romantic interactions exclusively with each other (including sex, but also other forms of physical or psychological intimacy). That would be a good relationship, right? But what if a similar scenario arose where the two people involved in a romantic partnership love and care for each other and have romantic interactions exclusively with each other BUT the partners were repeatedly asking of the other: “have you slept with anyone else today?”, “have you told any lies to me today?”, “do you love me still today?”, etc. etc. Now, the other partner could repeatedly be honest and say “No”, but isn’t it likely that this good and honest relationship will be destroyed by the lack of trust?

Now consider a scenario where you have the trust but not so much the honesty. You could, for example, have two people who love and care for each other but their romantic interactions are not exclusive to each other. They may every once in a while have sex with other people. They don’t, however, ask of each questions of fidelity, it is only assumed – they assume the other person is honest or sexually monogamous or that they have romantic feelings only for them. You could say that these are either happy human beings or you could say that this is not a good relationship, even if the two parties seem outwardly happy with themselves and each other. You may say that even if everyone it is happy then that happiness is invalid because it is predicated on dishonesty – or better said: lack of honesty.

This ‘happy couple’ to me poses a very interesting human dynamic, because as happy as the members of this couple are and as happy as the whole scenario is, it often fails. And it doesn’t fail because of dishonesty or mistrust. No, it fails, because of misplaced and selfish honesty. Again, let me repeat the scenario. There are two people who love and care for each other and are not unhappy in their relationship, but one (or both) of them engages in an act of intimacy (however you wish to define it) with another person (or persons). They’re not unhappy with each other, their relationship works and is otherwise normal. The relationship can function this way for months, years, decades, or until death parts them. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with having a happy life and a happy relationship, right? Well, probably nothing, except that it rarely happens. And I’ll tell you why.

After one of the members of a partnership has committed an indiscretion to whatever gravity, something happens but not to the partner who may be blissfully unaware or to the relationship which still has as much potential as it did before, but something happens to the offending partner. You know what it is? Guilt. Guilt creeps in, escalates by the minute, and this thing we call a conscience tell us that we should tell our partner what we did. It goes over and over in your mind, you convince yourself you are a bad person, you are convinced what you did was wrong, but overwhelming the feeling is guilt. Tony Robbins once said that guilt is really a trigger to correct your behavior, it means you have a standard which you haven’t met and as a result of this failure you feel guilt. That’s the point of it, to correct behavior back to what your standard is.

The truth is most of us do sign up to relationships to be an exclusive intimate partnership between only two people; that’s our standard. That’s what we expect to receive and that is what we expect to give in the partnership. So when we fail, when we don’t reach our own standard, we feel guilty. But what a lot of people do is mistake the trigger to change our behavior for one of simply anxiety or an unpleasant sensation. Therefore instead of thinking that what we need to do is change the behavior, we become convinced all we need to is just to relieve the guilt. So maybe we’ve stopped doing what we once did that caused us to feel guilty initially but we continue to experience the guilt because we can’t forgive ourselves. And we’ll keep feeling guilty until the day we decide to do two things: 1) meet our own standards, and 2) forgive ourselves. The second part is actually a lot more difficult than the first one is, so we often – mistakenly – substitute it. You know what we do when we can’t forgive ourselves? We ask others to forgive us.

When you can’t forgive yourself for cheating in a relationship, even if it was a once-off, we often make the mistake of asking our partners to forgive us. And we ask not because we care about them or because we love them and think they deserve to know the truth. No, I don’t believe that at all (although that is what we tell ourselves and our partner)! We tell of our indiscretions purely as a selfish way to ease our anxiety and guilt. This is what I mean by selfish honesty. There is nothing honorable about wiping your filthy hands on someone else just because you want to have clean hands again. That is selfish, self-indulgent, and spiteful. Don’t get me wrong, though, there are cases when we must confess to our indiscretions, such as, if we have placed another person’s health at risk or there are legal ramifications to our acts, etc. And here is where we need to ask ourselves: “is this for the other person or for me?” What exactly do you expect to gain?

If we tell our stories purely to ease your guilt, then don’t expect a reward for your honesty. I think that is so banal. Yet that is often what a lot of people do, confess their “sins” to their partner, tell them that they are confessing because they didn’t want to lie to them anymore (even though they had caused the other person no harm at all), and then expect to be forgiven because that is exactly what they need to ease their guilt. That is an even greater violation to the relationship. We shouldn’t use our partners to wipe our conscience. If the anxiety of holding a secret is really tearing us apart, if the guilt of what we’ve done is eating us away, there are more responsible ways to deal with it. As I said, what you really need to do is change your behavior. And if you must tell, tell a friend or pastor or psychotherapist, etc. The only reason we should tell our partners - hurt our partners, their self-esteem, their self-worth, their trust, their sense of identity, their faith in you – is to benefit them, not selfishly ease our conscience. And then we must expect not forgiveness but consequence.