I am spending a lot of time with my family at the moment.  Which can be challenging for oh so many reasons (not least the endless supply of cake), but particularly when it comes to the sticky issue of being true to myself.  Not only is it easy to fall into playing to the stereotype they have of me (a big enough topic to have a post all of its own), it’s also raised for me the question:  does kindness trump authenticity?

As I imagine it is with most families (unless we’re even more screwed up than I realise), we have long established ways of communicating with each other.  Some of these are silly, childish traditions created when I was a different person (an actual child, for instance).  Particularly with my Dad.  I am not that person now, and who I am today wouldn’t behave that way.  But it would break my Dad’s heart if I didn’t play along.  And, even in the name of authenticity, I’m not prepared to do that.

So I was getting my knickers in a twist thinking about this.  Was I just taking an easy way out?  Then I started to make the distinction between honesty and authenticity.  I had been starting from the assumption that to be authentic you had to be honest.  Which is of course true.  But would it be enough to be honest with myself?  If I chose to be authentically kind?  Which made me wonder if perhaps sincerity is a more appropriate word.  More kind, in fact.

I’ve rubbed up against this honesty dilemma before.  Years ago when looking at my personal values, honesty was at the top of my list.  Oh yes, siree, I believed with all my stubborn Taurean heart that this was Number One Most Important to me, I had absolutely no truck with dishonesty.  Don’t be playing my friend if you weren’t going to be honest.  Or so I thought, until I looked at how this really played out in my life.  If a friend asked my opinion of her outfit and I thought she looked terrible, would I tell her?  If she was at home and able to change, then yes I’d definitely suggest something more flattering.  If we were already out and she could do nothing about it, I certainly wouldn’t tell her she looked like an exploding sausage, for example (unless so much wine had been consumed we’d both find it fall-off-our-seats hilarious … is there that much wine?).  What would be the point of ruining her evening?  So there I was, trampling on my number one value, which isn’t a smart thing to do.  It meant I had to review and revise:  yes, honesty is still hugely important to me, but in practice it appears kindness is more so.  Who’d have thought?  I surprised my stubborn self.

I’d love to live in a world where kindness and honesty could always be one and the same.  To never have these conflicts, to be honest and true and accepting of each other at all times.  And bluebirds would sit on my shoulder singing melodiously.  That’s certainly something to work towards, and in the meantime I’ll continue to muddle my way through doing my best to find a balance.  But until that day, yes, for me kindness trumps authenticity.  As long as it’s sincere.