There’s a subtle form of loyalty within many of us — one that often goes unnoticed. Not because it’s insignificant, but because it’s so deeply rooted in how we’ve learned to love, to be accepted, to survive.
This kind of loyalty has a quiet name: loyalty to untruth.
And what makes it so dangerous is that it doesn’t look like a lie.
It looks like love. It looks like respect. It looks like responsibility.
But at its core, it’s a betrayal of the self.
How does it show up?
Loyalty to untruth isn’t always conscious. It creeps into small decisions and big life choices, into relationships that no longer grow and into identities that no longer breathe.
- “I don’t say what I feel — I don’t want to hurt them.”
- “I won’t leave — I don’t want to disappoint.”
- “I won’t change my life — it would seem selfish.”
- “I don’t ask questions — the answers might change everything.”
All of these sound like gestures of kindness, of empathy, of maturity.
But often, they are simply elegant forms of fear— the fear of losing love if you choose truth.
The Hidden Pact
This kind of loyalty is born, paradoxically, out of love.
We want to protect.
We want to preserve appearances.
We want to remain “good” in the eyes of others.
But in truth, what we’re protecting is an illusion of balance.
Because truth — raw, real, unfiltered — comes with irreversible consequences.
- It can break a relationship.
- It can reveal a hidden wound.
- It can expose an identity built on fear, not freedom.
So what do we do?
We stay loyal to a falsified version of life— hoping it’s enough to just “keep the peace.”
Liberation Doesn’t Come from Pleasing — but from Disappointing
Perhaps the hardest truth is this:
Real liberation doesn’t come from making others proud of us — but from disappointing them, sincerely.
Because to disappoint literally means to withdraw the illusion.
To end the silent pact with what, deep down, we know is no longer alive.
It doesn’t mean to hurt.
It means to choose truth — even when it hurts.
It means to let go of the image, in order to preserve the essence.
Truth, Like Sunlight: It Can Heal. Or It Can Burn.
At some point, I observed a painful reality: You can’t look into the eyes of someone who’s not ready to see what you can see in them. Because the moment you see, they begin to access it too. And if they’re not ready, it can burn.
This is one of the most delicate truths of human life:
Truth isn’t always healing..
It can be — if received at the right time, in the right rhythm.
But if spoken too soon, too abruptly, or without empathy — it can become invasive or traumatic.
Just like sunlight:
- It can give life,
- It can provide heat
- But it can also burn — if there’s no protection.
So then... how do we protect — and protect others?
Especially in close relationships or in therapeutic spaces, the question arises:
What filters do we have for the light of truth?
How do we make sure that what we see and feel doesn’t become a weapon, but a gentle mirror?
There are no definitive answers, but we might begin here:
- Through empathy with boundaries— not empathy that dissolves into saving.
- Through Through living, adaptable frameworks— not rigid or impersonal ones.
- Through conscious silence— not avoidant silence.
- Through lucid honesty:
“I see you. But I won’t force. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
Perhaps the most authentic filter is lucid love —
Not love that wants to heal at all costs,
But love that sees, understands and does not invade.
Instead of a Conclusion
Not all people can live in harmony with one another. Not all truths can be spoken at any time. Not all forms of loyalty are noble.
But all of them can be brought into awareness.
And once brought into the light, they can be reconfigured.
Truth is not just a revelation.
It is a process. A commitment. An act of maturity.
And sometimes, it begins right at the moment when you stop being loyal to a life that no longer belongs to you.