Truth has weight. Lies do too. One settles us. The other keeps the nervous system on high alert.
When I was a school principal, I used to talk with kids about the difference between good secrets and bad secrets.
A good secret was temporary. A surprise. Something joyful that would eventually be shared.
“Dad’s going to propose to Mum — don’t tell her yet.”
A bad secret was different. It was framed as never tell. No timeline. No safety. No relief.
And that was the red flag.
We taught kids this not to scare them — but to protect them. Because secrecy that has no end point often carries shame, fear, or power imbalance. And children know, intuitively, when something doesn’t feel right.
Lies Work the Same Way
I think lies operate under the same rules.
There are moments where a temporary untruth can help someone stay safe.
A child online saying, “My mum’s calling me for dinner,” to exit a scary interaction.
A pause, not a deception — a bridge to safety, followed by honesty with a trusted adult.
But when lies become structural — when they must be maintained indefinitely — they begin to cost us.
They fragment relationships.
They erode trust.
And importantly, they dysregulate the nervous system.
The Body Keeps the Score (Yes, Really)
Modern trauma research consistently shows that chronic stress, suppression, and internal conflict place the nervous system into a prolonged state of threat.
When we lie — especially to protect an identity, avoid shame, or maintain an image — the body has to work harder. There’s monitoring. Hypervigilance. Cognitive load. Fear of exposure.
Gabor Maté and others have long pointed out that the body often expresses what the mind cannot safely say. Symptoms worsen not because people are weak — but because their systems are overloaded.
For people living with disability or chronic illness, this matters deeply. Stress doesn’t stay abstract. It shows up as pain, fatigue, tremor, rigidity, anxiety, shutdown.
The nervous system doesn’t respond to stories.
It responds to safety — or the lack of it.
Truth in Healthcare Is Not Optional
Through a disability lens, honesty is not a moral preference — it’s a clinical necessity.
Patients need to be honest with medical professionals to receive appropriate care.
And clinicians have an ethical obligation to be open, transparent, and collaborative — ensuring the person remains central in decision-making.
Anything else introduces risk.
This is not abstract for me.
I vividly remember the moment I considered not telling my wife and family about my initial Parkinson’s diagnosis. The impulse to shield them — to carry the burden alone — felt noble at the time.
It wasn’t.
What I was really doing was denying the people I love the opportunity to love me back.
And we all know how meaningful it is to show up for someone else.
Connection requires truth.
A Gentle Audit of Our Own Behaviour
This isn’t about judgement. It’s about alignment.
Ask yourself:
- Have I said I was “just at the shops” when I was actually at an MRI?
- Have I hidden medication, symptoms, or appointments?
- Have I spoken about someone in ways I wouldn’t be proud to repeat?
Then ask the harder question:
What was the purpose of the deception — and does it align with my values?
If you genuinely believe it does, that’s your call. Not my advice — but you do you.
But if anger, belittling, gossip, or name-calling are creeping in, they’re often signals — not truths.
Sometimes we’re not angry at the person in front of us.
We’re angry at disease. At disability. At loss. At a system. At ourselves.
“Hurt people, hurt people” isn’t an excuse — but it is a clue.
From Being “Good” to Being Better
A common trap is telling ourselves:
“I know I’m a good person, so this behaviour is fine.”
In the business world, we don’t settle for “good enough.” We talk about continuous improvement.
Why should our character be any different?
As a parent, I know how easy it is to leak stress sideways.
The music is too loud.
The recorder practice is… let’s say, challenging.
(And no, I don’t believe anyone actually enjoys the recorder.)
The best I could be in that moment might have been not throwing the recorder out the window.
The best I strive to be is different.
It’s helping problem-solve.
Supporting joy.
Creating conditions where my child can become the greatest damn recorder player in the southern hemisphere — while also keeping me out of court-ordered anger management.
Reality Is a Practice
Whether it’s family, work, faith, or community — we should always be searching for reality.
Reserving judgement for others is generous.
Examining ourselves with courage is transformative.
If going inward feels too scary or too shame-laden, you don’t have to do it alone.
That’s what therapists are for.
Trusted friends.
Peer support.
And if you’re a man living with disability — that’s exactly why Mendis exists.
This Week at Mendis
No Zoom meetings this week.
Instead, we’re getting out from behind the screens and meeting face-to-face in the Adelaide CBD for some relaxed refreshments on Wednesday evening.
If you’d like to come along, reach out.
No pressure. No agenda. Just real conversation, in real space.
Truth settles the nervous system. Connection does the rest.