Once upon a time, many years ago, I cheated on my boyfriend.
No good reason, no good excuse (except for some wounding I’m working out in this lifetime), not gonna defend it or anything.
I was visiting friends, got drunk at a party, did some things I shouldn’t have.
On the plane home, my stomach in knots, I had a decision to make: Tell my boyfriend, or don’t tell my boyfriend.
I chose “don’t tell.”
It would only hurt him, I reasoned. It doesn’t change anything between us. He doesn’t need to know.
So I swallowed the secret, pretended nothing happened, swore myself to silence.
And then, for the next year and half, I learned an excruciating, slow motion lesson about the power of deception and withholding.
Because the truth was, it did matter. I swallowed the secret, but it ate me alive inside.
Every gesture of care that came towards me from him was tainted with the question, “What if you really knew the truth?”
The unsaid hung between us, silently clouding all goodness with a miasma of doubt.
Eventually, he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
And that very first night of our engagement, I had a vivid nightmare.
This was more than 15 years ago, but I still remember the intensity of the dream: I was drowning a baby in the bottom of a toilet. All was ruined. I felt dirty, hateful, evil.
The next morning I woke up and told my now-fiance about the secret I’d been hiding for nearly 2 years.
It was miserable. He was furious. The engagement was off.
We were on a vacation in Death Valley at the time, and he was so upset we camped separately the next night. The 10-hour drive home was beyond tense. I went to stay with a friend for a while as we sorted things out.
There was nothing pleasant about Saying The Thing.
Except this: We were finally able to be with what was real.
Even as I was terrified, mortified, remorseful, grief-stricken, ashamed, I was also relieved.
The split that had been quietly torturing me was over. Something new could begin.
It honestly doesn’t matter how this particular story ended. (Happily. Unhappily. Happily. Depends on how far forward you look.)
What matters more is what began for me that day.
That confession was the seed of what has slowly become one of the central commitments of my whole life: I am a person who Says The Thing.
Not perfectly, not always gracefully, not always in the way or on the timeline I imagine might be ideal. I’m still finding my own blind spots around this practice, the places I get scared or stuck.
But I know beyond a doubt that I prefer my life with all channels clear. With all withholds unpacked. With candor front and center as a foundation of everything else.
If I felt hurt by an interaction we had, you will hear about it.
If I feel attraction to you and wonder if there’s possibility there, you will know.
If you want something from me and I don’t feel like giving it, I will say that in the kindest way I know how.
This commitment to candor gets me in trouble sometimes.
But on the whole, I truly believe it creates magic. Aliveness. Connection. Possibility. Growth for all involved.
What it also means is that I get a lot of practice having difficult conversations. The kind most people avoid.
I don’t take these conversations lightly. I’ve spent the last decade learning how to Say the Thing with more clarity, courage, and care.
How to speak up before the pressure builds.
How to share truth without creating unnecessary harm.
How to stay connected to my body, even when the stakes feel high.
And now, I’m teaching those skills to others.
If you know there’s something you need to say—
If you’ve been rehearsing conversations in your head but not in real life—
If you want to feel more confident and grounded in your truth…
I’d love to share what I’ve learned.
Join me for The Art of Difficult Conversations
Thursday, October 9, 12-1 PM MT / 2-3 PM ET
It’s free, and it’s designed to help you build the real-world skill of saying the hard thing—kindly, clearly, and in a way that builds trust rather than tension.
We’ll explore tools like “speaking inarguably,” “the art of the pause,” and how to prepare somatically and emotionally before you speak.
Whether you’re an entrepreneur, a leader, a partner, a parent, or just a human being…
Learning to Say the Thing will change your life.
I hope to see you there.
Candidly yours,
Rachel
PS – Most people avoid difficult conversations out of fear—of hurting others, of not saying it right, of being misunderstood. I’ll show you how to navigate them with more presence, skill, and humanity.
PPS – If you’ve been avoiding a conversation, you’re not alone. Come learn how to face it with grace.
