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How Honest Am I With Myself?

Interesting question—my way of saying, I don’t really know how to answer this one.

Okay… let’s start with an easy one. Was I honest with myself today? No. Not really. I wasn’t honest when I nodded along, pretending to agree while a colleague gossiped about others in the office. The truth? I wanted to say: If you can talk this freely about them in front of me, you’re probably just as fluent talking about me when I’m not around. But I didn’t. I just smiled, swallowed the thought, and let the moment pass.

But when it comes to running? Running is the most honest thing I do.

I can’t fake my pace. I can’t tell my legs to run faster just because I want a new personal best on Strava. I can’t trick my heart into staying in Zone 2 when I’m gasping for breath. My endurance, my agility—there’s no shortcut, no pretending. I don’t get better by talking about running. I get better by running. Not by wearing the latest Alphafly (which I can’t afford anyway), but by showing up. Step after step, mile after mile, my body tells me the truth, whether I like it or not.

And maybe that’s why I love it.

Because honesty isn’t just about facing the hard or easy truths. It’s also about how we choose to see ourselves.

For a long time, I framed myself as a victim of some bitter events in my life. It was an easy truth to sit with—comforting, in a way, because it explained the pain I carried. But was that really honesty? Or was it just a story I told myself? Because the truth is, I endured. I am still here. And that doesn’t make me a victim. It makes me strong.

Am I honest when I say I’m going to move through this month with ease? That it will be full of miracles? No… but maybe that’s a different kind of honesty. I don’t say it because I believe it—I say it to make myself believe. It’s not deception; it’s intention. A choice. I set the tone for this month, and I’m happy to do that.

I am a writer. Some people sing their hearts out, others may paint or dance, and I write. As with running, you can’t fake your writing; you’re getting good by doing it, and there’s no other way. I don’t write for money—though, considering my bank account, maybe I should. I write so I can meet myself; this is my way to facilitate my journey inward. Only with writing I can finally know myself better; I am calm, I am kind, I am fortunate, and I am loved.

And maybe that’s the most honest thing I’ve said all day.

Cheers,

karin Sabrina