The Anatomy of an Uncomplicated Mind: Why I Choose Blunt Honesty Over the "Pressure Cooker"
Finding Peace Through Honest Speech and Healthy Boundaries
Recently, I came across a video on social media talking about the "90-Second Rule." It claimed that the physical surge of anger only lasts a minute and a half, and anything after that is just us choosing to dwell on it. While the brain science might be true, life is far too complicated for rigid internet rules. To me, trying to sit there counting to ten or swallowing your feelings is a recipe for disaster. It turns you into a psychological pressure cooker, and eventually, you are going to explode. I don't believe in bottling things up just to comply with society's version of politeness. I believe in nipping things in the bud.
If you wait weeks or a month to finally react to something that bothered you, it loses its honesty. It becomes cold, calculated, and premeditated. That is why I say what I have to say right there in the moment—exactly the way I feel. Because I am naturally a kind, tolerant person who tries to stay on the right side of the rules, my anger isn't a daily habit; it is a rare alarm system. When people see me get upset, they know I must have been really hurt. Speaking up immediately gives me a "clean burn." I get it off my chest, the air is cleared, and minutes later I am happy, laughing, and chatting again. I don't carry an emotional hangover because I leave nothing unsaid.
My childhood taught me how to find this voice. Growing up in a Christian community, we were taught that we must always speak the truth and speak up; otherwise, we would never see God's face. I took that lesson to heart. Ironically, out of all my siblings, I was the one who got slapped on the mouth the most for being "too blunt." But that upbringing gave me the backbone I have today. It taught me that bringing things into the light is the only way to live, even if it makes others uncomfortable.
This blunt honesty followed me straight into the fast-paced world of my corporate career in North America, where it often terrified people who were used to corporate tiptoeing. I recall a time when my team was deeply unhappy with a stubborn manager's behavior. We bypassed HR and took the issue directly to their boss. While my colleagues spoke up, when it was my turn, I didn't hold back. When asked how to fix the situation, I looked right at the leadership and said: “If the head of the stream is dirty, it will affect those downstream. We will all end up being rotten eggs, which will ultimately result in the organization crumbling.”
Some of my coworkers were frightened by my words and even tried to reprimand me for being so direct. But I knew I was speaking a structural truth. Years later, after I retired, all hell broke loose at that job. People were terminated from the top down, and the entire structure crumbled just as I predicted. My phone lit up with emails and texts from former colleagues saying that if leadership had only listened to me, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.
Because I value this kind of transparency, I can spot a "grudge-carrier" from a mile away, and I have totally lost trust in them. You can never truly know where you stand with someone who keeps a secret mental ledger of grievances instead of speaking up. However, I've come to realize that in a messy world, carrying a grudge might actually be their version of peace—a shield they use to feel safe. Recognizing this allows me to protect myself without holding onto any malice. I live by the old saying, "Howdy and tenky nuh bruk noh square." I can completely bar an untrustworthy person from my inner circle but still look them in the eye and give them a polite, civil "Good morning." It costs me nothing, and it keeps the social order intact.
Ultimately, keeping my life uncomplicated comes down to knowing when to speak and when to mind my own business. While I fiercely defend my own boundaries, I also heed the wisdom of another proverb: "Tan an si noh spwile noh dance, a intahferance mash it up." Standing back to just watch the dance doesn't ruin the party, but interfering in other people's squabbles will surely mash things up. I stay out of crossfires that aren't mine to fight. And when my own difficult nights do come, I anchor myself in the quiet certainty that the darkest part of the night is just before dawn. By speaking my truth, keeping my distance from drama, and staying civil, I have built a life that is entirely my own—happy, clear, and at peace.
