What I Learned About Honesty After Losing My Parents

I want to share something I’ve never told you before. Something I should have said earlier. A story. A story about silence, regret, and a single phone call that changed everything. Before I start it, I want to say something: “You’ll either understand it completely—or not at all.” I used to think honesty was something you do. You tell the truth. You avoid lying. Simple, right? But I’ve learned that real honesty is what you stop doing (read this again). You stop hiding the discomfort. You stop smoothing over the cracks in your relationships. You stop filling silences with small talk instead of saying what you really mean. You stop waiting for the "right moment" that never comes. I learned this the hard way.

For 16 years, I didn’t speak to my mother.

It wasn’t a dramatic breakup. We’d get on calls, each with our own hidden agendas, throwing unkind words designed to hurt. Every time, I’d leave feeling wounded, waiting longer before reaching out again—and so would she. Over the course of ten years, from 1991 to 2001, our communication slowly spiraled from daily contact to years of silence. I still vividly remember the last call before I stopped speaking to her completely. Even the thought of calling my mother would leave me in a triggered emotional state.

Then, in 2017, after attending a Radical Honesty workshop, I finally had the tools to express both my resentments and appreciations—honestly, openly, and without hidden agendas.

It was through family members that we slowly re-established contact. And with much trepidation, we met face to face—on a cold winter day, on a neutral park bench.

She sat quietly as I alternated between appreciations and resentment (I had prepared a list). In some cases she was enjoying hearing some happy memory that I had held onto, and in some cases she was surprised on the long term impact her words had had on my life.

Afterwards I felt a new lightness, years of burden had left me, and all without driving my mother further away, but instead rebuilding the bridge.

We had five years together after that. Not perfect years. Not Hallmark moments. But real, unedited, messy, and human years and I enjoyed all of them.

In a few days it will be the 3rd anniversary of her passing on March 17, 2022. I remember I felt grief when she passed—but not regret. Because for those last five years, we told the truth, and had found each other.

The 20th anniversary of my father's early passing, is the day before on March 16, and I never got to a comfortable place with him while he was still alive, something I still regret to this day.

(Me with my Father)

We live in a world that makes honesty harder than ever. Social media has given us the ability to curate a life that looks perfect, but feels empty. The more we perform, the less we feel real. And the irony? The more perfect we try to appear, the more disconnected and lonely we become. Honesty is what brings us back. We live in a world where everyone is performing. But when one person dares to be real, it breaks the script—and suddenly, others feel safe to be real too.

This isn’t just about me. I’ve seen it happen to others too. People who waited too long to speak. People who woke up one day and realized the conversations they postponed were the ones that mattered the most. And, by coincidence, today I found some old testimonials from 1990. Stories from people who went through this process decades ago. I’m sure you’ll smile when you watch the video. Some truths don’t change, no matter how many years pass.

The best time to say it was yesterday. The second-best time is now.Jesper JurcenoksOrganizer of 8 week Online RH Course