Is a person speaking ‘their truth’ different from the truth? It’s complicated

I did not expect Britney Spears to be a subject that would ignite an argument with friends. But during a discussion about Spears’ recent tell-all book, The Woman in Me, I raised their ire by daring to question whether the perspectives raised in the memoir were “her truth”, or that of the book’s ghostwriters.

It’s her truth, they said. She’s gone through hell – don’t question her and don’t dare take her ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake’s side. I heeded their warnings, realising their connection with Spears was due to the feeling and tone of her stories more than their factual accuracy.

Celebrities including Britney Spears, Oprah Winfrey, Meghan Markle and Prince Harry are all advocates for speaking their truths.

Spears is not alone in speaking her truth. In fact, it’s something countless celebrities endorse regularly. Oprah Winfrey tells us to do it often, reality TV stars make careers out of it, the term “speaking my truth” is rolled out as a mea culpa after scandals that require image rehabilitation, and Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are effectively global ambassadors for it.

As with most things celebrities embrace, normal people have also eagerly adopted speaking “their truth” more broadly. It marks the latest way therapy-speak, and therapy techniques, have entered the mainstream.

While therapy has long been a setting to share personal truths and understand perspectives, sharing a personal version of the truth more broadly or in a public manner can set into motion a cascade of events and begin a merry-go-round of truth-telling: fact-checking, counter-truths, and challenging a person’s right to think or feel a certain way. Invariably, offence is taken and apologies are demanded. Experience tells us that people “speaking their truth” are likely to encounter some opposition and pushback and comparisons to “the truth”.

But holding strong to a personal truth – as opposed to “the truth”, a version of events almost everyone can agree on – brings the risk that people are normalising a version of history that negates responsibility or is more favourable to the teller.

Focusing on fact-checking and counterarguments, though, misses the point and detracts from the real impetus of this confessional trend. The term “my truth” is a shorthand of sorts for what someone is really trying to say: listen to me; take me and my experiences seriously; I feel hurt; people don’t believe me; I get shut down when I talk about my feelings on this.

As a society, we are becoming more comfortable recognising and expressing emotion. Long-held stigmas around mental health and mental illnesses are slowly eroding. However, our valuing of facts remains. We have a natural propensity to slide into truth and reality assessments – sometimes at the expense of sitting with our emotional responses.

And so instead of demonstrating vulnerability in an overt way, we use an objective term and borrow the established concept of truth in an effort to bring respect and validation to our thoughts and feelings. Framing something as “my truth” can be a way to conceal our shame, denial, discomfort or embarrassment about our own or other people’s actions; it becomes a way of expressing vulnerability.

In their 2022 Netflix series, Harry & Meghan, Meghan Markle recalls the impact reading death threats had on her mental health and wellbeing. Among them was a tweet that read, “Meghan needs to die. Someone needs to kill her. Maybe it should be me”. Though, statistically, the chances are high the tweet was written by simply another angry keyboard warrior, her truth that the threats felt real, and Prince Harry’s truth that they caused very real distress also hold ground.

As the adage goes, in most events there are three versions of the truth: yours, theirs and the actual truth. But in my role as a psychologist, I’m not much interested in the truth. I am not a judge, a politician, or a police officer. I hear a wide range of “truths” on a variety of topics. Beyond assessing a patient for intent to harm or delusional beliefs, I don’t determine the veracity of a patient’s narratives, namely because all personal truths are contextual and shaped by past and present experiences.

I have worked with adult patients who weigh 40 kilograms, yet truly believe they are obese. Other patients, despite coming from a white-picket-fence family, report feeling emotional deprivation and neglect. There are those whose notions of financial strain would be many people’s idea of wealth and prosperity.

Instead of dismissing people for speaking their truth and getting into the weeds of who said what or how valid someone’s emotional experience is, it’s worth listening. Their intended message will be found in what is unsaid, in the gaps of the story and the pauses in the telling of it. What’s more, we are allowed to change our minds and reach a new “truth”, whether that be within a day, a year, or at several points over a lifetime.

The late Queen Elizabeth II was correct in saying that “recollections may vary”. But recollections vary not only between individuals, but also within individuals. Two things can be true – both “the truth” and “your truth”.

Dr Bianca Denny is a practising clinical psychologist based in Melbourne.

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