What does it really mean to be honest? Not the kind of honesty that shouts, but the one that breathes. It sounds simple, seems straightforward. Tell the truth, don’t lie. Simple, right? Not exactly.
In yoga philosophy, this principle is called satya — and it begins much closer to home than we think. It begins within. It cannot be reduced to black-and-white statements. Instead, it keeps asking:
How at peace am I with what I call my own truth?
Truth becomes complicated when it meets fear, social expectation, or the constant curation of identity. The Yoga Sutras place Satya alongside Ahimsa, which already introduces subtlety: truth should never harm. It is not exhibitionism. It is not saying everything we think. It is not using “truth” as a slogan or a sword. But I am trying to remember that not every opinion, observation, or discomfort needs to be expressed. Sometimes the most honest thing we can offer is silence — to be still, to breathe, to wait until what needs to be said can emerge without violence.
Honesty is a delicate act. It requires courage, yes — but also care. Removing the mask, especially in front of ourselves, demands emotional responsibility and a complete yoga practice — not only postures, but the willingness to be vulnerable in any language, in any cultural context. And because life situations, like trends, come and go — like hairstyles that once felt essential and now survive only in old photographs, remaining true to ourselves will never be easy. We are biologically wired to belong, to be liked, to prove our worth — as children, partners, professionals. Even when we sell our services, we perform.
Dishonesty doesn’t always look like lying. It shows up as exaggeration, omission, or presenting a polished version of us because it feels safer. Social media intensifies this: we perform stability, clarity, and certainty while privately navigating uncertainty. Over time, our performance can become the story we tell ourselves about who we are.
Instead of denying our conditioning, perhaps it is wiser to recognize it and make peace with the challenge. Not to give up, but to look at every part of ourselves with compassion. Acknowledging that these days, “Brutal honesty.” “Unfiltered authenticity.” Even “openness” becomes a kind of truth often to be sell like a marketable product. And yes, sometimes that is simply the reality of modern life, so… let’s try to embody the idea that Truthfulness is less about constant confession and more about reducing tension between what we live and what we show. When alignment grows, energy returns. We waste less on maintaining appearances and stand more comfortably in our incompleteness.
What is real in us will always remain: the sound of spontaneous laughter, the warmth of a long hug, the simple fact that we are here — sensing, reading, existing. That truth lives in the body and in our history, even in the parts we sometimes wish would disappear with the next season.
Me, I am still a yoga teacher. And I am also, thankfully, human, that is maybe why I test satya every time I leave my bedroom and step into the city — into the noise, the screens, the expectations and aspirations. Practicing satya there is less about declaring the truth and more about daring to live it. Practicing Yoga does not necessarily make me more suitable, more adjusted, or more balanced. But it has shown me how and when to admit that I need to slow down. That I do not want to join everything. That, at that moment, my own company is enough. It is the relief of no longer needing to perform someone else’s script.
Satya in modern life is not about dressing up our existence to belong, but about inhabiting ourselves as we truly are, here and now.
Honesty does not make us perfect. It makes us free.