Confess.

When We Confess, Things Leave Us

Confession is not about naming faults;

it is about withdrawing nourishment from them.

Most of our shortcomings survive because they are:

defended justified hidden or carried as identity

The moment we truly confess—

not to impress, not to dramatize, but to admit—

the shortcoming loses its shelter.

It is like darkness when a lamp is brought in.

Nothing is pushed away; it simply cannot stay.

Why Most People Do Not Confess

Because confession feels like loss.

We fear: loss of image loss of control loss of dignity

loss of excuses

Strangely, many people love their flaws more than they love freedom,

because flaws give them: a reason a story a shield

To confess is to stand without armor.

That frightens the ego.

In the Upaniṣadic and Bhakti traditions, this is well understood.

The soul does not fall because of sin.

It falls because of concealment.

Even in Śaraṇāgati:

“I have no strength. I have no merit. I have no defense.”

This is not humiliation—it is alignment with truth.

When truth is spoken, falsehood has no ground to stand on.

Why Confession Works

Because shortcomings are not strong by nature.

They survive on: silence denial repetition

identification (“this is who I am”)

Confession breaks the last one.

Once you say:

“This is in me, but it is not me,”

the flaw begins to loosen.

Why Confession Is Rare

Most people confuse confession with:

exposure weakness defeat

But confession is actually authority.

Only someone who is no longer owned by a fault

can speak of it plainly.

Those who confess early suffer briefly.

Those who never confess suffer continuously.

And those who confess fully

often discover something unexpected:

What leaves first is not the flaw—

but the burden of carrying it.

 that truth spoken dissolves what silence preserves.

This is the very heart of surrender, and the reason saints appear light, even when they speak of failure.