That Annoying Sound of a Lie Pretending to Be the Truth

There was a time when I believed that a half-truth was still better than a lie. A rather comforting idea: if the truth is worth one hundred and the lie is worth zero, then a half-truth should be worth at least fifty.

But then, you realise it doesn’t quite work that way.

Once, in an important meeting, a colleague presented some carefully selected data. Nothing falsified, let’s be clear, everything was technically correct. But it was curated. It showed exactly what people wanted to see. And for a while, it worked.

Until, months later, the rest of the numbers came out... the inconvenient ones. From then on, it wasn’t just that colleague who lost credibility. The whole internal communication system did. Trust, when it breaks, makes a dull but unmistakable sound.

A lie, once uncovered, has clear boundaries. You recognise it, you call it out, you label it. It’s a mistake, yes, but at least it has a name.

A half-truth, on the other hand, creates confusion. It slips into the folds of communication, distorts the meaning, and contaminates even what was sincere. It leaves behind a recurring question: “So, what else are you not telling me?”

The Greeks, who were masters of such things, called it akrasia: the weakness that leads us to do the opposite of what we know is right. Those who tell a half-truth are often not liars. They’re people who know what they should say , but lack the courage. So they smooth it out, trim it down, adjust. And in doing so, without meaning to, they sow mistrust.

It starts small. An omitted detail, a harmless tweak. But then it becomes a habit. A tendency to tell only what suits us. Gradually, we slip into a selective way of speaking that corrodes relationships, personal and professional alike.

In companies, this habit can become culture. Successes are put on display, problems are filed away. The view of reality becomes distorted. No one sees the full picture ,not even the decision-makers. Appearances become the foundation. And when things collapse, we look for blame outside ourselves.

Paradoxically, this often starts with a good intention. “If I tell the whole truth, I might lose trust,” one thinks. But that’s where the real trick lies: trust is built by honesty. Not saying everything, but saying what’s true.

Being transparent doesn’t mean saying everything always. It means being honest about what can and cannot be said. Sometimes, a simple sentence is enough: “I don’t have all the information yet.” Better that than a polished story pretending to be complete.

What I often see is that the strongest teams are those where people can speak frankly, even when things aren’t going well. Where saying “I don’t know” isn’t seen as a weakness. Where making mistakes doesn’t mean being put on trial.

But to get there, courage is needed, especially from those in leadership. The courage to leave room for doubt, to not always have a quick answer, to tell the truth even when your voice shakes a little. That’s how you build a culture where truth can breathe.

Perhaps perfect transparency doesn’t exist. But integrity does. It doesn’t mean saying everything. It means aligning, as much as we can, what we think, what we say, and what we do.

And after all, truth has one great advantage: once told, you don’t need to remember what version you gave before.

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Being transparent doesn’t mean saying everything — it means telling the truth as honestly as possible. Try observing what effect a clear yet limited communication has over the next few days. You’ll see trust grows right there.

Explore how coaching can help you, and consider joining a pro bono coaching cycle with me. Nicola Arnese offers these sessions in his spare time to avoid conflicts with other professional commitments. Some scheduling flexibility may be needed.