I’m starting to feel more and more that sincerity is a kind of arrogance.

Not that kind of arrogant, self-important arrogance that looks down on others, but a very quiet arrogance:

I no longer need to manage how you see me.

You think I'm vain, you can.

You think I'm utilitarian, you can.

It's okay if you think I'm arrogant, foolish, crude, emotional, full of ambition—maybe even that sometimes I'm really unpleasant.

Because before you noticed these things, I might have already noticed them.

Even the things you use to attack me today might already be things I have spent the past few years repeatedly interrogating myself with.

You think you’ve seen through me, but what you actually see is only a tiny part of the process where I examine myself.

So real sincerity isn’t “telling you everything.”

Real sincerity is:

I no longer need to hide myself to win your liking; I also don’t need to package myself to prove my worth.

Between these two, it looks like there’s only a little difference, but in reality the gap is enormous.

I. Sincerity isn’t “saying everything,” it’s “no longer maintaining self-esteem through disguise”

Many people’s biggest misunderstanding of sincerity is that they take sincerity as confession.

“That’s who I am—I say what I think.”

“I’m just lustful—I admit it.”

“I’ve got a bad temper—you can just tolerate it.”

“I’m selfish—I never pretend.”

“My words are harsh, but at least they’re real.”

Is this really called sincerity?

Not necessarily.

Just dumping your desires, flaws, and animal instincts onto others as-is doesn’t equal self-knowledge.

When someone says, “That’s just how I am,” sometimes it’s not self-awareness, but paperwork for self-exemption.

I’ve already admitted I’m a jerk—what can you do to me now?

I’ve said I’m useless—why are you still criticizing me?

I’ve already admitted I’m lustful—what are you asking me to restrain?

This isn’t just frankness.

This is using self-awareness as self-exemption.

True self-awareness is exactly the opposite.

It won’t make you feel more at ease; it will only make you feel worse.

Because once you truly see yourself clearly, you won’t be so quick to push responsibility onto others.

You start noticing:

Turns out I wasn’t “just unlucky.”

Turns out I’m not “everyone is targeting me.”

Turns out my failure can’t be explained simply by “this world isn’t fair.”

Turns out what I truly lacked was ability.

Turns out my expression skills are really bad.

Turns out I’m really bad at emotional control.

Turns out I’m just lazy.

Turns out I’m vain.

Turns out I’m jealous.

Turns out I was afraid of failing.

Turns out I don’t have the ability to build true intimacy.

Turns out I’ve been using a set of beautiful explanations to protect a fragile self.

That’s what’s truly scary about sincerity.

It doesn’t make you comfortable—it deprives you of excuses.

II. True sincerity first is being sincere with yourself

Psychologist Carl Rogers proposed a very important concept: congruence, meaning “in one accord.”

In simple terms: don’t stay for a long time in a state of huge split between a person’s real experiences, self-awareness, and external expression.

When the gap between “the self I think I am” and “the real self” becomes too big, a person will produce a strong sense of incongruity. APA also offers a similar explanation for “incongruence” in Rogers’ theory: when there is a large gap between the real self and the ideal self, psychological distress may occur. (APA Dictionary of Psychology)

So a person who truly begins to know themselves often goes through a very painful stage:

That self I used to believe in might not even exist.

I used to think I was smart.

Later I found out I was just information-blocked.

I used to think I had principles.

Later I found out that sometimes it’s just because the interests aren’t big enough.

I used to think I was very kind.

Later I realized I just hadn’t run into something that truly touches real interests.

I used to think I had a straightforward temper.

Later I found out that I just have poor emotional regulation ability.

I used to think I was very sincere.

Later I found out that my so-called “sincerity” was mixed with a lot of vanity, narcissism, a need to prove, and aggressiveness.

This step is extremely cruel.

Because you have to dismantle that “ideal self” you protected for so many years.

And what we find hardest to admit is often not that we’ve done one wrong thing.

And it’s this:

I might never have been the person I thought I was.

III. Sartre’s so-called “self-deception” is actually refusing to take responsibility for who you are

French philosopher Sartre talked about a very harsh concept: bad faith, usually translated as “self-deception” or “malicious self-deception.”

It’s not simple lying.

It’s more like a person deliberately interpreting themselves as something already defined, in order to avoid freedom and responsibility.

I’m just like this.

I can’t.

That’s just my personality.

The environment determines me.

It’s others who made me become like this.

I have no choice.

Sartre believes that people easily treat themselves as a fixed, already-finished “thing,” thereby escaping the possibility that they can still choose and change. Existentialist authenticity exactly requires a person to admit their situation while also admitting that they still need to take responsibility for their choices. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

So sometimes, “That’s just how I am” isn’t stable personality.

It might be an escape from personality.

Because as long as I define myself as fixed, I won’t have to change.

“I’ve got a bad temper.”

Alright, the problem is solved.

“I’m just lazy.”

Alright, the problem is solved.

“I just don’t do well socially.”

Alright, the problem is solved.

“I just don’t have any luck with women.”

Alright, the problem is solved.

“This society is all about looks and money.”

Alright, the problem is solved.

All questions have been explained.

So one person gets this very comfortable feeling:

I haven’t failed; I’m just being treated the way the world treats people.

That’s the most dangerous part.

Because explanations can give you dignity, or they can become a cage for you.

IV. So real sincerity inevitably leads to responsibility.

If someone truly recognizes that they’re lazy, the next step won’t be posting to朋友圈 every day:

“I’m just a lazy jerk.”

Instead, I start forcing myself to take action.

If someone truly realizes their communication skills are poor, they won’t keep turning “I’m not good with words” into a persona.

They practice expressing themselves.

If someone truly knows they have limited experience, they won’t package ignorance as “I just don’t like those fake things.”

He will go read, travel, work, meet people, and do things.

If someone truly knows their own emotional regulation is poor, they won’t constantly demand others to “tolerate my temper.”

They start observing their own emotions, looking for triggers, training themselves not to act immediately when emotions flare up.

This is also a very important idea in Aristotle’s ethics:

Personality isn’t formed by declarations; it’s formed through repeated actions.

A brave person isn’t brave because they announce that they are; they do brave actions again and again. Traits like moderation, justice, and so on are also formed through ongoing practice and habits. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

So:

Knowing yourself is the first step.

Admitting yourself is the second step.

Changing yourself is the third step.

And only the third step truly decides whether the first two have any meaning.

V. When someone says, “I’m an idiot,” it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve truly recognized their own foolishness.

That’s also why I’m getting more and more alert to a so-called “sincerity.”

“I’m a total idiot.”

“I’m just trash.”

“I’m just useless.”

“That’s just me.”

It sounds especially open and honest.

Actually, sometimes it’s a higher-level form of avoidance.

Because self-mockery is such a cheap thing to do.

It can even let you claim the moral high ground in advance.

You’re cursing at me?

I already knew.

You criticize me?

I’ve even cursed myself.

What else can you say?

So that one sentence, “That’s just how I am,” cuts off all the problems that follow.

True self-reflection isn’t putting labels on yourself—it’s continuing to ask questions deeper.

Why am I like this?

Why do I need this thing?

Why am I afraid of this person?

Why do I envy him?

Why do I have to prove myself?

Why do I care so much what others think of me?

Why do I always attribute failure to others?

Why do I prefer attacking others instead of admitting I don’t have the ability?

You keep asking deeper and deeper.

When you ask all the way to the end, you’ll find that many problems ultimately point to something very uncomfortable:

Responsibility.

VI. Sincerity is not self-shaming; it’s allowing yourself to have both “good” and “bad” at the same time

Here we must mention a very important distinction:

Self-examination isn’t self-hatred.

Many people understand “harshly judging yourself” as cursing yourself every day, denying yourself, and torturing yourself.

This can also be a kind of self-love.

Because “Why am I so pathetic?” “Why am I so useless?” looks like you’re denying yourself, but actually you’re still focusing all your attention on yourself.

Modern psychological research also reminds us that self-criticism isn’t necessarily better the stronger it is. Research on self-compassion finds that self-compassion is associated with authenticity; related experimental research also finds that self-compassion reduces fear of negative evaluation, thereby increasing subjective authenticity. (PubMed)

In other words:

Truly mature people aren’t the harshest with themselves; they’re the most honest with themselves.

These two things are different.

If I make a mistake, I admit it.

If my abilities aren’t enough, I admit it.

If I hurt others, I’ll take responsibility.

But I don’t need to announce that my whole existence has no value because of one failure.

Because true self-awareness is separating facts from personality.

I did something wrong here.

It doesn’t mean I’m completely wrong.

My abilities aren’t enough right now.

It doesn’t mean I’ll never have the ability.

Today I’m being really stupid.

It doesn’t mean I’m only allowed to be stupid forever.

That’s how a mature self relates.

A review of studies also shows that interventions related to self-compassion can, to a certain extent, reduce fear of self-criticism; however, current research still has limitations in sample size, heterogeneity, and study quality, so it can’t simply be understood as “the more you love yourself, the better.” (PubMed)

Real sincerity is:

I can see my own evil, but I don’t identify with my evil.

I can admit my desires, but I don’t have to obey them.

I can know I’m vain, but I don’t have to become a slave to vanity.

I can admit I’m jealous, but I won’t turn jealousy into a reason to hurt others.

I know I have animalistic instincts, so I need boundaries, rules, and self-discipline.

VII. So true sincerity has never been “doing whatever I want.”

This is especially important.

Many people understand “being yourself” as:

If I want to curse, I’ll curse.

If I want to sleep, I’ll sleep.

I want to take advantage if I can.

Whoever I like, I’ll hassle.

If I’m annoyed, I vent.

I am real.

Not.

That isn’t being yourself; it’s being led around by yourself.

If someone can’t even control their own desires, yet calls this loss of control “real,” then they’re just mistaking “impulse” for “personality.”

Real freedom is exactly the opposite.

I know what I want.

But I can decide whether or not to do it.

I know I’m furious.

But I can decide not to let anger speak for me.

I know I’m jealous.

But I don’t need to destroy others because of jealousy.

I know I have desires.

But I can still choose the rules.

That’s what “personality” is.

Sincerity isn’t without constraints; it means I know why I constrain myself.

VIII. So sincerity has another part that is often ignored: boundaries.

Real sincerity is absolutely not going totally naked to everyone.

I fully agree with a saying:

Sincerity is a form of permission.

But here, “permission” doesn’t mean who is noble or who is lowly.

Instead:

Reality is something that requires the capacity to carry relationships.

Not everyone can understand complex people.

A mature person can have ambition and kindness at the same time, utilitarianism and principles, desire and restraint, sharpness and gentleness.

But many people can’t understand this kind of complexity.

They need to compress people into a label.

Do you have ambition?

You’re just bad.

Do you have desires?

You’re vulgar.

Do you make money?

You’re just vulgar.

Are you confident?

You’re just posing.

You self-deprecate?

He may really think you can’t do it.

That’s why one of the most important abilities between people is the ability to hold complexity.

Some people can only accept simple personas.

You can only be a good person or a bad person.

You can only be strong or weak.

It can only be success or failure.

It can only be kindness or utilitarianism.

And real maturity knows:

Humans are naturally full of contradictions.

A person can be selfish, and also extremely generous in certain matters.

A person can be arrogant, or very kind.

A person can be very utilitarian, yet never compromise on certain principles.

A person can be vulgar, yet still have boundaries.

A person can be sharp, yet compassionate.

To be able to see these contradictions is truly understanding a person.

IX. So in peer relationships, I’m actually more willing to show my real self.

Because peers at the same level sometimes can understand.

I can tell you my ambitions.

I can tell you my desires.

You can tell you that I’ve failed before.

You can tell you that sometimes I’m really stupid.

You can tell me that I’m vain too.

You can tell me what I’m afraid of.

I can tell you what I truly want.

Because I don’t need to maintain a relationship through disguise.

You understand me best.

You don’t understand—that’s fine too.

We can keep discussing.

We can argue.

We can undermine each other.

They can even end up disliking each other.

But at least you know:

You’re facing a whole person, not a persona someone designed just to get you to like them.

And that is a very strange kind of ease.

Because when you no longer need everyone to like you, you gain the freedom to truly express yourself.

Rogers’ humanistic psychology emphasizes “sincerity, congruence,” and respect for individual autonomy. Related psychotherapy theories don’t interpret sincerity as dumping all emotions without filtering; they stress that genuine expression still needs to be connected with relationships, understanding, and purpose. (American Psychological Association)

So real sincerity is never, “I say whatever comes to mind.”

Instead:

What I say matches what I truly take responsibility for.

X. When socializing downwards, you must, in particular, know how to hide your sharpness.

Here, “downward” isn’t about being higher or lower in wealth, education, or status.

It means:

You judge that the other person hasn’t yet developed the ability to process complex information and carry a real relationship.

At this time, the best way is often neither to educate him nor to prove yourself.

It’s politeness.

Rules.

Boundaries.

Keep your distance.

You don’t need to show your wounds to someone who only knows how to mock you with them.

And you don’t need to hand your real thoughts to someone who is destined to misuse information.

And you don’t need to lay all your trump cards on the table just to prove you’re above it and open.

Truly mature people know:

Sincerity and privacy have never conflicted.

I can be very sincere, but I won’t tell you everything.

I can choose not to lie, but I can choose silence.

I can respect you, but I don’t have to account for my whole life to you.

I can be kind to you, but I don’t have to hand my vulnerability to you.

That’s not hypocrisy.

That’s a boundary.

XI. Being weak, in fact, is a very effective way to recognize a person

It’s very interesting when someone occasionally shows weakness in social settings.

Because it will quickly reveal how the other person actually understands relationships between people.

A mature person, when they see your weakness, usually knows:

You’re just temporarily setting aside your sharp edge.

They won’t immediately interpret your modesty as incompetence.

It won’t be because you admit a flaw that you think you’ve gained control over them.

But for someone who builds self-esteem through constant comparison, it may be completely different.

Say one thing:

“This, I really don’t understand that well.”

He immediately starts teaching you.

Say one thing:

“I’m not in the best state lately.”

He starts teaching you how to live.

Make a self-deprecating joke.

He suddenly starts mocking you for real.

You admit a flaw.

He immediately enlarges this flaw into a judgment about your whole personality.

At this point you know one thing:

He didn’t really understand your weakness; he was just waiting for a position where he could prove he’s higher than you.

So the interesting part of weakness isn’t that it lets others bully you.

And it’s also about:

It helps you observe how someone treats a person who, for the moment, poses no threat.

A person’s level often isn’t judged by how they treat the strong; it’s judged by whether they rush in to deliver another blow right after they see that others have temporarily set down their weapons.

XII. True sincerity is selection, not pleasing

So I’m increasingly thinking:

Showing your real self isn’t for winning everyone’s approval; it’s for selection.

This sentence is especially important.

If I have to tailor myself into the version you like so that you’re willing to come closer to me, then what you like isn’t me.

What you like is the version of me that I made to win your approval.

What meaning does a relationship like this have?

I’ll be a bit more humorous today.

Tomorrow, act a bit more mature.

Hide your desires after the fact.

Hide your vulnerability again in a few days.

Then keep observing:

What do you like?

What do you hate?

What should I say?

Shouldn’t I say anything?

In the end, I got a result:

Everyone likes a completely imaginary “me.”

That’s the loneliest thing of all.

Real sincerity is the opposite.

I put forward a relatively complete version of myself.

You like.

Very good.

You don’t like it.

And it doesn’t matter.

You get it.

We can keep going.

You don’t understand.

Then take care of yourselves.

The roads of the martial world are long.

No need to force it.

Because in the end, truly mature people will understand:

Someone who likes cheaply, with understanding that comes with barriers.

Thirteen, so “sincerity is a kind of arrogance”—what exactly is that arrogance?

Not “I’m better than you.”

Instead:

I no longer treat your judgment as my personality’s verdict.

If you say I’m not good, I’ll listen.

Because you might be right.

You point out my problem, and I’ll look at it.

Because maybe I really do have a problem.

But in the end whether I change or not is decided by me.

This is true agency.

You can criticize me.

But you can’t define who I am for me.

You can hate me.

But your dislike won’t automatically prove that I’m the bad guy.

You can look down on me.

But your contempt won’t automatically make me inferior.

Even:

Your judgment about me could be completely correct.

But even so, it doesn’t naturally come with the power to decide my life.

I’ll take your opinions back and examine myself.

If you’re right, I’ll change.

If you said it wrong, I’ll let it go.

That’s real freedom.

Fourteen, the person who truly knows themselves will eventually change

Why?

Because knowing in itself is a kind of distance.

You used to be foolish.

Later you start observing your own foolishness.

This means you’re no longer completely equal to that foolish self.

You used to be dragged around by emotions.

Later, you’ll be able to see what’s happening when emotions arise:

“I’m angry right now.”

This “seeing” is a new position.

You used to envy someone.

Later you start asking:

“Why do I envy him?”

At this point, you’re already standing outside jealousy and observing it.

You used to be vain.

Later you’re able to discover that:

“I really want to prove myself right now.”

You’ve started pulling away from vanity.

So real self-awareness isn’t about slapping yourself with a label.

It’s about gaining the ability to observe yourself.

To be able to observe yourself means you have the possibility of changing yourself.

This is actually very close to a plain philosophical principle:

The first negation breaks the illusion of “I’m fine.”

The second negation breaks the excuse of “I admit there’s a problem, so I don’t need to change.”

Then comes the new self.

The first time:

“I’m really awesome.”

Second time:

“I used to be so stupid.”

Third time:

“Then I’ll change all these dumb things one by one.”

Once you really change it, you might start feeling again:

“Looks like I’m pretty awesome.”

But this time is different.

The previous “awesome” was just fantasy.

The later “awesome” has factual support.

That’s real growth.

Fifteen, a truly complete person cannot be an empty shell

So I especially like a certain kind of person:

He knows where he’s strong.

And he also knows where he’s really dumb.

He knows his own desires.

And he also knows his boundaries.

He knows his own ambition.

And he also knows his own responsibility.

He knows he has been vicious before.

But he no longer lives by baseness.

He knows he has vanity.

But he doesn’t need vanity to prove himself.

He knows he’s afraid of failure.

But he still goes and does things.

He knows he isn’t smart enough.

So he works hard to study.

Know that you lack experience.

So he keeps going out to see the world.

Knowing I have poor communication skills.

So he keeps practicing.

I know I’m prone to emotions.

So he slowly learned to control himself.

This is the real “knowing yourself.”

It’s not that I finally know who I am.

But it’s this:

I know who I am—so I know what I should become next.

That’s the real value of self-awareness.

XVI. Finally, why is sincerity a luxury?

Because it’s too expensive.

It requires you to give up a lot:

Paying with vanity.

Paying with excuses.

Paying with self-deception.

Paying with the illusion of “I’m always right.”

Paying with the comfort of “it’s all because everyone harmed me.”

Even that self-image you’ve maintained for so many years.

You have to admit:

Sometimes I really am not good enough.

Sometimes I really am dumb.

Sometimes I’m really selfish.

Sometimes I really do feel jealous.

Sometimes I really do avoid things.

Sometimes I really do hurt others.

Sometimes I’m not as noble as I imagine.

But most importantly:

After I know all this, I still’m willing to rebuild myself again.

That’s sincerity.

So, sincerity has never been:

“That’s just how I am—love it or deal with it.”

Real sincerity is:

“I know I’m like this right now, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always be like this.”

Between these two sentences, there’s a person’s capacity for growth.

The former is resignation.

The latter is responsibility.

The first one is like issuing credentials to yourself.

The latter is doing surgery on yourself.

So I increasingly believe:

Sincerity isn’t an attitude; it’s an ability.

It requires you to be able to bear the truth.

Bear your own truth.

Bear other people’s truth.

Bearing the truth that others don’t like you.

And I also accept the truth that when I discover it, I’m not as great as I thought I was.

More importantly, after seeing all of this clearly, you’re still willing to take responsibility for yourself.

So sincerity does have a bit of arrogance, for sure.

But it’s not arrogance toward others.

It’s arrogance toward the act of pleasing the world.

I don’t need everyone to like me.

I don’t need everyone to understand me.

You can misunderstand me.

You can hate me.

Even some of your judgments about me might be completely correct.

I’ll listen.

I’ll examine it.

I’ll correct it.

But I won’t hand my personality over to your judgment to keep.

Because this real, miserable, full of desire, flawed me—constantly examined and revised by myself—

It’s something I dug out from myself little by little.

It’s not a persona.

Not packaging.

Not a line from a朋友圈 (circle of friends).

Not the cheap self-deprecation of “I’m just a bad person.”

And it’s not that after handing your instincts over to others, you force them to praise your openness.

It’s that I know I have light in me, and I also know I have dirt in me.

I know what I’m worthy of being proud of, and I know what I’m not worthy of forgiveness for.

I know what I used to be like.

And they also know what kind of person they’re becoming.

So I don’t need to prove myself to everyone.

I only need to keep living myself clearly.

People who truly understand will naturally understand.

It’s fine if you don’t understand.

Sincerity isn’t for charity to help people.

First, it should be used to illuminate yourself.

Then, through action, fix that self little by little.

As for what others think—

The roads of the martial world are long.

Take care of yourselves.