Maybe some truths are better kept inside and not displayed on the surface for everybody to gawk at. Masks are jolly useful. I don’t want every muppet out there to see my inner soul, thanks. That’s for the people who really count, and not even all of them all of the time. There are one or two things that perhaps should be kept between a person and their Gods.
I like to be private. We always know when there is a moment to dig deeper. In any case, most people aren’t interested. They are busy contemplating their own inner truths to care about mine.

The question I always ask when I meet someone, especially in social settings – is the truth you present subjective?

Many just mask themselves (@sarah brings a great point) with fancy told-to-yourself truths to conceal their actual objective self.

At least that has been my impression.

I think the most liberating thing in the world is to realise that almost nobody else cares about your inner self. We are all obsessed with our own anxious churning over, what did she think about me? did I look stupid? did I talk too much? should I have said that? – it goes on and on. We can walk freely and be exactly who we like because the world is blind. Everybody is looking inwards.
Even when we fall in love we aren’t looking out. We create an image of the perfect lover and fall in love with that, feeling shocked and betrayed when our love turns out not to be that lover.
Real love is the painstaking learning about another soul, being able to see their fears and selfishnesses and anger and accepting them anyway because we understand how they have come by them, and because we know that our own are just as awful. Real love is faithfully standing at that person’s side, fighting their corner even when their inner horrors have led them into terrible, humiliating mistakes, just like our own do sometimes.
Love thy neighbour.
Also love thy partner, thy children, thy friends, and try to have a bit of love left over for the person who cut you up on the motorway and the one who pushed in front of you in the supermarket queue.
This has got a bit rambling and off topic perhaps, but I’m saying it anyway.
I’m not sure what I think about somebody knowing me perfectly. It’s very nice when somebody knows exactly how I like my coffee. I’m not sure I want them peering into the grubby recesses of my imaginings.