Am I a Good Person?

I think we all have moments in which we ask ourselves if we are “good.” I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. What does it mean to be good? How do we judge ourselves? And then, what do we do if we are confronted by actions that do not sit well with the perception of what it means to be a good person? How do we cope with that?

First, the concept of good.

Universally, we agree on a few things. Murder is bad. Stealing is wrong. Lying is not good behavior. We want bad guys to be punished and good guys to flourish. These things seem black and white, but despite our desire for unmoving boundaries and definitions, there is a lot of nuance to consider. Murder can seem justified in light of abuse. Stealing a password for Netflix is no big deal, right? Telling “little white lies” is something we all do — and more often than we would like to admit. Plus, we all want family and friends to be in our corner no matter what. We want them to reassure us we are good, even if we have done something bad. Ultimately, there is a disconnect between how we want to see the world and how we see ourselves. We judge ourselves by our intentions rather than our actions, but feel uncomfortable doing the same in a broader sense. Moreover, having moral rigidity when it comes to other people serves a purpose because seeing bad guys get punished helps us justify our shades of grey. We’re not as bad as that person.That person deserved what they got. So our perception of good is greatly affected by our own choices and how we have justified them.

Another thing that affects our perception of good is what we value. I was on a flight recently with a woman who strongly believed that the pandemic was used as a way to control the population. She had genuine good intentions to talk to me about it and help me “see the light.” During the course of the conversation, she said she felt that the nation needed to be cleansed and that it would take sacrifice and maybe suffering, but that would be worth the end result. I told her I thought that people in Al Qaeda would likely agree. She was shocked, but I explained that terrorists often feel they are sacrificing for the greater good and would likely consider themselves to be very good, devoted people. Righteous indignation is fueled by beliefs that are grounded in defending “what is right” but often lead to actions that are cruel and lack empathy or insight.

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In the end, we all have an idea of what it means to be good that fits in with our particular world view or guarded perception of ourselves — and since it is a standard that no one can keep all the time, it is subject to all kinds of harsh judgements, mitigations, and projecting. So what does it mean? How can we truly be good, or even know that we are? Here is what I’ve come to: being good is the ability to look at your actions, even the hurtful ones and see them for what they are. To be good, we have to accept that we are bad.

How do we judge ourselves?

This is a bit complicated. Sometimes we have to make decisions that are painful to others. We set limits with children, break up with lovers, and leave toxic friendships behind. When this happens, there are usually a lot of accusations thrown around. We become plagued with self-doubt. Am I being a bad friend/lover/parent? Many have been caught in the trap of staying where they shouldn’t out of a misguided sense of “goodness.” This is especially true when there isn’t any understanding or validation. Therefor, it is important to keep in mind the difference between assertive and aggressive communication. Setting a boundary or ending a relationship can be done assertively without name-calling and mean-spiritedness. If you find yourself in a situation where you are accused of being mean due to a boundary, ask yourself if your words and actions have been clear and assertive without malice or blame. In short, have you upheld or guarded the dignity of the other person to the best of your ability? You can call a situation for what it is without sacrificing the dignity of another person. For example, you can say to an addicted child “I love you and nothing can change that, but you cannot stay here. It isn’t safe for the rest of our family.” Though that is incredibly hard, it is not mean, bad, or unkind — and it upholds the dignity of the other. Upholding another person’s dignity when they have done wrong is very difficult because it feels like coddling. It seems more important to instill shame than to guard self-respect. However, if dignity is upheld, then communication and more importantly, reflection, becomes possible. If shame is employed, defenses go up and reflection is thrown out the window. The most important measure for goodness when your actions and words are not understood or validated is the answer to the question — did I do my best to uphold the dignity of the other person while holding firm to this boundary?

There are other times when you have to take a hard look at your words or actions and just acknowledge them as wrong. Here’s an example: A few days ago, my daughter told me about a therapy session she had recently had. She said that it was the first time she talked about her childhood because she is usually so protective of me and others perceptions of me. Uh-oh. I listened, gripping the steering wheel, my heart speeding. She told me how difficult her childhood was, how she was neglected and handed off to grandma and friends. She described feeling lonely and afraid. She didn’t learn things other kids knew — how to eat politely at a table, how to tie her shoes, or brush her teeth. She learned to equate care with illness — attention with need. It has impacted her life greatly. And just like that, my heart was in my stomach. Here is the thing though. She is right. I could justify it by my intentions, compare my parenting to that of my mother and tell myself I did better than her. I could cry to my friends and have them reassure me of my goodness. But the fact is, I was not a good parent to her during her childhood. I fucked up in a big way.

It is really tempting when confronted with moral failure to list all the things you have done right. (What about all the birthday parties? The fact that I was alone? The decisions and sacrifices I made for you?) Maybe all of those things existed and maybe all your intentions were good, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how you have made the people around you feel. So I listened. I apologized. I asked what I could do to make amends. But internally, a war was waging: Am I a bad person? A bad mom? What do I do with this?

I see this kind of struggle in the people around me. I work in a middle school and part of our discussions over the last year have been around the topic of bias. Nobody wants to think they are a racist, so because they are “not racists” they stop evaluating their actions and perceptions towards others. As a result, we end up with a lot of well intentioned people making snap judgements about kids, parents, and communities. If I admit to a bias against kids who sag their jeans, does that mean I am a racist? If I admit that I neglected my daughter, does that mean I’m a bad mother? How do we accept and evaluate our behavior without using “but I’m a good person” as a shield, and ultimately as a way to stop the conversation?

How do I reconcile doing bad things with being a good person?

First I think we all need to accept that we are going to make some bad judgements. Not because the circumstances made us, or our upbringing made us, or we were tricked or fooled — but because we are humans and humans do dumb, selfish and misguided things all the time. Being good or bad isn’t a fixed state, and it isn’t a blanket. I could be a good friend AND a bad parent. I could be an excellent employee AND a terrible spouse. Goodness isn’t all encompassing, and neither is bad.

When my daughter first told me about her experience of her childhood, I wanted to dismiss it as untrue. I knew I loved her. I knew that I have always wanted to be a mom and that being a good person was at the top of my priority list. I wrestled with accepting her experience because I was worried about what it meant about my self-perception. Could I accept that I was a neglectful parent AND that I loved my child? That I hurt her emotionally AND that we could move forward?

The hardest thing about accepting the bad we have done is that sometimes the damage can’t be fixed. I can’t go back and change things. I wish I could. For some people, the chance to amend isn’t an option anymore. There is no chance to say I’m sorry or to fix anything. Then what? What do you do with the knowledge that you have done wrong, believed wrong, caused pain?

Coping.

Forgiveness is difficult under most circumstances, but especially when applied to oneself in the absence of justification or reconciliation. I wish I could say I’ve totally forgiven myself for the way I made my daughter feel, for the damage that I did by being selfish. I know why I behaved the way I did. I know I didn’t mean to hurt her. I also know I am doing better. I am committed to growing and changing. But sometimes, I still feel the pain of regret. I heard once that guilt is a good emotion because it promotes change. But shame is self-indulgent. It promotes wallowing, being stuck. I try to remember that. When I feel that guilt over the past, I ask myself what I can do to demonstrate care for my kids. I reevaluate my priorities. I look at myself and examine whether I am coping through escape, or how my kids might feel about our interactions that day.

I know I can’t just dismiss what I’ve done, but I can actively work on doing better. Self-forgiveness is accepting that I have messed up, but knowing that it doesn’t have to define me or my future relationships. Sometimes it is hard and the regret is stinging and present. Sometimes I feel the seed of resentment or justification growing. In those moments I am tempted to justify, to use “but I’m a good person” like a shield. But that’s not really honest, and it’s not really growth. If I really want to be good. I have to accept the bad and work to be better. It is a daily commitment to see myself for my flaws and my light — and just try to shine a bit brighter.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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