Kindness Ain’t Blindness
This one is probably 100 percent going in the book I’m writing, but I wanted to give it a life of its own here first. I think people need to hear this: You can be kind without being weak. You can give people grace without giving them unlimited access. And you can walk through the world with a soft heart without closing your eyes.
Turns Out Grace Has 20/20 Vision
One of the harder lessons I have had to learn is that being kind does not require me to pretend I did not notice what happened.
For a long time, I confused being the “bigger person” with acting like I did not feel the weird energy, hear the little comments, recognize the patterns, or notice who showed up when it benefited them and disappeared when I needed something.
But the truth is, I noticed. I noticed far more than I probably let on. I just learned how to play dumb, say “it’s fine,” hand out another benefit of the doubt, and pretend I did not care—even when I absolutely did. I noticed who had no problem accepting my help, kindness, time, forgiveness, second chances, and emotional labor, but somehow treated basic decency like an unreasonable request when the tables turned. And still, I kept trying to be nice. Sometimes because kindness is simply part of who I am. Sometimes because I was trying to grow. And sometimes because my husband has taught me that turning the other cheek is usually better than turning into the person who hurt you.
And boy, is that hard sometimes.
The High Road Is Hard on the Knees
Let’s be honest. Sometimes being the bigger person feels less like spiritual growth and more like emotional CrossFit. You are over there trying to be healed, mature, and peaceful while your nervous system is asking, “Are we sure? Because I have a PowerPoint prepared.” I have smiled at people I knew had talked about me and shown grace when my first instinct was to say, “Actually, I have notes.”
And I do have ‘notes’. I am just learning that I do not always have to present them. That is part of the shift for me. I do not have to become cruel because somebody else was careless. I do not have to match every ugly thing someone brings into the room. And I do not have to let another person’s lack of character drag me back into a version of myself I have worked very hard to outgrow.
Choosing peace does not mean I missed what happened. Forgiving someone does not mean they automatically receive the same access to me they had before. Sometimes peace means I saw it, clocked it, filed it away, adjusted accordingly, and decided not to make a public production out of it. Growth does not always look like a dramatic speech or a big confrontation. Sometimes it looks like being polite while quietly moving someone to a different place in your life. Sometimes it means caring about someone from a safer distance. It means no longer handing matches to someone who has already proven they are a pyromaniac with your peace.
The Power of the Pause
This is much easier to write than it is to practice….When somebody is rude, shady, dismissive, or dragging strange negative energy into the room, my first instinct is not always to float above it like some peaceful little butterfly. Sometimes I want to defend myself, return the tone, match the attitude, and let the old me borrow the microphone for a minute. This is where the pause has to come in, because if I do not pause, my mouth may start writing checks that my healing is trying very hard not to cash. One thing I have learned is that there is usually a thought, followed by a feeling, followed by an action. This is where CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) kicks in.
>>> A thought shows up: They are disrespecting me. They are using me. They think I’m stupid.
>>> Then the feelings arrive – anger, hurt, embarrassment, resentment, or whichever emotional parade has decided to march through my chest that day.
That is the small space where I have a choice, even when it does not feel like one. I can react directly from the feeling, or I can pause long enough to decide what I actually want to do next. I do not do this perfectly. Let’s not get carried away and pretend I am out here levitating in linen pants. Because sometimes the pause is tiny. Sometimes it’s just me biting my tongue so hard I deserve a medal. Sometimes it’s taking a breath and saying a little prayer before I say something I cannot unsay. Other times, it is simply reminding myself that not every invitation to chaos requires an RSVP.
Bless Their Heart
I know prayer may not be everyone’s favorite answer. Some people get uncomfortable when you mention prayer, faith, spirituality, or whatever word makes them itch a little. I am not trying to preach at anybody, and I certainly am not pretending I have some perfect little halo situation happening over here. Praying for someone who hurt you, dismissed you, used you, talked about you, or made you feel small does not exactly feel like a spa day.
But I do pray for people. And I do not mean the petty country-song version of “I pray for you,” where you are secretly hoping their tire goes flat and their coffee stays cold. I try to pray that they receive the same things I would want for myself and the people I love: peace, healing, a softer heart, better choices, kinder words, and whatever else they need so they stop handing their unhealed mess to everyone around them like party favors.
I cannot control whether somebody is honest, appreciative, jealous, mean, careless, or walking around with a whole circus of issues they refuse to examine. Believe me, I have run away and joined enough of them. I am not applying for ringmaster anymore. All I can control is me.
Sometimes walking the talk means choosing kindness when my ego wants a closing argument, choosing peace when my pride wants a performance, and letting God, the universe, karma, consequences, or whatever you believe in handle the parts that were never mine to manage.
What I Try to Do Instead
When somebody is vexing my spirit, I try to slow down and ask myself: What am I thinking right now? What am I feeling because of that thought? And what am I about to do because of that feeling? Because sometimes the thing I want to do will not bring me peace. It will give me a tiny hit of satisfaction followed by regret, cleanup, or—depending on the day—a restraining order.
Kidding.
Mostly.
Pausing does not mean I let people run over me or pretend something did not hurt. It means I am trying to respond from the version of me I am becoming instead of reacting from the version of me I am healing from.
Maybe I need to speak up and say, “That did not sit right with me.”
Maybe I need to stay quiet, which is rude to my ‘id’…but occasionally necessary.
Maybe I need to step back, mute somebody, pray for them, bless them, block them, or stop giving them a front-row seat in my nervous system.
If this were easy, everybody would be emotionally regulated, drinking enough water, minding their own business, and not behaving like a raccoon in a dumpster fire.
But this is the work. This is the practice. This is where the shift actually happens.
When People Tell Me I’m Too Nice
I cannot tell you how many times people have said, “Jessica, you are too nice,” “Don’t be so nice,” or “That is why people take advantage of you.”
Most of the time, I know they are trying to protect me. But I think we have gotten a little strange about kindness, as though being nice is automatically an open invitation for someone to come inside and steal the furniture.
Who decided that?
Who decided kindness makes somebody weak? Who decided having a soft heart makes a person less intelligent, less aware, less protected, or less powerful? Being kind to somebody does not mean they one-upped me. It does not mean they won and I lost. It does not make me less of a person because I chose not to return whatever ugliness they brought my way. Kindness is not submission. It is not stupidity. And it is certainly not permission. It is a decision about how I want to move through the world.
Red Forman Called and Wants His Personality Back
Some people decide the opposite of nice must be the answer.
Maybe somebody hurt them. Maybe life disappointed them. Maybe they learned that if they remain cold enough, sharp enough, suspicious enough, or mean enough, nobody can get close enough to hurt them again. I think a lot of the people walking around expecting negative energy from everybody were hurt somewhere along the way. Their defenses probably make sense when you know the whole story. That does not excuse the way they treat people, but it may explain why they enter every room acting like everyone is out to get them. I understand why people put up walls. I have constructed a few myself—and at this point, mine probably have guard towers, a gift shop, and guided tours. But there is a difference between setting boundaries and becoming bitter. There is a difference between protecting your heart and acting like you no longer have one.
I do not want to become so “protected” that I am impossible to reach. I do not want to become so guarded that I mistake kindness for weakness, softness for stupidity, or generosity for an ulterior motive. I do not want to drink the bitterness Kool-Aid and call it wisdom.
That is not wisdom to me. That is letting the hurt win.
Kindness Is Complimentary. Access Has a Cover Charge.
My kindness is not always about whether another person deserves it. It is about deciding who I want to be. I refuse to let somebody else’s meanness, jealousy, gossip, selfishness, negativity, or general weirdness turn me into a hard, bitter, suspicious version of myself. I am not interested in becoming heartless because some people do not know what to do with a heart.
But being kind does not mean I must remain constantly available. It does not require me to be naïve or give someone unlimited access to my time, energy, forgiveness, home, help, platform, peace, or life. I do not need to stop being kind. I need to stop confusing kindness with access. Kindness may be freely given. Access is earned. People can receive my courtesy without receiving my confidence. They can receive my forgiveness without receiving the same position in my life. They can receive a smile without receiving another opportunity to mishandle me.
I can remain a loving person without volunteering to be repeatedly wounded.
Love You, Mean It—From Over There
I can be kind and still adjust. I can be gracious and still have boundaries. I can wish somebody well while no longer giving them full access to me. I can turn the other cheek without handing them a map to the other side of my face.
Kindness does not equal blindness.
I can keep my heart soft and my eyes open. I can stop making excuses for people, stop overlooking patterns that cost me my peace, and stop treating every “maybe they didn’t mean it” as a reason to abandon my own discernment. I do not want to walk through the world assuming everybody is out to get me. That sounds exhausting, lonely, and like an awful lot of negative juju to drag around every day.
I would rather begin with kindness and adjust when necessary.
My kindness is not proof that I am weak, unaware, or easily fooled. It is proof that I know who I am. I can see exactly what happened and still refuse to become ugly because of it. I can learn the lesson without letting it harden me. And I am no longer willing to lose the best parts of myself simply because somebody else has not found theirs.