Letting Go of Being “Good”Why I No Longer Aspire to Be a Good Person

I was raised to be a “good person” and for a long time, that is what I strived for. I just wanted to be good.

I tried to say the right things. I tried to be agreeable, kind, thoughtful, selfless. I tried not to take up too much space. I tried to earn my place in people’s hearts by being what they wanted me to be… what they thought was good.

But what does "good" even mean?

Most of us never stop to define it. We inherit it from our families, our faiths, our schools, and our culture. And for many of us—especially women, especially those who’ve experienced trauma—being “good” becomes a mask we wear to survive.

The Myth of the Good Person

When someone is labeled a "good person," it often means they embody someone else’s values, they validate others, they make people feel safe or comfortable because they live their lives playing by another person’s rulebook. These “good qualities” are not objective or fixed—they are entirely conditional—and that’s the problem.

If you live your life trying to be a "good person," you will spend your life performing in someone else’s theater. You will apologize for taking up space, second-guess your instincts, shrink to maintain connection, and strive endlessly to earn approval. One day, you may wake up so exhausted by the performance that you no longer recognize yourself.

When We Fall Short

If we believe that being good is the goal, what happens when we inevitably fall short? When we make a mistake, cause harm, say the wrong thing, or act out of alignment with our values?

We spiral into shame. Because if we aren’t “good,” we are “bad.” But humans aren’t binary, we are not good or bad—we aren’t born naturally good or evil. We are shaped by our biology, our upbringing, our relationships, and our circumstances. We are layered, inconsistent, tender and we also contradict ourselves—all the time, without even being aware of it most of the time.

My Mother and the Complexity of Love

My mother wrestled with this question until the day she died: “Am I a good person?” And I could never answer that for her.

She was both the best and the worst mother. She was complex. She was tender, kind, and affectionate—but she also did cruel things. During a mental health crisis, she called CPS on means abandoned me and my sister for weeks when I was a teenager. And yet, I could deeply feel that she was also in pain. She was trying, in her own way, to survive.

So, was she a good person? Sometimes. Was she a bad person? Sometimes. It’s not my job to tally and keep score of her actions to make a determination of her morality. I just saw her pain, saw her heart, and loved her through it—despite the impact on me.

I didn’t love her because she was good— I loved her because she was real—because she was mine. I saw the full spectrum of who she was, not just my mom, but this beautiful, complex human, and loved her anyway. That’s the kind of love we all deserve—not earned by perfect embodiment of good, but rooted in the complexity of our humanity.

I’d Rather Be Real Than "Good"

I no longer aspire to be a “good person.”

I want to be a whole person—one who can hold the contradictions of being human without folding under them. I want to tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I want to name my needs without apology, speak honestly even when it risks disappointing someone, and stay anchored in my integrity even when approval is withheld.

I want to take responsibility when I cause harm—not from a place of shame, but from a place of commitment to growth and repair. I want to offer genuine accountability, not performative guilt. And I want to know, in my bones, that doing so does not make me less worthy of love, but more capable of receiving it honestly.

I want to live by my values—not the ones handed to me by fear, culture, or someone else’s comfort, but the ones I have chosen. The ones I keep returning to, even when I fall short.

I don’t want to be palatable. I don’t want to be a projection of what others expect me to be.

I want to be authentic.

Because authenticity isn’t about being palatable—it’s about presence. It’s about showing up as you are, not as who you think you should be. And it’s that kind of presence—the kind rooted in truth, even when it’s messy—is what makes connection meaningful. It’s what makes a life feel yours.