The Fallacy of Being a "Good Person"
Ever since I was a kid, I had this strange desire to be a “good kid.” The one who gets good grades, listens to his parents, and in general everyone likes. As I grew older, this evolved into being a “good person.”
I never really questioned where this came from growing up, but I’ve realized through years of self-reflection and therapy that this was my attempt as a child to feel accepted and loved. It felt like the only way I would be loved by my parents was if I was “good” enough. Good at school, good at listening to them, good at being the perfect immigrant kid assimilating into a new country who could get into a good college.
And guess what? There was never a “good” enough. It didn’t matter what I did. It would never be enough for my parents because I never let it be. My parents, at the end of the day, wanted the best for me. And I co-created a dynamic in which I was constantly chasing their validation. And naturally, they wanted me to succeed, so they did their best to push me in the direction I indicated I wanted to go.
But this direction wasn’t the one I actually wanted. It was my attempt to guess what they wanted. I had spent so long chasing my parents’ approval that my inner voice was drowning in the assumptions I was making about what would please others most.
It took some scrapes and bruises, but I eventually did learn to listen to that inner voice again. And when my parents were supportive of the more aligned decisions I made, I realized how much I had played myself. I had contributed so much to my own suffering by trying to be and guessing who I thought others wanted me to be.
Though I now live a life pretty aligned with what I enjoy and love, there are still shadows of this “I need to be a good person” that crop up.
One of the ways this shows up is in a sense of moral superiority masked by self-erasure. I’m better than other people because X. I used to judge myself for this so much, cringing at the ways I tried to make myself feel better about myself.
But I realized over time that this is a defense mechanism. Because I behave this way, no one can cancel me. No one can call me bad or messed up. I’m safe because I behave well. Sound familiar? Yep, it’s the same old story of guessing what others want from me and trying to be that.
I had a friend once tell me “You know Abhas, I bet there’s no one who’s worried about getting on your bad side.” It was a rather bittersweet and sobering realization. The reality is that because of the need to appear like a “good person,” I had often held back from expressing my needs, even when people crossed my boundaries.
I recall a time when I was tired at a party and was ready to leave, but the person whose birthday it was asked me to stay, and it suddenly felt like a ball and chain around my leg. I can’t disappoint them, it’s their birthday. So I stayed. I had a good time, don’t get me wrong, but it helped me realize how easily I’d been willing to let go of my own needs to be a “good” friend.
The other way the shadow of this old story shows up is in masking. I can be extremely self-protective in letting people see the “real” me. The “messy” me. Other people better not find out what kind of person I really am. So I lie. I show up in ways that betray myself. I become who I think others want me to be.
All of this had led to me being extremely terrified of fucking up, being cancelled, or doing the wrong thing at all times. What a fearful way to live, don’t you think? In this attempt to measure up to standards that I literally made up assumptions about, I began to live in fear of being found out, cancelled, and hurt.
It’s quite a lot like being in the closet. Walking around the halls of high school, I saw out queer people being whispered about, stared at, made fun of. My friends tell me how rigid, uptight, reserved I used to be back then. It felt like I put on a fucking straightjacket (lol) just to exist.
In these ongoing echoes of growing up a queer immigrant kid trying to fit in and be liked, I’m learning to have compassion for myself. There were lots of moments where this behavior was reinforced for me as a kid, that it wasn’t safe for me to be my real self– moments of shaming, moments of othering, moments of punishment.
But I’m learning to untangle those echoes from my life now. Because the reality is, I am safe now. I’m not living in a space where my physical and emotional well-being is under attack because I didn’t guess other peoples’ needs.
And that’s the work, I suppose. Of identifying my stories and having compassion for them, while being willing to surrender the ones that no longer serve me. Thank you for your service “good person,” I’m letting you go.
Honestly, all of this feels quite raw to share. Spilling the feels anywhere outside my journals and therapy feels like I’m walking around bubbling pools of geothermal liquid, ready to erupt at any time. Still, I’m finding the boardwalks between them that feel like a challenge, like moments of growth beyond my old stories.
But that’s the aim for me here– to allow this me to exist out there, to be seen, to be heard. Because otherwise, it’s like I’m still living in the closet.
Lmk what you thought of this piece, would love to hear from you!
Lots of love,
Abhas