Stand In The Place Where You Live

I think most people believe themselves to be the kind of person who stands up for what’s right. We imagine ourselves speaking out against injustice, defending the truth, and refusing to stay silent in the face of wrongdoing. But the true test doesn’t come from what we champion from afar, it hits far closer to home, often in our personal lives, when doing the right thing means taking real life risks. There’s far more at stake when we stand up to those around us. It’s in those moments that our principles are no longer hypothetical. They become the choices that mold our world and dictate our character.

I’m obsessed with justice, and have been as long as I can remember. When I was small, while most little girls my age were drifting off to sleep dreaming of being a princess or having a pony, I was lying in bed having mock arguments in my head - standing up to bullies, defending the innocent, delivering impassioned monologues about right vs. wrong. Whether it was a situation I witnessed at school or something I saw on TV, I was always the hero in my own mind, armed with truth and a flair for persuasive closing arguments. Courtroom dramas have always been my favorite genre, and I probably would have wanted to be an attorney if it were slightly more glamorous and didn’t require so much school, stuffy regulations and pantyhose.

For some reason I was fearless as a kid, never afraid to speak my mind. I’m not exactly sure where that came from or where it went. Although I’m not as tough as I used to be, I never lost the propensity to be an advocate for what I believe in, which, at its crux, is “live and let live.”

But somewhere, somehow, I apparently adopted the belief that in order to be a “good person” I always had to turn the other cheek when injustice was done to me. And I’ve noticed I’m not alone in that. A lot of deeply ethical people I know are quick to stand up for what’s right in the world, but when it comes to themselves, they go quiet. They endure, excuse, or spiritualize the harm, as if self-respect is somehow less noble than compassion.

I think, personally, the change for me came when I started to get more spiritual. Somewhere in the process of learning about forgiveness, compassion, and karma, I may have taken it too far in the other direction. Instead of seeking justice in my own life, I would absorb whatever was done to me, take the lesson, and try my hardest to move on. The people who know me best know this aspect of my character very well. It wasn’t until last year when I experienced harm at the hands of someone who knew this character trait about me, someone I trusted, that I began to see it clearly. It was a betrayal that was almost surgical: cold, clean and calculated, and a violation so extreme it slapped me awake. I suddenly realized I had been swallowing injustice in the name of growth, and calling it grace. I’d trained myself to heal around the wound instead of acknowledging the knife.

The moment came during a conversation with two of my closest friends. We were unpacking what had been done to me, and why this person felt they would get away with it, when my sweet friend Leylen, God bless her, said “it’s because you’re the human version of a Golden Retriever, and he knows it.” At first I laughed, we all did. But then the truth of it hit me hard when she clarified her meaning. It wasn’t just because I’m loyal, trusting, affectionate (and blonde). She was gently pointing out that I had learned to endure abuse from someone I loved and, instead of biting back, I’d roll over and show them my belly.

It was a sobering realization. I had allowed someone I trusted to take characteristics about myself that I once thought were virtuous, and use them to hurt me.

I think we all expect other people to feel and behave the way we would, but the truth is that there are all kinds of ruthless people on this planet who, for whatever reason, lack the empathy that guides and restrains the rest of us. It made me stop and ask: Is this really what it means to be a “good person?” Are we supposed to allow others to harm us and do nothing? I would never stand for someone intentionally hurting another human being, so why do I accept it for myself?

Certainly there are times when turning the other cheek is the appropriate response. We can’t (and shouldn’t) live in a constant state of battle. But are there circumstances in which we actually have a moral obligation to stand up for ourselves?

The idea that self-sacrifice is always noble is deeply ingrained in many of us, especially those on a spiritual path. We’re taught to forgive, to rise above, to view everything through the eyes of compassion. But there’s a crucial difference between forgiveness and allowing harm to continue unchecked. At some point, self-denial in the name of virtue becomes something else entirely, it becomes a quiet permission slip for others to cross boundaries that should have never been negotiable. And once the message is received that a boundary can be crossed without consequences, they are far more likely to do it again, both to you and to others. Abusers and manipulators count on your silence. And I believe part of why we have so many in the world these days is due to the fact that they so often get away with it.

We have a moral obligation to stand up for ourselves not just for our own sake, but because of what it creates in the world around us. Every time we assert a boundary, we reinforce the idea that people deserve to be treated with dignity. Every time we name a wrongdoing, we help carve out space for others to do the same. And every time we walk away from someone who exploits our kindness, we model a quiet act of courage for others to emulate.

On a deeper level, holding others accountable for their actions is actually the kinder thing to do for them. Sometimes kindness seems harsh because it’s “nice” with a spine. It supplies them with an opportunity to correct their actions. When we allow someone to hurt us without consequence, we enable their dysfunction. But when we set boundaries and reflect the impact of their actions, we offer them the chance to grow. The most loving thing we can do for someone is to stop shielding them from the consequences of their own behavior, because it invites them to become better - not just for us, but for everyone they’ll meet after us. And also for themselves. No one can ever truly be happy if they’re inflicting pain on others.

I often talk about the ripple effect I believe each of us has in the world just with our seemingly small actions. I think we actually have a larger obligation to enact change in our personal lives than we do on a global scale, and that the former is truly what affects the latter. But it’s MUCH HARDER to face injustice in our own lives than it is to speak out for a cause that resides “out there” somewhere. Partially because when it’s close to home, there is almost always more of a risk. For example, it’s a lot easier to shit talk a politician on Twitter than it is to politely correct your boss, or even a friend. It’s much more difficult to take care of, say, your alcoholic uncle who’s been living on the streets, than it is to volunteer time and/or money to a homeless shelter. It’s an uncomfortable truth, but narcissists are actually notorious for being involved in philanthropy. That’s not to say that philanthropy always lacks empathy, but just to point out it’s not a requirement. Lending our time and donating our money to worthwhile causes can be a very beautiful thing, but it’s less impactful than a system where everyone takes care of what’s immediately around them.

To give an example of what I mean: Japan has one of the lowest rates of homelessness in the world, and they also place deep cultural importance on familial duty. Caring for aging parents, supporting relatives in need, and prioritizing family stability are seen as moral obligations. If a family member begins to spiral, say, into addiction, it’s considered a source of dishonor for the entire family. Rather than ignore them or pretend they don’t exist, families are far more likely to step in and take responsibility. They don’t allow their loved ones to become wards of the state the way we often do here in the U.S. The underlying belief is that by taking care of your own first, you help strengthen the fabric of society as a whole.

If everyone did this, the world would be a much different place.

While considering all of this in light of what I had been through, I started to wonder if it made me a hypocrite because I publicly speak out for justice in the world, but I quietly accept glaring injustice in my own life. I wanted to make sure I took the time to heal and sort through my feelings to make sure I was thinking with a clear head. Standing up for what’s right should be weighed heavily and not swayed by personal feelings. I needed to make sure there was no part of me operating from a place of hurt or anger. This could not be about retribution or revenge.

I was determined to figure out what was morally right, not just what I wanted. At the heart of my decision was the most important factor of all—my son, River. What was done to me was also done to him. In fact, there were ways in which he suffered for it that not even I did. It was important for me to defend and protect him, but I also wanted to make sure I set an example to show him you could stand up for yourself and still be a good person. It requires honor and dignity and a clear head to determine right from wrong.

So how do we differentiate between the times to stand up for ourselves, and when to turn the other cheek? I do believe we have a moral obligation to stand up for what’s right every time, but there are instances when it may be more ethical to let things go. For example, when the offense is rooted in ignorance, not cruelty, and the person is willing to learn. We all make mistakes. The goal is to never hurt anybody, but even the most caring and compassionate of people can do it unintentionally from time to time. Intention does have meaning, and if you know a person didn’t mean to hurt you, I think we can let it slide.

Sometimes the cost of the fight outweighs the benefit, and peace is more productive than war. Not every battle is worth our energy, and sometimes choosing silence or walking away is an act of wisdom, not weakness. The key is knowing whether your silence is rooted in strength, or in fear of conflict or discomfort.

And finally, I think we need to honestly consider whether it was ego, not principle, that was injured. Sometimes what feels like a moral offense is really just a bruise to our pride, or personal hurt, and reacting from that place can create more harm than good. True discernment means knowing the difference between defending our values and defending our feelings or image.

I’m also very guided by my belief that it’s not our role to deliver justice, only to stand in truth and let the rest unfold. It’s not for us to repay wrongdoing, but to act with integrity and let karma handle the rest. Make no mistake that God keeps the books. It might not be on our timeline, in fact, it rarely is. But no matter how impatient we get, it’s never a good idea to take matters into our own hands. The universe is a symphony orchestrated by God, and He always has a far more brilliant plan. We’re not here to teach those who wronged us a lesson, life will do that in a more magnificent way than we could even imagine. Not that we should take joy out of anyone’s misfortune, ever. But for those of us who are obsessed with justice, just remember it always eventually comes.

For years I’ve been a very vocal and public advocate for justice, I never imagined I'd be in a position where I'd have to fight for it so personally and directly. But life has a way of turning principles into practice, so here I am. I’m in for the fight of my life right now, but I’m ready. I have the truth on my side, and truth can defend itself. I know that I’m operating with clarity and being guided by morality, and there’s no question in my mind that I’m doing the right thing. It took about a year of soul searching to wade through the emotions and deeply consider my limited options. I didn’t rush to act out of hurt, and I did my best to handle myself with grace in the meantime while I figured out the best course of action. I chose, finally, to stand, not for vengeance, but for truth. Not to punish, but to protect. And most of all, to show my son that real strength lies in integrity and the courage to draw the line when someone has brutally crossed it. I want him to stand up for himself in this world. His entire life he’s been given examples of living with conscience and compassion, and he has those down pat. I’m not the slightest bit concerned about him growing up to be a person who values peace and harmony and treats others with dignity. At 9 years old, he blows most adults out of the water with the depth of his empathy. But now, life has handed us both an opportunity for him to learn something just as vital: how to defend what's right, and do it with honor.

The world doesn’t change just because we demand justice in the public square - it changes when we uphold it in our homes, in our relationships, in our business dealings, and in the quiet choices no one sees. Integrity is built from the ground up. If we want a more ethical world, we have to stop tolerating unethical behavior in our personal lives. We have to stop betraying ourselves in the name of peace. When we choose to stand in the place where we are, with honesty, humility, and dignity, we become the very thing we’re waiting for in the world: a force for good that doesn’t flinch. And that’s where real justice begins.