goodness

"I wasn't being raised to be happy. I was being raised to be good. Those are lessons that are hard to unlearn." Lyz Lenz

As a bright-eyed, innocent child, I absorbed lesson after lesson on the consequences of walking the wrong path. It made sense and frightened me into place — veering off could lead to my ruin.

But today, I wonder why no one warned me that everything has a price.

Turn left or right, forward or back, the toll awaits.

I like how this goodness is ordinary. Jordan K. Lancaster via Instagram.

I’m compliant.

I follow rules, ace assignments and projects, work hard to please those around me, and shrivel up and apologize when I make a mistake.

And at a grossly young age, I began whittling myself down to a tried and tired trope: the good girl. She is the controlled daughter, the selfless giver, the quiet achiever. She smiles, speaks softly, and puts others' needs before her own. She is a paragon of virtue, admired for her purity and innocence. She’s small. She’s meek.

Looking back, I see how this role consumed me and ate away at my uniqueness, my fun, jagged edges. I was conditioned to be polite, nurturing, and accommodating. And I saw how my subservience was revered. It was intoxicating.

Society likes me. People want me.

I was so addicted to the validation that I didn't see how my needs were disregarded in service of others' agendas. My naiveté around the politics of social dynamics left me open to being used. Those in authority took advantage of my conscientiousness, knowingly or unknowingly, by positioning me as a tool.

Worst of all, I helped craft this nightmare.

In my youth, I was the student teachers depended on. I was reliably obedient, diligent, and well-behaved. They never worried about me. I was but an angel donning a bow too large for her head.

Unsurprisingly, I spent most of my ten years of elementary and middle school firmly planted between Donnie and Sean, two unruly boys who were often the subjects of ire. I suppose the teachers hoped my discipline would rub off on them and keep them in line. But this positioning was ripe for resentment — I felt like an instrument of behavior modification rather than a person. And Donnie and Sean looked at me, the human barrier to fun, with such annoyance. I was an ever-present reminder that they couldn't get away with misbehaving, a breathing reprimand cramping their style. And being singled out by our well-meaning authority was isolating, and forced me into a position that bred anger and confusion. I wished to blend in, to neither stifle nor be stifled. But I didn’t know that was an option for me. And I didn’t know that Donnie and Sean weren’t any worse than I, or I better than them. We were all just kids, stumbling and tumbling through a decade.

I remember feeling confused, wanting to express anger and jealousy as I saw others do but believed I needed to, instead, be calm and gracious. Holding in these tangled emotions left me hollow and numb, unable to understand my inner world.

Loneliness began creeping in.

This experience is not unique. The “good girl” archetype is woven so tightly into the fabric of feminity that it often goes unnoticed. No doubt because being good is a noble goal. Isn’t it? At least I think so. Hope so. In theory, it’s something to aspire to, from children to adults across the spectrum of gender and ideology.

But too often we ignore how the pressures to conform, the pressures to be good above all else, can lead to profoundly painful consequences. How it smothers creativity, dampens ambition, and erodes a person.

That happened to me. I paid a price for being exactly what was expected of me.

And on the inverse, so did Donnie and Sean. I was stamped wholly good, and they wholly bad.

Both were bullshit, but I can only write about my side.

I’ve been terribly good (and I bet you have too) and I’ve paid for it with isolation and a fragmented sense of self. Because constantly meeting outer expectations meant sacrificing other parts. And in my need to be perfect, I stunted the messy, complex facets of myself that I worried weren’t ideal. I tidied up my anger, banished my mischievousness, and ignored my desires if they went against the grain. The result was an anxious, conflicted shadow self lurking beneath the perfect veneer.

I grieve for the girl who believed the fine for breaking the rules was too high — shame, guilt, and stigma. It’s funny how I experienced those anyway. But I couldn’t see that there was a third way, to drop the dichotomy of good and bad altogether. That I could decide for myself how to act with integrity while also accepting the totality of who I am. That I can forge a path — one that nourishes all parts of me with compassion and wisdom.

I’ve spent the last few years breaking free. I’ve been nasty and uncomfortable. I’ve been courageous and resilient. I’ve been challenging societal norms, embracing imperfection, honoring complexity, and reclaiming agency over my life. And I’ve learned that my worth is not contingent upon conformity and that a marker of true strength is living authentically and honestly.

I feel empowered.

I type this still fully believing that goodness is essential, but now knowing that it is even more meaningful when it comes from a place of choice rather than compulsion. Knowing that the good girl within needs me to acknowledge her limitations. Knowing that I can be compliant and obedient and assertive and independent. Knowing that I’m more than one thing.

As I mingle self-awareness and compassion, I can let that shy girl within me evolve into a role that serves me honorably. And I can tell her that we don’t need to perform goodness because we are goodness.

Goodness isn’t frivolous. But neither is happiness. Or living.

I want to be good and happy and alive.

And I want that for you too.

And the only toll required is staying true to yourself.

just a good lil nugget