I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we talk about “being a good person.”

It’s one of those phrases that sounds simple until you really sit with it. We say things like, “I try to be a good person,” or “They’re a good person,” as if goodness is a fixed identity you either have or don’t. But living in 2026, with everything we know about power, privilege, and systemic injustice, I’m not sure “being a good person” is a helpful goal anymore.

I’m starting to believe that being a growing person is far more important.

And that shift—from goodness as a static label to growth as a continual practice—changes everything about how we show up for each other, especially when it comes to allyship, solidarity, and building a more just world.

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The Myth of the “Good Person”

A few years ago, I was in a conversation about race with a colleague. We were planning an event, and I suggested a speaker line-up that, in hindsight, was overwhelmingly white and male. A coworker gently pointed it out: “Hey, I notice our panel isn’t very diverse. Can we rethink this?”

My first instinct wasn’t curiosity; it was defensiveness.

I remember saying something like, “I didn’t mean to exclude anyone. I just picked people I thought would be good.” Underneath that, what I was really saying was: “Please don’t see me as a bad person. I’m trying to be one of the good ones.”

That moment stuck with me because of what happened next. Instead of digging into why my default list was so homogeneous, I made a few quick changes, added a couple of speakers of color, and mentally checked a box. Problem solved, right?

Except it wasn’t. I hadn’t addressed the real issue: the habits and assumptions that led me to that list in the first place. I wasn’t asking: Why is my mental network so narrow? Why did I equate “good” with “familiar”? What systems and histories shape who feels “expert” or “qualified” to me?

I was more invested in protecting my self-image as a “good person” than in actually growing.

That’s the trap of the Good Person Myth: if we see ourselves as either good or bad, any feedback that we’ve caused harm feels like an attack on our identity. We become less likely to listen, learn, or change. We become fragile—especially those of us with privilege.

And fragility is the enemy of solidarity.

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From “Good” to “Growing”

So what happens if we let go of being a “good person” and commit to being a growing person instead?

A growing person:

– Expects to get things wrong sometimes.
– Sees feedback as information, not indictment.
– Understands that impact matters more than intention.
– Accepts that privilege isn’t a personal failure, but refusing to examine it might be.
– Recognizes that allyship is less about self-identifying and more about consistent, accountable action.

This shift is both philosophical and deeply practical.

Think about the last time someone told you that something you said or did caused harm. Maybe you misgendered someone. Maybe you made a joke that landed badly. Maybe you interrupted a colleague repeatedly without noticing.

If your goal is to be a good person, your brain might go straight to:
– “I didn’t mean it that way.”
– “You’re overreacting.”
– “I’m not racist/sexist/homophobic/ableist.”

If your goal is to be a growing person, your response might sound more like:
– “Thank you for telling me.”
– “I didn’t realize that—can you help me understand, or is there something I can read?”
– “I’m sorry for the impact. I’ll work on doing better.”

Same moment, completely different posture.

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The Quiet Work of Examining Privilege

Privilege is one of those words that still makes some people flinch, but it’s simply a way of describing unearned advantages—things we didn’t personally ask for or create, but which shape our lives and opportunities.

We can have privilege in some areas and not in others: race, gender, class, citizenship, ability, sexuality, body size, neurotype, language, and more. Intersectionality reminds us that these identities don’t stack neatly; they intersect, creating complex experiences of both oppression and advantage.

I remember the first time I really sat with my own privilege. Not just as an abstract concept, but as a lived reality.

I was walking home late one night, headphones in, lost in a podcast. I passed a woman who glanced back at me, quickened her pace, and crossed the street. It hit me in that moment: I almost never think about my safety in public spaces. I move through the world with a level of unconscious ease that many people—especially women, trans folks, and people of color—don’t have.

That realization didn’t make me a bad person. But ignoring it would have kept me from understanding how differently we inhabit the same streets, the same cities, the same night air.

Privilege is not about guilt; it’s about responsibility.

If we have access to spaces, resources, or platforms that others don’t, the question becomes: What do we do with that access? Do we hoard it? Or do we use it to open doors, challenge harmful norms, and redistribute power?

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Questions for Self-Reflection

If you want to move from “good” to “growing,” here are some questions to sit with—not as a test to pass, but as an invitation to deeper honesty:

1. When was the last time someone gave me hard feedback about my behavior, language, or assumptions? How did I respond?
2. Where do I hold privilege? (Race, gender, class, citizenship, education, ability, etc.) How does that show up in my daily life?
3. Whose voices do I most regularly listen to, read, and trust? Who’s missing from that list?
4. When I hear about injustice that doesn’t directly affect me, what’s my first instinct? To turn away? To feel overwhelmed? To get curious?
5. What stories do I tell myself about being “one of the good ones”? How might those stories keep me from seeing the full truth?

You might journal on these, talk them through with a friend, or just let them echo in the back of your mind for a while. Growth rarely happens all at once; it accumulates in small, honest moments.

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Practical Paths Forward

Philosophy is important, but it has to land in action. Being a growing person in a complicated world means weaving reflection into practice.

Here are a few concrete ways to start or deepen that work:

1. Practice “Pause, Notice, Choose”

When you feel defensive or called out:

– Pause: Take a breath. Don’t respond immediately.
– Notice: What’s happening in your body? Tight chest? Racing thoughts? The urge to explain?
– Choose: Instead of reacting from ego, choose curiosity. Ask yourself, “What if there’s something here I need to hear?”

This simple pattern interrupts the reflex to protect your image and creates room for growth.

2. Shift from Performative to Relational Allyship

Performative allyship is about being seen as an ally. Relational allyship is about actually showing up for people, consistently and imperfectly.

Ask yourself:
– Am I only speaking up when it’s public or rewarded?
– Do I challenge problematic jokes or comments in private spaces?
– Do I build real relationships with people whose struggles I claim to care about?

Allyship is less about declaring, “I’m an ally,” and more about others being able to say, “They show up for us.”

3. Make Learning a Habit, Not a Project

Instead of treating “learning about oppression” as a one-time crash course, integrate it into your life:

– Read books, essays, and articles by people with different lived experiences.
– Follow activists, educators, and organizers on social media.
– Attend local events, panels, or workshops.
– Support this work financially when you can.

The goal isn’t to become an expert; it’s to stay teachable.

4. Share the Load, Not the Spotlight

When you’re invited into a space, ask:
– “Who’s not in this room that should be?”
– “Can I recommend someone else for this opportunity?”
– “How can we structure this project so that those most affected by the issue have real decision-making power?”

Solidarity isn’t just about standing beside people; it’s about stepping back when needed and making sure they’re centered.

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Building a Better World Starts Inside Us

We’re living through a time of overlapping crises: climate change, rising authoritarianism, widening inequality, attacks on trans and queer communities, ongoing racial injustice, wars, and more. It’s easy to feel small and powerless in the face of all that.

But the work of building a better world is both structural and deeply personal.

Laws, policies, and institutions matter. So do the micro-moments: how we listen, how we apologize, how we share space, how we respond when someone trusts us enough to say, “That hurt.”

If we cling to being “good people,” we’ll spend our energy defending ourselves instead of transforming ourselves. But if we commit to being growing people, we open up the possibility of real change—both in us and around us.

So maybe the question isn’t, “Am I a good person?” Maybe a better question is:

Am I willing to keep growing, even when it’s uncomfortable, so that my presence in the world creates more justice, more care, and more possibility for others?

That’s the kind of person I want to be. Not perfect. Not finished. Just committed—to learning, unlearning, and showing up again tomorrow, hopefully a little more aware, a little more courageous, and a little more aligned with the world I say I believe in.

Photo by Mariia Horobets on Unsplash