Kindness Is My Core Value (And I’m Not Always Good At It)

Kindness is my core value. I’ll say that plainly, and then immediately tell you the truth: I am not always kind.

I wish I could tell you I’ve got this one figured out — that kindness rolls off me easy, all the time, especially when it’s hardest. It doesn’t. There are days I snap. Days I’m short with someone I love, or impatient with a stranger, or just plain unkind in a way I regret the second it leaves my mouth.

But here’s how I know kindness is actually a core value of mine, and not just something I like the idea of: when I’m not kind, I feel it. A real sense of dissonance. Discomfort that sits with me, that doesn’t let me off the hook. That feeling is the tell. If kindness weren’t actually central to who I am, being unkind wouldn’t cost me anything.

So I keep putting it front and center. Not because I’ve mastered it, but because it’s who I aspire to be, and aspiration means you keep aiming even when you miss.

We’re imperfect. All of us. The goal was never perfect kindness — that’s not a real thing anyone’s achieving. The goal is: know better, do better. Notice when you weren’t kind. Feel the discomfort instead of explaining it away. Try again next time.

And here’s the part that actually matters: it’s easy to be kind when everything’s going fine. The real test — the one that tells you what you actually value — is what happens under stress. When you’re tired, stretched thin, defensive, scared. That’s when kindness costs something. And that’s exactly when it counts most.

I’m not writing this because I’ve got it down. I’m writing it because I keep trying, keep noticing when I fall short, and keep choosing to put kindness back at the center anyway. That’s the whole practice, as far as I can tell.

And here’s the piece I have to remind myself of constantly: kindness has to include yourself, or it’s not really kindness — it’s just another performance.

I can beat myself up over being short with someone for the rest of the day. Replay it, catalog it, tell myself I should know better by now. But that’s not accountability. That’s just being unkind to myself about being unkind to someone else. It doesn’t make me better at this. It just stacks a second layer of discomfort on top of the first.

Being kind to yourself in the process looks like this: notice you missed the mark, feel the discomfort (it’s information, not punishment), and actually do something different next time — instead of spiraling into a story about what it means about you as a person.

This is a lot of what we built into the K.I.N.D. Framework at BeKindLyfe. Kindness is the “K” — and it’s not the soft, conflict-avoidant kind. It’s constructive discourse, empathy, and direct communication, together. Kind, not nice. Kind enough to tell someone the truth — including yourself — and stay in relationship with them while you do it.

That’s the practice. Not performing kindness perfectly. Practicing it honestly, with other people and with yourself.

When Boundaries Get Mislabeled as Control

I have noticed a pattern lately in conversations with friends, family, and clients.

Someone finally says what they need.

They explain what they are comfortable with. They express a limit. They draw a line around their time, their energy, or how they want to be treated.

And the response they get is something like this.

” You are so controlling.” “Why are you being so controlling.” “She is controlling.” PS. Not usually said about men…

That word seems to be showing up everywhere right now.

Controlling.

Like a lot of psychology language that has entered everyday conversations, the meaning has started to blur a bit. Words like gaslighting, narcissist, toxic, and controlling all have specific meanings. They describe real behaviors that can cause real harm.

But lately I am seeing the word controlling used in moments where someone is simply being direct.

Someone expresses a boundary. Someone says no thank you. Someone asks for a different way of interacting. Or worse, someone says what type of behavior they won’t engage in.

And suddenly the conversation shifts from the behavior being discussed to the person speaking up is somehow the problem.

There is an important distinction here.

A boundary is about what I will or will not participate in.

Controlling behavior is about trying to dictate what someone else must do.

One is self-management. Expressing your own needs.

The other is managing someone else.

And the difference matters.

A boundary might sound like this.

“I am not available for calls after 7 pm.”

“I am not comfortable being spoken to that way.”

“I am not willing to stay in a conversation if voices are raised.”

“I am not okay talking about this until I have more time to process.”

“I need to figure out how I feel before we move forward.”

Notice something important about those statements.

They are not commands.

They are not rules being imposed on someone else.

They are simply a person explaining what they are willing or not willing to participate in.

Psychology research describes personal boundaries as limits people establish to protect their emotional wellbeing, time, and autonomy in relationships.

Controlling behavior looks different. It involves attempts to restrict or dictate another person’s choices, relationships, or actions.

Those two dynamics are not the same.

But they can feel like the person on the receiving end.

Because boundaries change things.

When someone has been used to unlimited access to your time, your attention, or your emotional energy, a boundary can feel uncomfortable. The dynamic shifts. Expectations change. Sometimes people experience that change as rejection or criticism.

And discomfort can easily get labeled as control.

When people are clear, confident, and direct in their needs, it disrupts patterns people have grown comfortable with. Especially when the other person has not received that directness before or is looking to dominate and maintain the power dynamic at play.

Avoiding boundaries might keep things smooth in the moment. 

But over time something else usually grows.

Resentment.

People say yes when they mean no. They stay quiet when something feels off. They feel chipped away at interaction after interaction. When they don’t stick up for themselves, frustration builds slowly in the background.

Clear boundaries may feel awkward in the moment, but they often create more honest relationships in the long run. Relationships where people can express concerns and communicate openly tend to have stronger trust and a deeper connection.

They also protect something that is easy to overlook.

Energy.

Every person has a limited amount of emotional bandwidth.

Setting a boundary is not about controlling someone else’s behavior.

It is about taking responsibility for your own wellbeing and deciding how you want to show up in your relationships.

Of course, delivery matters.

A boundary expressed with blame or anger can escalate conflict.

But clarity delivered calmly tends to land differently.

“I want this conversation to be productive, and I need us to speak respectfully.”

“I care about this project, and I need realistic timelines in order to do my best work.”

Direct.

Clear.

Honest.

Not controlling.

Just communication.

So the next time someone expresses a limit, it might be worth pausing before labeling it.

Are they trying to control the situation?

Or are they simply telling you where their boundaries are?

Those two things can look similar on the surface. But they come from very different places.

And sometimes the hardest thing for others to hear is that the line exists.

Sources American Psychological Association Dictionary of Psychology. Personal Boundaries definition
https://dictionary.apa.org/p