Dear Diary: Being Kind and Walking Away Isn't Enough

Dear Diary,

I recently had a conversation with a fellow parent about their daughter being picked on. The other child was cruel and relentless, and this parent’s daughter, despite the torment, chose being kind again and again. She was sobbing, brokenhearted, not understanding why her kindness wasn’t being met with kindness back.

I felt so much empathy for this parent. They told me their daughter always chooses kindness, no matter what, that it’s something they’ve worked hard to teach. They were appalled that another child could behave that way, shocked that their parents “allowed” it, and emphasized how unacceptable that kind of behavior would be in their own home. I agreed, in ours too we even have a family saying: kindness grows friendships.

We agreed on the golden rule: treat others how you want to be treated. If someone isn’t treating you properly after you ask them to stop, you walk away, find an adult. Then this parent said if it happens again, they’ll pull their daughter out of the activity. Walk away.

And I bristled.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought: Isn’t that teaching her to quit when someone is mean? That didn’t sit right with me.

It got me thinking. Why is it always the victims of bullying, abuse, or unkindness who carry the heaviest burden? Why are they the ones asked to leave, to walk away, to suffer the fallout while the ones causing the harm often walk free? Why aren’t they called out? Why aren’t they the ones held accountable? Sometimes it feels like the cruel ones are rewarded, even celebrated. They’re running countries, leading communities, building platforms. And the rest of us, the ones trying to live with kindness, integrity, love we’re told to swallow it, keep quiet, walk away.

I was taught to treat others with kindness, and if they were unkind, to leave. Do I always do that? Not a chance.

I remember being 15 or 16 at the county fair. Ride operators were making fun of my brother; mocking him, yelling at him. I snapped. I had a full on screaming, cussing match with grown adults. My mom didn’t say much in the moment, but later told me, “We’ll talk when your father gets home.” His response? “That’s my girl.” And that was it.

A part of me was proud, after all I had stood up for my brother. But another part of me felt deeply guilty. I had broken the rules of “acceptable” behavior. Even though they were the ones cruelly mocking a child, I was the one left shaken, ashamed, doubting myself.

And it’s not the only time. Years later, during an ultimate frisbee game, a group of men started hitting baseballs at us while we played on a field we’d reserved. My friend threw their baseballs back, and they got up in her face, screaming horrible things no man should ever say to a woman, or to anyone. Nobody else moved. So I did. I stood beside her and screamed back. And they backed off.

Did it feel good to defend her? Yes. Did I also feel awful afterwards? Absolutely. Once again, I was left questioning: was I wrong? Was I out of line?

Here’s the truth I’m still unraveling: my instincts weren’t wrong. But were they right?

And now I’m raising two daughters. I tell them what I was told, and what I always thought I believed: treat everyone with kindness, love, and respect. If someone is unkind, walk away. Find an adult.

But Diary… I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.

Do I believe the bad guys always win? I want to say no. I wish I could say no. But watching the world, and even my own yoga community, I’m not so sure. Right now, I’m standing alongside women speaking out against a proven abuser, a well known yoga teacher. We are loud. We are clear. And yet, so many people defend him. They tell us to “just walk away” if we don’t like him. They protect him. They silence us.

And it makes my blood boil.

Because this isn’t just about children, or parents, or yoga. This is about the bigger truth, the society we live with: too often, cruelty is excused, while courage is punished. And I don’t know what to do with that.

But I know this:

Kindness matters.

And so does refusing to walk away.

But how do we make them both work together?

Love,

Della