The Hill I am Willing to Live On

A personal reflection on kindness, accountability, community, and the year that changed how I see them

Recently, I was asked a question. Something along the lines of, “What’s a hill you’re willing to die on?” It’s one of those questions that seems simple enough. We all have things we believe in, things we feel strongly about, and principles we aren’t willing to compromise. And anyone who knows me knows I certainly have opinions. Plenty of them. Sometimes delivered with a little sass, occasionally with questionable timing, and almost always with good intentions.

But this question has stayed with me. Maybe because of the year I’ve had, because I’ve been carrying more than I’ve known how to explain, or possibly because I’ve reached a point where I can no longer ignore the distance between what we say we believe in and how we actually live it. And before anyone starts wondering who this is about, let me be clear: I’m talking about myself, too. 

What We Say—and How We Live

I have always believed in love, kindness, compassion, connection, and community. I believe people matter, not because of how much money they earn, what they accomplish, what they own, or what they can do for someone else, but simply because they are human. I believe in lifting people up without needing something in return, showing kindness without an agenda, being generous without public recognition, and having compassion without conditions. Despite everything that I have recently experienced, I still believe in people. But believing in people doesn’t mean ignoring the things that hurt us or pretending that we don’t have room to improve. In fact, I think it means exactly the opposite.

At some point, I think we’ve become really good at talking about kindness without always being willing to practice it. We post inspirational quotes and share messages about compassion, leadership, community, and supporting one another, but what happens when those words are actually tested? If you have something to say about someone, are you willing to have that conversation with them? Not through a vague social media post, whispers, side conversations, or carefully worded statements that leave people wondering who you’re talking about. If you have a concern with someone, start with that person. Speak honestly, directly, and with the same compassion, regardless of who is in the room.

We also need to remember that words, particularly written ones, don’t always land the way we intend them to. The emotional state of the person writing and the person reading can change the meaning entirely. Sometimes something intended as harmless feels hurtful, and something meant to be constructive feels like criticism. Even something as simple as an emoji, intended to soften a message or make it seem lighthearted, can sometimes come across as passive-aggressive, depending on the context and the person receiving it. Rather than assuming the worst, perhaps we could ask questions, clarify intentions, and give people an opportunity to explain in their own voice. And while we’re at it, let’s stop with the double standards. Don’t expect grace for your mistakes while withholding it from someone else. Don’t tell people what they should do while giving yourself permission, or allowing others, to do the opposite. Lead by example, and when you fall short, because we all do, acknowledge it, own it, learn from it, and try again. Honesty doesn’t require cruelty, and kindness doesn’t require avoiding difficult conversations.

When Asking for Help Takes Courage

One of the most difficult lessons I’ve learned this past year has been about asking for help. We’ve all heard the familiar expressions, “If you ever need anything, just ask,” or “Let me know what I can do during this difficult time.” They’re said so often that I sometimes wonder whether we stop to consider what we’re actually offering. What happens when someone does ask? What happens when the person who is always strong, capable, independent, and dependable finally admits they can’t do something alone? When they put aside their pride and say, “I need help,” are we really listening? Are we taking them seriously, or do we assume they’ll figure it out because they always have?

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t asking for help. It’s realizing that you’ve been asking, repeatedly, and somehow still haven’t been heard. There’s a difference between someone being unable to help and someone allowing you to continue believing that help is coming. I don’t expect everyone to say yes, and I certainly don’t expect anyone to solve all my problems, but I do believe in honesty. If you can’t help, just say so. It is perfectly okay. If circumstances change at any point, just communicate. Sometimes people are waiting, making plans, and trying to hold things together based on someone’s word or promises they believed would be kept. They follow up, try to be patient, and worry about becoming demanding or annoying. Eventually, they stop asking, not because the need has disappeared, but because asking again begins to feel like a burden. Help should never become another burden for the person who had the courage to ask for it, and we should never invite someone to be vulnerable only to make them regret trusting us with that vulnerability.

The Loneliness of Being Strong

I have also learned that being strong can sometimes be a very lonely place. When you’re accustomed to being the caregiver, organizer, educator, encourager, leader, or the person who finds a way to make things happen, people can begin to assume you’ll always manage. And maybe you usually do, but strength isn’t an unlimited resource. Sometimes the people who appear to be holding everything together are quietly hoping someone will offer to help carry the weight. Perhaps the person who always asks, “What can I do to help?” is desperately wishing someone would ask them the very same question. And sometimes there are people at the very end of their rope, just trying to figure out how to hang on or whether they even can. We shouldn’t mistake someone’s silence for proof that everything is fine or confuse their ability to survive difficult things with an expectation that they should continually have to. Strength should never disqualify someone from receiving compassion. I don’t need someone to rescue me. Perhaps I just need someone willing to sit beside me and say, “I don’t know either, but let’s see how we can figure it out together.”

Community Is More Than Showing Up

Community has always been really important to me. I believe in bringing people together, building relationships, creating opportunities, being a cheering section, and finding ways to make life a little better for those around us. But community isn’t simply the organizations we join, the meetings we attend, the committees we serve on, or the projects we complete. Community is connection. It’s noticing when someone who usually shows up suddenly isn’t there, checking on someone because you really care about them rather than because you need or want something from them, and remembering that people have lives beyond their responsibilities.

Sometimes the person who planned the event or organized the meeting doesn’t have the strength to attend. And that strength isn’t always physical. It could be mental, emotional, or simply a matter of pure exhaustion. Sometimes someone is caring for a sick family member, dealing with financial hardship, recovering from an illness, grieving, or simply trying to make it through another difficult day. New responsibilities arise, circumstances change, and priorities sometimes have to be rearranged. What someone’s commitments look like today may be different from what they looked like a month ago, and that doesn’t automatically mean they care any less or are no longer capable of fulfilling their role. We don’t always see the full picture of another person’s day-to-day life. 

Before questioning someone’s commitment, perhaps we could ask whether they’re okay. Before assuming they’ve taken on too much or are unable to handle a position or responsibility, perhaps we could ask how things are going and whether there’s something they need. Before deciding someone doesn’t care anymore, perhaps we could remember all the times they showed up when they didn’t have to. None of this means accountability should disappear. Responsibilities matter, communication matters, and commitments matter, but so do people. Being needed and being valued aren’t always the same thing, and honestly, I want to belong to a community, not simply be useful to one.

Teaching, Learning, and Leading Together

I also believe everyone has something worth teaching and something they can benefit from learning. We don’t have to share the same experiences, education, or perspectives to learn from one another. If someone asks for guidance, don’t make them feel ashamed for not already knowing the answer. Teach them, mentor them, collaborate with them, or help them find someone who can. Sometimes support is simply saying, “Let me show you,” and sometimes it’s admitting, “I don’t know,” or “Let’s try to figure it out.”

To me, leadership is about creating opportunities for others to contribute, learn, grow, and succeed. But collaboration requires participation, mentorship requires engagement, and community requires more than one person continually reaching out. We can’t ask people to lead and then criticize them for making decisions while declining opportunities or being unwilling to contribute. Nor can we encourage people to ask for help while creating environments where doing so feels discouraging or humiliating. If we want people to speak up, we have to create spaces where questions are welcomed, answers are honest, and promises are meaningful. Accountability should include a willingness to help people improve, not simply point out where they’ve fallen short.

Accountability Begins with Us

And yes, I’m talking to myself here, too. I’m not perfect. I’ve definitely made mistakes, missed things, struggled, needed guidance, and fallen short of my own expectations. I know I’ve said things that didn’t come across the way I intended, missed opportunities to check on someone, or found myself so wrapped up in my own circumstances that I didn’t recognize what someone else was experiencing. I’m sure there have been times when I could have listened more carefully, communicated more clearly, or handled something differently. But I am willing to learn, to listen, to attempt to see another perspective, and to acknowledge when I may have gotten something wrong.

Grace, Boundaries, and Second Chances

I believe in second chances. I believe people can grow and change, and I believe in finding something worth saving in what others might throw away. I believe we should extend the same grace to others that we hope to receive ourselves. But I’ve also learned that my kindness doesn’t mean I have to abandon my boundaries or apologize for setting them. My needs don’t become less important because someone else’s are greater, and my ability to keep going doesn’t mean I should always be expected to carry everything alone. I will always believe in showing up for people, but I’m no longer willing to disappear or be disrespected in the process.

The Hill I Choose to Live On

So, when I think about that original question and the hill I’m willing to die on, I keep coming back to the same things. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Let your actions reflect your words. Don’t just preach kindness; practice it, especially when nobody is watching. Don’t encourage people to ask for help without being willing to listen when they do. Don’t make someone feel ashamed for needing guidance, offer support as a courtesy without intending to follow through, or hide behind a post when a conversation needs to happen. And perhaps we could all stand to remember something we learned a long time ago: treat others the way we would want to be treated. Don’t confuse someone’s strength with an absence of need or wait until they stop showing up to recognize how much they were carrying while they were there.

Check on your people, not just the ones who seem to need it, but the strong ones, too. Sometimes the person who always seems to have everything together is the person who needs someone the most. I still believe in people, in love, compassion, kindness, connection, and community. I still believe we can build stronger families, organizations, and communities by starting small, showing up, and truly caring about one another. I don’t want the events of this past year to make me bitter. I want them to help make me more intentional about listening, following through, showing up, recognizing when someone needs help, and remembering that I deserve those things, too.

Because kindness begins with ourselves, grows within our families, and spreads throughout our communities. And maybe that’s what this question has really brought me to realize. It was never just about what I was willing to fight or advocate for. It was about what I’m willing to stand for, what I’m no longer willing to tolerate, what I’m willing to practice, and who I’m still trying to become. It’s about what I’m willing to keep believing in, even when life has given me, and continues to give me, plenty of reasons to question it.

So perhaps the question isn’t really what hill I’m willing to die on. Perhaps the more important question is what hill I’m willing to LIVE on. And I will continue trying to build mine on love, compassion, honesty, accountability, connection, and the belief that we can all do a little better at caring for one another. Starting with one conversation, one act of kindness, one connection, and one person at a time

That’s the hill I’m willing to live on.