The Year I Realized Good Girls Don’t Win

When I turned 30, something in me broke—but in the best possible way.

Up until then, I’d spent my whole life being the kind-hearted girl. The one who tried to see the good in everyone. The one who followed the rules, did what she was told, and believed that being “good” would somehow guarantee a safe and peaceful life. I thought if I treated people right, they’d treat me the same. I thought if I sacrificed enough, stayed humble enough, and kept my head down, life would reward me for it.

But life doesn’t work like that.

Something awful happened that year—something that stripped away the illusion that kindness protects you. I saw firsthand that doing everything “right” doesn’t stop people from crossing lines, breaking trust, or hurting you, just because they can. It doesn’t stop the world from being unfair.

That moment forced me to wake up.

I realized that being kind-hearted wasn’t the problem—it was believing that kindness would save me that kept me small. I was living for everyone else’s comfort, not my own peace. I was saying yes when my soul was screaming no.

So I stopped.

That was the year I stopped living for others and started living for me. The year I understood that being good doesn’t mean being silent, selfless, or safe—it means being honest about who you are and what you deserve.

I’m 41 now, and that version of me—the one who thought goodness was protection—she doesn’t exist anymore. I honor her, but I don’t miss her.