Good girl Bad Girl perspective
I’ve been living in hell lately.
The kind of hell that makes me wonder if maybe I’ve been here so long, I got used to it — maybe even afraid of what a calm life would feel like.
But going back to hell reminds me: no, I don’t like it here. Not even a little.
And yes, this blog was probably born from my time here. But years ago, I made a decision: if I have to choose between being productive, creative, and miserable or unproductive and happy — I’ll take happy every single time. Productivity means nothing if it costs me my life.
Of course, I’m human. I love being noticed, I love when people admire what I create. It feeds my ego — an ego that never seems full. But still, I learned to love myself more than I love that praise.
When I was younger, I was good at all kinds of art. But I noticed my best work came from my worst moods. Violent mood swings, emotional chaos. And I thought: if success means being miserable, I’ll pass. I walked away from art as a career and made it a hobby instead.
Looking back now, I realize I’ve been making the same choice ever since — choosing myself over the “good girl” rules.
The rules go like this:
Good girls stand by their dying fathers.
Good girls sacrifice for their friends.
Good girls accept their partners as they are.
Yeah… I don’t like that script.
Rule #1: Be the dutiful daughter
I’ve been there for my dad as much as I could. But it’s triggering. Even now, he tries to control me — and everyone else around him.
One day I was giving him his meds, and he yelled: “Who are you to know anything? When I say something, you should just listen.”
I snapped: “Okay, that’s enough. You’ve been yelling at us all day. I’m giving you your meds and you’re refusing to take them.”
So yes, I yelled at my dying father. Not at the weak, sick part of him — but at the old unconscious part that sees everyone as a threat.
Rule broken.
Rule #2: Always be the perfect friend
I’ve hosted my best friend for two months. I love her, but I’m an introvert — I need my space to stay sane. Sleeping beside someone drains me, so I made a second bed. People told me, “Invite her in!” But I knew that would cost me my peace.
I chose to love myself enough to protect my energy.
Rule broken.
Rule #3: Accept your partner “as is”
My boyfriend was my best friend for three years before we got together. Not the best partner I’ve had, but the most reliable. He’s shown up for me in huge ways before.
But I saw his avoidance patterns early on. I told him it might hurt me one day. He said, “You can’t ask me to change for potential harm. If you’re not hurt now, it means I’m managing it.”
I didn’t buy that completely, but I let it go.
And then my dad got sick, and he abandoned me — first emotionally, then physically. I told him: “Your avoidance is hurting me now.”
His answer? “Of course I avoid emotional responsibility. That’s been clear since we were friends.”
I still don’t understand why someone who avoids emotional attachment wants a relationship at all. But the truth is, when we were “just friends,” I wasn’t an emotional responsibility — so he was fine. The deeper we got, the more his brain told him to run. And he’s done nothing to fight that instinct.
So I gave him a choice: learn to communicate like a partner, or leave.
To him, I’ll always be “the selfish girlfriend” who didn’t accept his abandonment.
Rule broken.
So what’s my point?
I’m not telling people to break all rules. I’m saying we should question them. Even the “good” ones.
Because “good” is a slippery word. For some, it means putting everyone before yourself. For me, that’s a fast track to burnout and resentment. You can’t heal if you’re constantly sacrificing yourself. And an unhealed person without boundaries is dangerous — not because they want to be, but because pain kills empathy.
And sometimes “good” just means “controlling.” I’ve seen people who claim they’re “protecting themselves” when in reality they’re controlling everyone else around them. That’s how narcissists operate — though most don’t even realize it.
Does that mean if you want to control everything you’re a narcissist? No. Only a professional can diagnose that. But here’s something my therapist told me:
A narcissist doesn’t think they are the problem — they think the world is.
If you’re sitting in therapy saying, “Maybe it’s me,” then you’re already different.
For me, the real skill has been learning to tell when the problem is mine and when it isn’t. That’s how I found my people, the ones I feel safe with.
Good. Bad. They’re just words. Life is about balance — knowing what you can change, what you can’t, what you’ll accept, and what you’ll walk away from.
Don’t let “good” or “bad” trap you. It’s never that simple.
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