Vachon Imagined

When we have conversations with people and try to use the “right” word, we are often trying to protect something within the other person, to say something in a way that won’t upset them, embarrass them, frighten them, or make them uncomfortable.

I’m not suggesting that we should simply try to offend people. There is wisdom in being cognizant of another person’s experience. For example, I was in a course this week where I didn’t go into depth about what I do in law enforcement because I wasn’t around only those who work in that field. What is commonplace to me isn’t necessarily commonplace to someone else, and there is value in recognizing that. Compassion requires awareness.

But I think we’ve proven something about a “soft” society that increasingly idolizes the appearance of peace instead of actually being peaceful: in our effort to protect people, we protect them from exactly the things they need to grow through.

And that isn’t our responsibility.

It isn’t up to you or me to ensure that another person grows past their defenses. We don’t have to do anything at all. Life has a wonderful way of sorting that out on its own.

When we begin walking on eggshells around one another, we stop living authentically. We begin living defensively. We live to avoid being killed, hurt, embarrassed, rejected, criticized, or misunderstood. But that isn’t the same thing as being at peace.

That’s trying to protect a life that is already capable of finding its own peace.

We hear a lot these days about “protecting your peace.” I understand the sentiment, and I practice a version of it myself. When I’m frustrated with my son, I remind myself to step back rather than react. There is wisdom in creating space between ourselves and situations that continually pull us into anger, resentment, or chaos.

But peace itself is not something we need to protect.

Peace is something we need to allow.

There is a difference.

If my peace depends on everyone around me using the right words, behaving the right way, agreeing with me, or never making me uncomfortable, then what I’m protecting isn’t really peace. I’m protecting my conditions for feeling peaceful.

And those are two very different things.

Real peace has to be capable of existing in the presence of discomfort.

It has to be capable of hearing something difficult without immediately turning it into an injury. It has to be capable of being challenged without interpreting challenge as an attack. It has to be capable of allowing another person to disagree, misunderstand, or disappoint us without making their behavior responsible for the state of our own soul.

This is where accountability becomes important.

When we continually shield people from the consequences of their choices, we may think we’re helping them, but we can actually stunt their growth. This is true of children, and it is true of adults.

A child who is never allowed to experience frustration doesn’t learn resilience. An adult who is continually rescued from the consequences of their behavior doesn’t learn responsibility.

Love means intervening when intervention is necessary.

Love also means allowing life to teach.

There is a kind of arrogance in believing that we have to manage another person’s emotional experience for them. We assume they cannot handle discomfort, so we remove the discomfort. We assume they cannot handle disagreement, so we avoid disagreement. We assume they cannot handle consequences, so we prevent the consequences.

And eventually, we create people who have never had the opportunity to discover that they actually could handle those things.

This is another form of separation.

We separate people from reality because we are afraid reality will hurt them.

But reality is where growth happens.

That doesn’t mean we should be cruel. It doesn’t mean we should intentionally provoke people or use honesty as an excuse for a lack of compassion. Authenticity without compassion can simply become selfishness wearing the clothes of truth.

The goal isn’t to say whatever we want without regard for another person.

The goal is to become peaceful enough that we don’t need to control another person’s reaction to what is true.

We can speak gently without speaking falsely.

We can be considerate without becoming afraid.

We can choose our words without believing that someone else’s discomfort is our failure.

And we can love someone enough to let them be responsible for themselves.

Peace isn’t the absence of discomfort.

Peace is the trust that discomfort doesn’t have to destroy us.

That is why we don’t need to protect peace.

If peace is real, it doesn’t need our protection.

It needs our permission.