When Light Grows Teeth: Protecting Your Goodness in a World That Fears It
- Andrea Espinoza
- Apr 16
- 8 min read
People love to say, “See the best in everyone.” It’s one of those comforting little mantras we’re fed to stay polite, to stay agreeable, to stay blind. But let’s get real—some people don’t want to be better. Some people cling to the shadows like a safety blanket because facing their own darkness is too terrifying. Growth asks something of us, and not everyone is willing to pay the price.
Pain can become a currency. Victimhood, a crown. There are people who don’t want healing—they want an audience. They wear their suffering like armour and weaponize their wounds. And when they find someone who’s breaking cycles, someone who’s choosing to rise, it threatens their entire identity. Your evolution reminds them of their stagnation, and instead of doing the work, they’ll try to drag you back. They’ll mock your discipline, offer you the same poison you’ve worked to purge, vanish when you’re winning, or twist your story into something that justifies their bitterness.
Let me be clear: not all villains sit on thrones. Some are crying on couches. Some are calling you “family.” Some are calling you “best friend.” Some are trauma bonding, calling it love, calling it loyalty—but really, they just don’t want to be left behind.
And for too long, I let guilt keep me tied to those people. I thought being good meant staying quiet. I thought love meant sacrificing myself so others could feel safe in their dysfunction. But the past few years cracked that illusion open like lightning splitting a tree.
I walked away from people I loved deeply—not out of spite, but out of reverence for my own soul. I stood alone. I unraveled. I grieved futures that would never be. And I did it all without applause, without a safety net, because real healing is never a group project. It’s a sacred initiation.
And here’s the part they never taught us: being good isn’t enough. We’ve been conditioned to believe that strength is selfish, that self-respect is arrogance. But it’s not. It’s sacred. Being kind is beautiful—but kindness without boundaries invites predators. Goodness without a spine is just martyrdom. To truly protect what is good in us, we must sharpen our edges. We must learn to wield our fire without burning ourselves.
Why Your Growth Feels Threatening
There are plenty of oppressors at the bottom of the ladder too—not just at the top. And when rising feels too difficult, resentment becomes a cheaper path to power. That resentment, left unchecked, turns into quiet tyranny. These people don’t want you to climb. Because your growth reminds them of what they’re avoiding. If you change, their excuses stop working. So they’ll test you, guilt you, try to pull you back. They’ll offer you the drink you swore off, mock your discipline, disappear when you succeed, or punish you in subtle ways. Not always out of cruelty—but because your progress casts a shadow on their refusal to try.
That’s why choosing your circle matters. You are not a bad person for refusing to support someone who’s actively making things worse for themselves or others. Family and friendship aren’t an act of blind loyalty. True friends want to see you win. They’ll challenge your bad habits, not your ambition. They’ll hold you accountable when you drift and celebrate you when you move with purpose. These people don’t just make you feel good—they make you better. And they’re the only ones worth suffering for.
Find The Others
Choose people who light something up in you. Who challenge your laziness, not your dreams. Who believe in your future more than they protect your past. Because you’re not here to play small. You’re not here to be ruled by guilt or shame or subtle manipulation. You’re here to rise.
You’ve got to start paying attention to who claps when you win. Who encourages you when you aim higher. Who holds you accountable without tearing you down. These are the people who want the best for you. And if you’re lucky enough to find them, don’t let go. They’ll challenge you. They’ll make you uncomfortable. But they’ll also bring out the part of you that’s been waiting to lead.
It’s not easy to be around people who are aiming higher. It takes humility and courage. But it’s worth it. The alternative is staying stuck among those who secretly prefer you weak. Don’t confuse pity with compassion. Don’t let guilt chain you to those who fear your light. Surround yourself with people who actually want the best for you—and who become better themselves when you rise.
When Love Isn’t Enough to Save Someone
The past few years have been a brutal yet sacred initiation. I’ve walked away from everything I thought I was supposed to love. I’ve stood mostly alone—not because I don’t long for a soul family (I do), but because I’ve been outgrowing what once surrounded me. And growth, true spiritual growth, isn’t pretty. It’s lonely. It’s disruptive. It threatens those who benefit from your silence, your submission, your past self. But I didn’t come here to stay small for anyone’s comfort. I came here to ascend—and that means I’ve had to face people I love and still choose to walk away when their darkness started harming my light.
One of those people was Sonja. A beautiful soul I loved deeply, someone I shared music and art with. I watched her awaken at 43 with a fire in her eyes and a willingness to change. But when her pain began leaking out and cutting into me, I had to create distance. I wonder every now and then if she would still be alive if I’d stayed around, but I also know enabling her old self wouldn’t have saved her. Love, real love, demands honesty. Not comfort. She ended her life, and a part of my heart broke with her. But I carry her with me, and I speak this for her, too.
Then came Jean, a childhood friend, love bombing me with “best friend” energy while hiding deep dysfunction. I tried to help. I tried to see the good. But when the mask slipped and her projections started, I had to speak the truth. She turned from admiration to accusation, even reaching out to my toxic adopted family and reigniting a smear campaign that’s been running for years—one rooted in generational abuse, envy, and denial. So I walked into the fire. I went back to that same house and stood in the storm, ready to face it all.
Three days of chaos. Waves of gaslighting, rage, and manipulation. My aunt Lourdes told me I had no rights. My grandmother, once kind, spat venom—calling me a prostitute because of my beauty and trying to hit me. And the worst of it: my aunt, attacking me physically. I tried to walk away calmly since it does not affect me anymore, but that made her even angrier, and she lunged.
She grabbed my hair and yanked violently while I held her arms against her body to stop her from beating me. Her rage was unhinged, her screams feral. And there, in the middle of it all, my grandmother stood—watching. Not in horror, but in support. Screaming at me for being “ungrateful.” For protecting myself. That wasn’t just family dysfunction—that was generational rot. Abuse masquerading as love. And I’m done pretending it’s anything less. A legacy I will not carry forward.
The Cost of Silence
Most people won’t talk about this. They stay silent to protect “family,” to avoid shame, to not disturb the system. But silence is complicity. Silence breeds more victims. I will not stay quiet. I will not let their story be the only one told. If defending myself makes me the villain in their version of events, so be it. I didn’t walk through hell to come out whispering. I came out with clarity—and a sword.
That clarity echoes something I heard in Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life, specifically Rule 2: “Treat yourself like someone you are responsible for helping.” It sounds simple, but it’s radical. Most of us extend love to others before we do to ourselves. We show up for our friends, our pets, our partners. But we abandon ourselves. Because deep down, we’ve been taught we’re unworthy of that same care. We sabotage our own healing, waiting for someone to come save us.
What if you were someone you loved? Would you not fight to protect your well-being? Would you not want to see yourself thrive? Real responsibility begins with showing up for yourself—not in indulgence, but in reverence. Yet this act of showing up for ourselves requires something most aren’t taught to do: embrace our darkness.
The Power of Integrating the Shadow
Peterson challenges that belief. He, like Carl Jung before him, reminds us that true healing demands we face our darkness—not deny it. Jung once said, “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” That darkness—the resentment, the rage, the pain we bury—it doesn’t go away just because we smile through it. We must confront it. Befriend it. Integrate it. Because goodness without power is fragile. And compassion without boundaries is a recipe for self-destruction.
In a world addicted to politeness and surface-level peace, embracing your shadow is a radical act. Viktor Frankl, who survived the Holocaust, wrote: “What is to give light must endure burning.” To carry light, we must face fire. To protect love, we must be fierce. To honour innocence, we must be willing to fight for it. That means risking being called “too much,” “too harsh,” even a “tyrant.” But I’d rather be called a tyrant for standing in truth than a victim for staying small.
I was once all light—naive, soft, and desperate to be loved. Then, I met my darkness. I didn’t become evil. I became whole. I let my pain shape me, not shatter me. I forged myself in the fire they lit to destroy me. And now I don’t flinch. I don’t beg. I don’t play nice with the lies that nearly killed me. This isn’t just a blog. It’s a spell. A sword. A prayer for those who are ready to stop being prey.
So if you're reading this and your heart is pure but your spirit is weary—this is your reminder: it is not enough to be good. You must also be powerful. You must learn to protect the good within you the way you would protect an innocent child or a beloved friend. That’s what Rule 2 is calling you toward: not niceness, not submission, but integrated wholeness. The kind of wholeness that doesn’t beg to be understood. That doesn’t need permission to say no. That doesn’t flinch in the face of abuse and call it love.
And now I don’t fear my darkness. I guide her. I let her sharpen my truth. Because the world doesn’t need more fragile kindness—it needs brave, embodied love. The kind that draws lines. The kind that roars when innocence is threatened. The kind that rises, sword in hand, and refuses to kneel. So here’s my call to you, dear reader: if you’ve suffered because you were kind, soft, forgiving—this is your moment to rise. Not to lose your heart, but to give it armour.
Maybe it’s time for you to earn your sword too. Not to hurt but to protect. To protect your peace. Your purpose. Your power. This is how we change the world—not by begging for crumbs of kindness but by becoming the kind of love that sets boundaries like fire and still dares to heal.
Now, I don’t run from my shadow. I lead it. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time for you to lead yours, too. Let your light grow teeth. ❤️
PS: I created The Equilibrium Necklace & The Equilibrium Earrings as reminders that your light and your shadow were never meant to be enemies—only allies in your wholeness. Carry your balance close to your heart, and rise rooted in both strength and softness. Explore my online shop and wear your healing like armour.
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