Fiercely, Jessica

Somewhere along the way, we decided that the person most capable of keeping the peace should also be the person most responsible for maintaining it.

Not because they caused the conflict. Not because they deserved the consequences. But because they were the easiest person to ask.

The path of least resistance.

And we dressed it up in language that sounded noble.

Be the bigger person.
Take the high road.
Turn the other cheek.
Just let it go.

But I’ve been wondering lately: When does being the bigger person become an excuse for everyone else to stay exactly as they are?

Because I’m starting to think we’ve confused keeping the peace with keeping people comfortable.

And those are two very different things.

The Path of Least Resistance

We all know the person who is difficult to confront.

The one whose reactions are unpredictable. The one who turns every disagreement into an argument. The one who somehow manages to make addressing their behavior more exhausting than dealing with the behavior itself.

And then there’s the other person.

The one who tries to be reasonable. Who considers their words before speaking. Who would rather find a solution than win an argument.

Guess which one usually gets asked to make the sacrifice?

It’s rarely the person creating the conflict.

Instead, we approach the person we know will listen.

“Can you just let this one go?”

“You know how they are.”

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

And my personal favorite: “Just be the bigger person.”

Why?

Because it’s easier.

It’s easier to ask someone reasonable to absorb another disappointment than it is to ask someone unreasonable to take responsibility.

It’s easier to manage the response than confront the behavior.

And when we do that repeatedly, we’re not solving anything.

We’re teaching everyone involved that the consequences of someone’s behavior belong to somebody else.

When Peace Starts Costing You

Here’s something I’ve been wrestling with.

Sometimes we remove ourselves from situations because we genuinely want peace.

We don’t want the argument. We don’t want the tension. We don’t want another round of disappointment.

So we step aside.

We decline the invitation. We avoid the gathering. We stop showing up in places where we know the potential for hurt exists.

And for a while, it works.

There’s no confrontation. No uncomfortable exchange. No new wound to deal with.

But eventually, you start noticing what that peace is costing you.

The experiences you’re missing. The relationships you’re navigating around. The parts of your own life you’ve quietly rearranged to accommodate someone else’s behavior.

And suddenly, you have to ask yourself a question you may not like the answer to.

Am I protecting my peace, or am I sacrificing pieces of my life to maintain someone else’s comfort?

I don’t think there’s always an easy answer.

Sometimes distance is absolutely necessary. Sometimes removing yourself is the healthiest decision you can make.

But I also think we need to recognize when avoiding conflict has become a pattern of surrendering things that matter to us.

Because peace shouldn’t automatically require the person who has already been hurt to keep giving something up.

But What About Turning the Other Cheek?

As a Christian, this is where things get complicated.

We’ve heard it our entire lives.

Turn the other cheek.

Forgive seventy times seven.

Love your enemies.

And I believe those teachings. I really do.

But lately, I’ve been questioning how we apply them. Because somewhere along the way, it seems we’ve gotten really good at reminding people to forgive and not nearly as good at reminding people to take responsibility for their actions.

Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek in Matthew 5:39. But in Matthew 18:15, He also teaches us to address wrongdoing directly.

So clearly, turning the other cheek doesn’t mean we’re never supposed to say anything.

And in Luke 17:3–4, Jesus talks about rebuking someone who sins and forgiving them when they repent.

There’s room for both accountability and forgiveness.

But here’s the verse I keep coming back to.

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” — Romans 12:18 (NIV)

As far as it depends on you.

Not as far as everyone else refuses to change. Not until you’ve exhausted yourself trying to make everybody happy.

As far as it depends on you.

I can control how I respond. I can choose forgiveness. I can refuse to retaliate.

But I cannot make another person acknowledge what they’ve done. I cannot make them apologize. And I certainly cannot make them change.

And maybe that’s what I’ve been struggling to separate.

My responsibility to pursue peace doesn’t mean I’m responsible for making peace happen all by myself.

I can forgive someone and still recognize that things between us aren’t okay.

I can love someone and still need boundaries.

And I can take the high road without pretending the road hasn’t cost me anything.

I don’t believe God expects me to create peace all by myself when someone else isn’t willing to do their part.

Because the path of least resistance is not necessarily the path of righteousness.

Being Reasonable Shouldn’t Be a Liability

I wonder how often we unintentionally reward the very behavior we claim to want to stop.

Think about it.

If someone knows that reacting badly will cause everyone around them to back down, what incentive do they have to respond differently?

If the person who consistently exercises restraint is always expected to compromise, what are we actually teaching them?

That maturity means accepting whatever happens?

That kindness means never speaking up?

That keeping the peace is their responsibility, regardless of who disrupts it?

That’s an awfully heavy burden to place on someone simply because they’ve demonstrated the ability to carry it.

And I think sometimes we forget that the person taking the high road is still a person.

They still get hurt.

They still get frustrated.

They still have limits.

Just because someone can handle a situation with grace doesn’t mean it didn’t cost them something to do so.

And just because they haven’t reacted doesn’t mean nothing happened.

Silence is not always peace. Sometimes it’s simply pain that hasn’t been given permission to speak.

Ephesians 4:15 tells us to speak the truth in love.

And I wonder how many difficult conversations we’ve avoided because we’ve convinced ourselves that staying quiet is somehow more Christlike than speaking up.

Sometimes love means being patient. Sometimes it means forgiving someone who has hurt us.

And sometimes it means having a conversation nobody wants to have.

Maybe We’ve Been Asking the Wrong Person

I don’t want to become someone who responds to every hurt with anger.

I don’t want to abandon forgiveness or stop believing people are capable of change.

And I certainly don’t want to suggest that every disagreement requires a confrontation.

There are things worth letting go. There are moments when walking away is wisdom. There are times when choosing not to respond is exactly the right response.

But there should also be room to ask whether our constant pursuit of the easiest resolution is allowing the same problems to continue.

Maybe instead of telling someone to be the bigger person, we should ask why they’re continually being placed in a position where they have to be.

Maybe instead of saying, “You know how they are,” we should start asking why we’ve accepted that as an explanation.

Maybe instead of expecting the person who has been hurt to make another adjustment, we should be willing to have an uncomfortable conversation with the person whose behavior needs addressing.

Because accountability isn’t the opposite of grace.

And confrontation isn’t automatically the opposite of peace.

Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is stop pretending that something is okay when it isn’t.

The High Road Shouldn’t Be a One-Way Street

I’m still figuring this out.

I don’t have some perfectly packaged answer for how long we should extend grace, when we should speak up, or when walking away is the right choice.

I wish I did.

What I do know is that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between peace and avoidance.

And I’ve started questioning why we measure maturity by how much someone is willing to tolerate instead of how willing people are to take responsibility.

I still believe in taking the high road.

I still believe in turning the other cheek.

I still believe in forgiveness, grace, and choosing our battles wisely.

But I no longer believe those things should be used as convenient excuses to avoid accountability.

Because if our version of peace requires one person to continually absorb the consequences of another person’s unchanged behavior, maybe we haven’t actually made peace.

Maybe we’ve just found someone willing to pay for it.

Fiercely, Jessica