One of the hardest truths I’ve had to embrace is this: no matter how kind, generous, or well-intentioned we are, someone will love us and someone will hate us. Not because we are inherently good or bad, but because our lives intersect with others in complex, imperfect ways. To live fully, to live truthfully, is to accept that in one story we are the hero, and in another, we are the villain.

What the Research Says

Psychology and sociology research consistently reminds us that human beings are wired for perception—subjective, messy perception. The “negativity bias” (Baumeister et al., 2001) tells us that people are more likely to notice, remember, and amplify negative interactions than positive ones. Social psychologist Dr. David Burns, in his work on cognitive distortions, shows how we magnify perceived slights, sometimes making mountains out of molehills.

Brené Brown, in Daring Greatly, reminds us that vulnerability—living authentically—will always open the door to criticism, judgment, and misunderstanding. Similarly, Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements, urges us to not “take things personally” because what others say about us is more a reflection of them than of us. And Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck* drives the point home: caring deeply about what everyone thinks is impossible and paralyzing.

The paradox is that when we choose truth, we will inevitably inspire both admiration and resentment.

My Personal Story of Being the Villain

I’ve devoted my professional life to education—building Evolved Education as a place where students and families could find support and guidance. I approached this work with love, with the desire to make someone’s learning journey lighter, more hopeful.

And yet—I remember vividly the shock and embarrassment when I came across a Facebook post by a former client. She was angry, writing that I “hadn’t bothered to follow up” after our work together. To her, I was not just unhelpful; I was careless, disappointing. She didn’t refer me to others. She likely told people to avoid me.

To this day, I know there are people who think poorly of me. Some because I once shared a frustration about an employee with the wrong person, and the hurt of that moment cemented me in her mind as untrustworthy. Others because I chose to scale Evolved Education, hiring tutors and building a business around education. To me, this was about creating a platform where more families could receive excellent support. To them, it looked like exploitation: “How dare she hire people and make money off them?”

Even in my own home, I wear both costumes. My children hold stories of times I lost my temper. My husband, I am sure, alternates between being in love with me and wanting to kill me (marriage, right?).

It’s humbling—and, at times, crushing. But it’s real.

How I Move Through This

So, how do we keep going? How do we keep choosing love, generosity, and truth, knowing we will fail someone’s expectations and become the villain in their story?

1. I remind myself of intention. My work is grounded in love, not perfection. My humanity guarantees mistakes, and my intention is never to harm.

2. I hold both stories. I can be the hero in one child’s educational journey and the villain in another parent’s Facebook post. Both can be true. Both exist at the same time.

3. I keep learning. When criticism comes, sometimes it’s useful, sometimes it’s projection. The work is discerning what belongs to me and what doesn’t. This is HUGE because sometimes someone’s angst or disappointment comes from their pain and wounds and not at all my truth or work. At other times, their perception and feedback is key to my evolution. I change my mind and my work accordingly. 

4. I accept misunderstanding. If my work, my choices, or my voice trigger dislike, that’s part of the cost of living truthfully.

Books That Help

• Daring Greatly by Brené Brown — on vulnerability and courage.

• The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz — especially “Don’t Take Anything Personally.”

• Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach — on embracing ourselves as imperfect beings.

• The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck* by Mark Manson — on focusing on what truly matters.

• The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga — a life-changing exploration of freedom in living your truth.

The Final Word

I want to be remembered as someone who loved people—for their light and their dark, their mistakes and their triumphs. But I also know that to some, I will always be the person who let them down, the boss who disappointed them, the mom who yelled, the friend who frustrated.

The truth is, being both hero and villain is not a failure. It’s simply the reality of being human.

And so, I keep going—choosing love, choosing truth, choosing to be misunderstood—because in the end, living well isn’t about being liked by all. It’s about being real.