And that sentence…
That sentence is the one people argue about.
Because when someone says they did everything right, half the world wants to prove them wrong.
It makes people feel safe to believe suffering is always earned.
It makes them feel immune.
So I asked her gently, “Tell me what ‘right’ looked like.”
Sarah’s mouth tightened, like she wasn’t used to anyone asking without judgment.
Then she started listing things, quiet at first, then faster, like the words had been trapped in her for years.
“I worked extra,” she said. “I stopped buying anything that wasn’t necessary. I cut my own hair. I kept the heat low. I skipped meals so the kids could eat. I picked up every shift no one wanted.”
Her voice shook. “I didn’t go out. I didn’t drink. I didn’t… I didn’t do anything people accuse me of doing.”
She swallowed hard. “And then my car needed repairs. And then my son got sick. And then childcare got more expensive. And then my hours got cut for two weeks because someone senior bumped me.”
Her eyes filled again. “It’s like you can’t win. It’s like life is a treadmill and someone keeps turning the speed up.”
Barnaby shifted under the table, pressing closer.
Sarah wiped her cheek with her sleeve and whispered, “And online they just say… ‘Make better choices.’”
I leaned forward slightly.
“Sarah,” I said quietly. “People say that because they need to believe they’re safe.”
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