Growing up as an orphan—or feeling like one—means you become painfully aware of one thing early on: sometimes, there’s no “right” choice. Just competing wrongs.
It’s something I’ve lived. When you’ve been abandoned, abused, or forgotten, you learn quickly that the world isn’t made of easy answers. You see systems fail. You hear sermons that sound good but feel hollow. You’re offered solutions that hurt as much as the problem. And you end up trying to survive in the space between what should be and what actually is.
I used to think the goal was to find the “right” answer—the perfect theology, the perfect political view, the perfect method for fixing what’s broken. But life, especially for those of us with orphan stories, often forces us to choose between flawed options. We’re not picking what’s ideal—we’re picking the least harmful wrong.
Politics, Religion, and Foster Homes
I’ve seen it in politics. People argue about capitalism or socialism like one of them is righteous. But both are broken. One worships greed. The other can’t escape envy. Neither feeds the soul of a child who just wants to feel safe or belong.
I’ve seen it in religion. I grew up hearing different churches claim they had the truth—and yet none of them protected me when I needed it most. Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant—it’s all splintered. But even with their differences, almost every faith I’ve studied says the same thing: care for the orphan, the widow, the stranger. We agree on that, even if we argue about everything else.
And I’ve seen it in foster care. I lived it. It tries to do good, but it’s an imperfect solution to a deeper problem. Sometimes the system pulls children from parents who are poor, not cruel. Sometimes it shuffles them into homes that don’t heal. And sometimes—too often—it leaves them with deeper wounds than the ones they started with.
Kindness Isn’t a System—It’s a Lifeline
In all of this, I’ve learned one thing I still believe with my whole heart: kindness is never the wrong choice.
You don’t have to fix the system to sit with someone in their pain. You don’t need perfect theology to offer comfort. You don’t need to be a trained expert to notice when a kid is grieving in silence. You just need to be present. Kind. Willing.
We don’t always get to choose between right and wrong. But we do get to choose kindness—and that’s a kind of rightness that transcends policy, politics, and even pain.
If you’re a recovering orphan like me, I hope this frees you from the pressure to have it all figured out. The world is full of competing wrongs. But you can still live rightly—by loving well.
