A Quiet Conflict: Finding the Balance Between Compassion and Accountability

How Integrity, Upbringing, and Inclusion Collide in Real Life

I often find myself struggling with something I rarely admit out loud — what happens when compassion and accountability collide.

It’s a thought that sits quietly at the back of my mind during meetings, classes, even late-night reflections after Brandon’s asleep.

Because as much as I want to champion inclusion and advocate for people with additional needs, there’s a part of me that hesitates. Not in doubt of the cause, but in wondering: what happens when support turns into a shield? When concessions meant to empower start being used as excuses?

There are times, too, when I see systems stretched thin — when help meant for those in genuine need becomes a comfort zone for those who’ve stopped trying. It’s uncomfortable to say that aloud, but inclusion loses its meaning when support replaces accountability.

It’s a quiet conflict — between wanting to make things fair and fearing that fairness might be stretched too far. And as I’ve come to realise, it’s not a new conflict at all. It’s been with me my whole life.

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The Way I Was Raised

I grew up being told that it’s a dog-eat-dog world. That if you wanted something, you fought for it. That everyone has their own struggles, so what makes yours more important?

That mindset built resilience — the kind that plans, endures, and keeps going when things get hard. But it also built walls. It taught me how to survive, not necessarily how to receive.

Integrity, without self-compassion, hardens into judgment.

Social psychologists might call my upbringing individualism — the belief that independence equals strength. It’s a familiar script in many Asian and high-achieving cultures. In Asian households, resilience isn’t just encouraged — it’s expected. You learn early that survival is proof of character.

But inclusion, by its very nature, asks for something else: interdependence — the understanding that we grow not in isolation, but in community. Still, life has a way of testing the values we swear by.

When I Had to Ask for Help

I had half expected to be done with my assignments by the time Brandon’s estimated due date rolled around. But that boy clearly had other plans. He arrived five weeks early, when my water broke one fine morning while I was still in bed.

I would’ve had about three weeks left to prepare if he had come on schedule. Instead, everything happened in fast-forward. My assignments, my work, my carefully planned timeline — all shifted overnight. I’d been teaching up until the day before he was born, planning to close off my classes between weeks 36 and 40 of pregnancy. But Brandon came at 34 weeks and five days.

That day in the hospital felt oddly calm. I couldn’t feel my contractions — the doctors kept asking if I did, and I remember thinking, am I supposed to be feeling something? It felt like nothing more than mild cramps. Because I trusted my doctor and her team, I was relaxed enough to ask the nurses what they were doing and why. Between checks and explanations, there were even quiet pockets of boredom, the steady hum of machines filling the silence.

Later, when Brandon was taken to the NICU, I found myself alone in the ward — recovering, waiting, processing. The glow of the laptop screen cut through the soft hospital light as I filled in my request for special consideration. Relief, guilt, and gratitude all swirled together as I typed an email asking for a two-week extension on my assignment.

And even as I wrote it, a knot formed in my chest. It wasn’t pride — it was integrity disguised as guilt. That voice in my head said, You should’ve started earlier. You should’ve planned better. Others have challenges too — what makes yours special?

That’s the thing about being raised to fight for what you want: even when life quite literally rewrites your plans, you still hesitate before asking for help.

The Weight of Integrity

That stubbornness, I think, has kept my integrity intact. But it’s also slowed me down. Progress takes longer when you carry everything alone.

Maybe it’s because I’ve learned that people are often more willing to talk about helping than to actually help. So I learned to manage on my own.

And maybe that’s why I sometimes struggle when I see others lean easily on systems of support. There’s a part of me that admires it — and another part that resists it. Because I’ve seen how comfort, when unexamined, can quietly dull effort.

At the same time, I know that what looks like “not trying” can be someone’s best effort that day. Invisible effort doesn’t always look like effort. Psychologist Kristin Neff calls this tension self-compassion: learning to respond to our own humanity with the same grace we offer others. Without it, integrity hardens into self-judgment.

Compassion Fatigue and the Ache of Caring

In advocacy work, this conflict shows up often. We want to believe in the best of people, but when systems get misused or trust erodes, it wears on us. Psychologist Charles Figley describes compassion fatigue as what happens when empathy collides with exhaustion.

It’s not cynicism; it’s the ache of caring with your eyes open.

Advocates, educators, parents — we all reach this point sometimes. The balance between compassion and accountability isn’t just professional; it’s emotional. It’s the space where we ask, How much can I give before I start losing myself?

Equity, Not Ease

Over time, I’ve come to see that inclusion isn’t about removing effort; it’s about making effort possible.

The Universal Design for Learning (UDL) framework puts it simply: supports should remove barriers, not expectations. Fairness isn’t everyone getting the same thing — it’s everyone having what they need to access the same opportunity.

In classrooms, therapy rooms, and even swim lessons, I’ve seen how small, well-intentioned accommodations can either unlock confidence or quietly remove the need to try. The difference often lies in how we frame support — as a bridge, not a cushion.

That balance is delicate. Because empathy without accountability can turn into enablement, and accountability without empathy can turn into exclusion. True inclusion lives in that tension — in the willingness to hold both.

The Advocate’s Paradox

Sometimes I wonder if part of my advocacy comes from trying to give others the support I rarely had myself.

Not from many, anyway.

There’s a quiet ache in realising that I’m helping to build the kind of world I once needed but didn’t know how to ask for. Maybe that’s why I fight so hard for inclusion to mean more than just acceptance — I want it to mean empowerment.

Because inclusion isn’t about saying yes to everything. It’s about asking why we say yes, and how that yes helps someone grow.

Redefining Strength: Finding the Balance Between Compassion and Accountability

I used to think strength meant not depending on anyone. Now I think it means knowing when to.

Strength isn’t stoicism. It’s discernment — the ability to know when to stand firm, when to lean in, and when to let others catch you.

Maybe that’s what integrity looks like now — not perfection, but presence.

Because fairness without empathy feels cold; empathy without accountability, chaotic. But somewhere between the two is a steady, human place where compassion and responsibility can coexist.

And that’s where I want to stand — learning, unlearning, and showing up again and again, one quiet conflict at a time.

Maybe that’s the question we all have to ask ourselves:

When we say we want inclusion, do we mean comfort — or growth?

Maybe growth begins right there — in the quiet, uncomfortable honesty of asking better questions.

References

Brown, B. (2015). Daring greatly: How the courage to be vulnerable transforms the way we live, love, parent, and lead.Penguin Books.

Figley, E. B. C. R. (1995). Compassion Fatigue: Coping With Secondary Traumatic Stress Disorder In Those Who Treat The Traumatized (C. R. Figley, Ed.; 1st ed., Vol. 23). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203777381

Hofstede, G. (2011). Dimensionalizing Cultures: The Hofstede Model in Context. Online Readings in Psychology and Culture, 2(1), 1-. https://doi.org/10.9707/2307-0919.1014

Meyer, A., Rose, D. H., & Gordon, D. (2014). Universal design for learning: Theory and practice. CAST Professional Publishing.

Neff, K. (2015). Self-compassion : the proven power of being kind to yourself (First William Morrow paperback edition.). William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins.