Everyone Is Doing the Best They Can

And when we really believe that, everything changes.

I don’t say this flippantly.
I don’t say it to excuse harm.
I say it because I believe it’s true.
Everyone is doing the best they can.

That phrase has been slowly taking root in me over the years.
It’s reshaping
How I see people.
How I lead.
How I pastor.
How I pray.

Because underneath every story, every reaction, every misstep or outburst or pattern someone can’t seem to shake, there’s always more going on than we can see.

Everyone is carrying something.

We’re All Carrying Too Much

Father Greg Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, says it beautifully:

“The measure of our compassion lies not in our service of those on the margins, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship with them.”

And he lives this by loving gang members who’ve been discarded by society, loving them without condition, and without illusion. He doesn’t sugarcoat their pasts, but he also never forgets what shaped them.

That same lens has become part of my spiritual formation too.

When I hear someone lash out in fear or anger,
When I see someone spiraling in self-sabotage,
When I walk with someone through addiction or shame or grief,

This phrase echoes in my heart:
They’re doing the best they can.
Not because they’re fine.
But because they’re wounded.
And they’ve learned to survive in the only way they know how.

It Doesn’t Mean We Don’t Have Boundaries

Let me be clear:
Believing someone is doing their best doesn’t mean we ignore harm, or avoid hard conversations, or excuse abusive behavior.

It means we see people differently.

We hold space for both accountability and compassion.
We say the hard things without needing to shame.
We refuse to reduce people to their worst moment.
Because we know: there’s always a story behind the story.
There’s always a wound under the armor.

Trauma, Upbringing, and Grace

Most of us were shaped long before we had a choice.

By trauma we couldn’t name.
By patterns we inherited.
By beliefs we absorbed about our worth, our belonging, our place in the world.

Some of us were taught that love is conditional.
Some were never taught how to regulate emotions.
Some were praised for perfection and punished for vulnerability.

So when someone breaks down,
or lashes out,
or clings to control,
or shuts down entirely,
It might look like rebellion.
But more often, it’s protection.
It’s survival.

And while that survival instinct might no longer serve them,
It makes sense when you understand their story.

We Heal Together, Not Alone

I used to think healing was something I had to do privately.
In secret.
On my own.

But I’ve learned that real healing doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens in community,
When we show up for one another
Not with judgment,
But with tenderness.

It happens when we dare to say:
“I see you. You’re not broken. You’re wounded. And you’re doing the best you can.”

And something shifts.
Shame loses its grip.
Performance gives way to presence.
And we begin to carry one another’s burdens, not by fixing, but by staying.

What If We Believed This?

What if, before we assumed laziness or apathy or failure,
We paused to ask: What’s this person carrying?

What if, when someone’s behavior triggers our frustration,
We responded with curiosity: I wonder what that’s about?

What if we practiced a radical empathy that said:
“I don’t know the whole story.
But I believe there is one.
And I believe they’re doing the best they can.”

That kind of empathy has the power to:
Change marriages.
Change parenting.
Change workplaces, churches, and communities.

It’s the foundation of kinship.
It’s the birthplace of grace.
And it’s the kind of community I want to be part of.

Let’s be the kind of people who hold space for humanity.
Let’s be the kind of church where compassion is the default setting.
Let’s choose tenderness, again and again.

Because everyone is doing the best they can.
And love never stops showing up.

Reflection

• Who in your life is hard to love right now? What might they be carrying that you cannot see?

• Where have you been doing the best you can—and could use a little grace?

• How might your relationships shift if you assumed everyone is wounded, worthy, and in process?