I’ve spent much of my life teaching, counseling, and raising kids of my own, and one thing I keep noticing is how often the best of our intentions lead us in the wrong direction. We step in to protect or advocate, certain that we’re doing the right thing, only to realize later that our “help” created more harm than healing.
I see it first with children. Parents and grandparents today, myself included in the past, want to smooth the path for our kids and grandkids. We argue with teachers, demand accommodations, and shield them from hardship. We tell ourselves we’re being protective. But when I look back at my own childhood, it was the chores, the disappointments, and even the painful losses that taught me resilience. The very lessons that shaped me into an adult who could contribute to my family and community came from friction, not from being rescued. When we try too hard to protect our kids, we risk stunting the very growth they’ll need later.
We see this playing out in debates around trans children. Out of compassion, many parents are urged to follow their child’s feelings about gender before the child even understands their own body or the complex realities of sexuality and identity. Advocates push schools and doctors to affirm instantly, as though feelings at eight or twelve carry the same permanence as decisions made in adulthood. But childhood is, by definition, a season of change. When advocacy rushes ahead of development, backlash is almost guaranteed. And when that backlash comes, government often responds with sweeping restrictions that take rights away from parents altogether. What began as a well-intended effort to support kids ends up leaving families with less freedom, not more.
The same pattern shows up in advocacy for adults. Take the transgender community. Loud voices have insisted that trans women must compete in women’s sports. Yet, many trans individuals I’ve spoken with, or read in quieter forums, don’t want this battle fought on their behalf. For them, advocacy in this area has only made life harder. Instead of quietly living their truth, they’re pulled onto a stage they never asked for, branded as symbols in a culture war. That isn’t protection. That’s exposure.
I’ve seen it with LGBTQ+ pride as well. What began as a brave act of dignity has, in some places, turned into spectacle. Corporate floats, hyper-sexualized displays, and endless slogans can drown out the simple wish many gay and lesbian people have: to be seen as ordinary neighbors, coworkers, and friends. Not everyone wants to march, wave a flag, or be defined by this one are of their identity. Some would rather just go about life without labels. When advocacy insists that everyone must be loud, those who prefer quiet acceptance are left out, or even shamed.
The Latino/Latina community has been through something similar. Take the term Latinx. It was invented with the intention of being inclusive, removing gender from “Latino” and “Latina.” It caught fire in academic and activist circles, but when surveys were done, the vast majority of Hispanic people rejected it. Many saw it as foreign, artificial, even disrespectful to their language. What was supposed to be a gesture of solidarity ended up being experienced as cultural imposition. It wasn’t their word; it was someone else’s word, handed to them with the expectation that they should embrace it.
Even within the Black community, I’ve watched well-meaning advocates erase diversity of thought. I’ve heard people say, “This is the Black position” on a political issue, as though millions of people with different histories and beliefs could be reduced to one talking point. When individuals speak up with a more moderate or conservative view, they’re told they’ve betrayed the cause. Their own voice is stripped away in the name of “representation.”
And here’s the hardest truth: the backlash to this kind of advocacy often lands on the very people it was meant to help. Communities end up with more targets on their backs, not fewer. I’ve seen this happen in counseling, too. When we reduce people to categories or identities, when we fight for them without listening to them, we miss the heart of what it means to honor someone’s humanity.
The road to hell really is paved with good intentions. If we want to avoid it, maybe we need to tune out the loudest voices in the room and listen instead to the quiet ones, the parent who wants to raise a child without labels, the trans person who doesn’t want a podium, the Hispanic neighbor who prefers Latino, the Black professional who resents being told how they should vote.
As a counselor, I’ve learned that people don’t want to be turned into symbols. They want to be heard. They want to be seen as whole human beings, not poster children for a movement. Advocacy that forgets that ends up doing more harm than good.
Dr. Wesley