I want to talk about something that is uncomfortable to name, especially in spaces where compassion is the currency and good intentions are assumed. Sometimes, help makes things worse.
This is not an argument against caring, generosity, or community involvement. It is an observation formed over years of working in housing, outreach, healthcare, psychiatry, harm reduction, and municipal leadership. It is something I have watched unfold again and again, often quietly, often unintentionally.
There is a difference between relieving discomfort and supporting recovery. When those two things get confused, the outcome can look like help while quietly reinforcing the very conditions that keep people stuck.
Much of the public narrative around homelessness, addiction, and crisis is built on urgency. People are suffering; therefore, we must act immediately. That instinct makes sense. It comes from empathy. But urgency without structure rarely leads to healing. It often leads to chaos, inconsistency, and erosion of trust.
I have watched well meaning individuals and groups arrive with food, clothing, promises, answers, and certainty. They often position themselves as the ones finally doing something, finally seeing people, finally helping in ways the system supposedly refuses to. What is usually missing is an understanding of what has already been tried, what is already available, and why certain boundaries exist in the first place.
Boundaries are often mistaken for indifference. In reality, they are one of the few tools we have that protect people over time. When help is given without boundaries, expectations shift. When expectations shift, entitlement can grow. When entitlement grows, frustration follows. Eventually the very helpers who once felt needed begin to feel resentful, burned out, or betrayed.
From the client side, unstructured help can create confusion. Different messages from different helpers. Promises that cannot be kept. Access without accountability. Support without follow through. Over time, this reinforces the belief that systems are unreliable, that rules are arbitrary, and that healing happens externally rather than through sustained engagement.
I see this play out most clearly when people bypass existing services instead of working alongside them. Not because services are perfect, but because they are built to be sustainable. They hold information. They communicate across teams. They document patterns. They learn from risk. They are slow for a reason.
Real support often looks boring. It looks like appointments kept. It looks like being told no and coming back anyway. It looks like the same message repeated consistently by different people. It looks like being challenged when a story stops serving someone, even when that challenge is uncomfortable.
When help makes things worse, it is usually because it prioritizes the helper’s need to feel effective over the client’s need for stability. It centers visibility over continuity. It values immediacy over outcome.
I do not believe people are good or bad. I believe people act from their own histories, beliefs, and blind spots. That includes clients, staff, volunteers, leaders, and advocates. But impact matters more than intent. Especially when the stakes are this high.
If we truly want to support people to move forward, we have to be willing to ask harder questions. Not just what feels good right now, but what actually helps someone heal over time. Not just who is helping, but how and within what structure. Not just whether something looks compassionate, but whether it is sustainable.
Sometimes the most caring thing we can do is slow down, step back, and work within systems that already exist. Not because they are perfect, but because real change rarely comes from reinventing the wheel. It comes from strengthening what is already carrying the weight.
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