Privilege vs. Freedom: Untangling the Language That Shapes Us

If you had asked me thirty years ago whether I was privileged, I would’ve said no, and I would’ve meant it.

At the time, I was living in a car with a child. No stable housing. No extra money. No safety net. Just doing whatever I could to make it through each day, trying to create a sense of normalcy out of instability.

So if someone had called me privileged, I would’ve argued. Loudly. Because back then, I thought privilege meant wealth, comfort, and a predictable life, and I had none of that.

But over the years, my lens has changed.

Through experience, growth, listening, and unlearning, I’ve come to understand that privilege isn’t about how hard your life has been; it’s about which specific hardships you haven’t had to face. And that’s not always obvious from the outside.

I also started noticing how other words like freedom, rights, and liberty get used in ways that don’t always fit what they truly mean. We toss them around easily. Sometimes carelessly. And sometimes, even dangerously.

This blog isn’t a lecture. It’s a reflection. An invitation to pause and ask: What are we really saying when we talk about privilege and freedom? And are we using those words to build bridges or to build barriers?

Let’s Start Here: Privilege Is Not an Insult

Privilege doesn’t mean your life has been easy. It means there are certain obstacles you haven’t had to face because of circumstances you didn’t choose, like the color of your skin, the body you live in, the country where you were born, or the wealth you inherited.

Acknowledging privilege isn’t about guilt. It’s about awareness. It’s about recognizing the invisible systems that shape who gets the benefit of the doubt and who doesn’t.

When we don’t acknowledge that, we end up confusing privilege with personal effort. And that’s not only inaccurate, it’s unfair.

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Freedom Is a Collective Experience

Freedom, real freedom, is not about doing whatever we want, whenever we want. It’s about creating a world where everyone has the ability to live fully, safely, and with dignity.

It’s not freedom if it only applies to some. It’s not freedom if it requires the silence or suffering of others. And it’s not freedom if it comes at the expense of another person’s rights.

True freedom involves shared responsibility and a willingness to protect the rights of others as fiercely as we protect our own.

So What Do We Really Mean When We Say “Freedom”?

When people talk about freedom, what are they actually thinking?

Often it’s:

• “I have freedom of speech.”

• “I have the right to bear arms.”

• “I can make my own choices.”

  
  

And yes, those are important constitutional rights. But freedom without accountability quickly becomes something else entirely. It becomes entitlement. Or worse, permission to harm without consequence.

In yoga, one of the foundational ethical principles is Ahimsa, often translated as non-harming. It asks us to live with intention, care, and compassion, not just in our movements or words, but in the way we show up in the world. Ahimsa isn’t passive. It’s an active practice of not causing harm physically, emotionally, or socially.

When we use “freedom” to justify actions that hurt others through policy, rhetoric, or neglect, we step away from Ahimsa. We turn freedom into a shield for self-interest instead of a shared value that includes and protects everyone.

Whether it’s hate speech disguised as opinion… Refusing public health measures that protect the collective… Or pushing laws that strip others of their dignity and care…

Freedom that causes harm isn’t freedom. It’s a violation of Ahimsa.

Yoga is more than movement; it’s a philosophy, a way of being. And Ahimsa doesn’t end when we roll up the mat. It carries into our conversations, our choices, our votes, and our communities.

Freedom, when practiced through the lens of Ahimsa, becomes something deeper: 

Not just the right to act but the responsibility to care.

And That Brings Us Back to the Heart of It

This is the thread that runs through everything, whether we’re talking about yoga, policy, or everyday choices:

Our freedom doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It touches other people’s lives. It shapes the world we all have to live in.

That’s why language matters. That’s why accountability matters. That’s why we have to pause and ask not just what am I free to do? but who could this harm? and how can we widen freedom, not weaponize it?

Your Rights Don’t Erase Mine

We also have to stop treating rights like they exist in isolation.

Your freedom doesn’t cancel mine. Your rights don’t override mine.

If your “freedom” means I no longer feel safe, heard, or seen, we need to revisit what we’re calling freedom. Because rights without balance lead to injustice.

This is especially true when those who shout the loudest about freedom are often the ones least impacted by systemic inequality.

When Language Gets Twisted

We’ve seen how powerful language can be in shaping narratives. And when words like “freedom” and “privilege” are misused, they don’t just confuse us; they keep us divided.

That’s why reclaiming language matters.

We need to talk about freedom in a way that includes everyone, not just the loudest voices. We need to talk about privilege in a way that opens the door for deeper understanding, not shame.

A Few Invitations for Reflection

• When you hear the word “privilege,” what emotions or defensiveness come up and why?

• What freedoms do you enjoy that others might not? How were those freedoms protected for you?

• Are there times you’ve used the word “freedom” to avoid responsibility or justify harm?

  
  

These aren’t easy questions, but they’re essential. They help us move from reacting to reflecting. From avoidance to accountability.

Let’s Not Confuse Comfort with Truth.

Growth doesn’t come from staying in our safe corners. It comes from leaning into the friction, asking better questions, and being willing to learn even when it stings.

Because a better world isn’t built by defending what we’ve always known.

 It’s built by imagining what we haven’t yet dared to create.