On Judgement
I remember having a conversation a few years back, where someone was just absolutely railing against X. On and on and on and on. It was rant. And I sat there, and I listened. I gave nods and vague, noncommittal responses.
Because what they were judging, unbeknownst to them, was me. Yes, they were talking about someone else, but I had been in that person’s shoes. And during that conversation, something in my heart just sank into the ocean. Because I could no longer count that person as safe, as someone who would have my back. They had already judged me, only they didn’t know it yet. I distanced myself accordingly.
It’s curious to me how we often judge people on their worst day. Or by the worst thing they’ve done. I am not a perfect person. None of us are. I am messy and flawed. I think all of us are. I think we’ve all done dumb things. I’m thinking of the poor choices I’ve made over the years and how they often made sense in the moment.
I try to move through life with kindness. I try not to be like that person I mentioned at the beginning of this—because it’s a strange kind of cruelty. To be unexpectedly judged or condemned by someone without compassion or even pausing to wonder at the weaponry of your words.
It’s easy to pass judgement, when it’s someone you don’t know. You can craft any kind of narrative to fit the insult or the outrage. But when you can put a face to it, when you know weight of someone’s beating heart, it’s harder. Or it should be.
Too often, we forget to be mindful. To show grace. To pause and take a beat before speaking. Too often we tear down, when we might mend, and we do it without thinking. And that’s been on my mind, lately. Because there’s a great deal of cruelty in the world right now. It’s hard to look at. It’s hard to witness. But it’s even harder to bear the weight of it.
And I choose to be soft in the face of it. And in that softness, there is strength, I promise you that.