I’ve never considered myself judgmental.
Heck, these days more than even being supremely liberal–I’m a libertarian.
Autonomy. Freedom of choice. If you’re not hurting anyone then do what you want and hold your beliefs close.
Judgmental was not a word in my self-definition.
And, even though my year of living what would happen if one woman told the truth… are ostensibly over–I’m compelled to share something I’ve discovered:
I’ve judged you.
I’ve judged you for how you spoke about your husband and referred to him (sarcastically) as Mr. Wonderful.
I was young. I was single. I had no clue marriage was like fitness and demanded daily recommitting to maintain its momentum.
I judged your choice of words and tone.
I hadn’t yet walked a mile in your wedded-shoes.
I’ve judged you for incessantly chatting about your children.
I wondered what else you had rounding out your life.
I longed to steer talk away from little people toward books, movies and stuffs of a grownup sort.
I yet hadn’t grown up myself.
I didn’t comprehend how having a child or being a mother-figure becomes woven into the fabric of who you are.
I hadn’t yet begun to complete the fabric of my own life.
I’ve judged you for crying when your (fingerquote) baby (unFQ) went to kindergarten.
I assumed you led an empty life.
I wondered why you didn’t create something separate for yourself in the years before school began.
I furrowed my brow at the thought of *not* celebrating the sweet, sweet freedom hours apart from your child would bring.
I hadn’t yet sent my own heart residing outside of my body off to be with strangers all day.
I’ve judged you for failing to notice and celebrate the small things.
For seeming to be unable to see how simple life really is.
I wasn’t aware, while perhaps an admirable goal, this noting and celebrating is often out of our control.
I didn’t realize, back then, how I’d long for small stresses and how complicated life often is no matter how hard we try.
I hadn’t yet experienced life.
I’ve judged you for panicking about over your empty nest.
I smiled, on the inside, as you worried over what came next as the time-gap between age 9 and 18 felt cavernous to me.
I wasn’t familiar with the concept of roots and wings.
I didn’t know, when we moms do our jobs well, children start to soar long before they physically leave our home.
I hadn’t yet focused endless energies and hours on something which would some day VANISH and feel gone.
As I unpacked a box marked OFFICE! yesterday a piece of paper fell out:
I don’t recall scrawling it. I immediately got the message I’d previously sent to myself.
I’m a late bloomer.
It hadn’t dawned on me how judgmental I’d been in the past or how this act served to define *me* and not the people over whom I passed judgement.
As much as I could say:
“It depresses me how much I have left to learn at age 45!”
In reality it excites me.
I’m still learning. Even at age 45.
Are you like I am?
- What life-lessons have taken you a while to learn?
- Have you unknowingly judged others in the past?