I recently read the book Business Boutique by Christy Wright because I have quickly come to understand that while I know proper grammar and my spelling is pretty good, there are a lot of things about the business side of writing that I was clueless about. I am still learning, of course, but at the end of her book, she talks directly to women about creating their own versions of balance. What feels and looks balanced to you may not feel and look balanced to me and vice versa. Her words really resonated with me. She went on to talk about the plague of womanhood: judging. It’s a pandemic, isn’t it? It is crippling to women because it divides us and reduces our abilities to do good in this world. We are so much stronger together!
Christy says, “Often, the reason we’re so quick to judge another woman with decisions different from our own is that we aren’t completely comfortable with our own choices.” YES! This is SO TRUE! It reminds me of how we teach our children that bullies make fun of other people because they are insecure themselves. For the first 6 years of our marriage we were not able to have children. It was painful for me and I felt very insecure around other women my age who had already begun their families. At the same time, when I was alone with my husband, I found myself naively judging those young mothers’ decisions and regrettable phrases like, “I can’t believe she…” or “If those were my kids…” rolled from my tongue freely. I cringe now even typing that. In my mind, those women were judging me, thinking I was intentionally waiting to have children, so I felt justified. (Pause here for a major eye roll and sigh of disgust.) Do you want to know what cured me?
I got judged. Painfully and publicly by a stranger. It completely opened my eyes.
We were flying home from a visit with my family for Christmas. It was too expensive to fly into South Carolina (where they live), so we flew into Atlanta and drove the four hours to my mom’s house. On the way back to Houston, we left with plenty of time. We did not want to be late for our flight and—tiny detail here—we were traveling with three kids under the age of 2. Not an easy feat. Sadly, about an hour outside of Atlanta, we came to a complete stop on the freeway. It became a parking lot. We had three very unhappy babies in my brother’s truck with us as we sat parked on the freeway for over an hour. Traffic was slow to resume moving once it did and by the time we passed the HAZMAT trucks on the shoulder, it was time for us to already be at the airport.
We called the airline over and over, but it was Christmastime and no one ever answered. By the time we arrived at the airport, we were too late. We were told that they would put us on standby and we should wait at a particular gate to see if we could get on a subsequent flight. We waited all day. Finally, as the last flight boarded that night, someone at the desk told us that one seat from our party would be able to get on that flight: my 7-month-old son! Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen! So, at 9:30pm, they told us that they could definitely board us on the first flight the next morning. We got a hotel room at the airport hotel and waited for over an hour for a crib to lay our exhausted babies down.
I felt as though I had just laid my head on the pillow when it was time to get up and start the madness all over again. We loaded everyone up and did the best we could with what was left of our carry-on supplies for our three babies. We had not planned for any of this! We got back to the gate and were told that they could get all of us on the flight, but none of the seats were together, so we would have to board and then see if people would trade with us. While we were trying to collapse our stroller by the door of the plane, one of our 22-month-old twins was stumbling around and fell. He bumped his head hard enough to cry–no blood/no bruise. My husband, Nick, and I both sighed and he took the crying twin and I took the other twin and the 7-month-old with me.
Fortunately people were gracious enough to move on the plane so that I could be with two of the kids and Nick and our son who was calming down were in the very back of the plane, but at least they were together. Take-off was rough. The twin that I had is pretty high-strung and he was very nervous already and just as I gave him a pacifier to help with take-off, he dropped it and that mean old thing rolled away and was lost forever. I searched for a replacement, but couldn’t find one. I bribed him with fruit snacks. I whispered prayers in his ear. I begged him to calm down. I sang whisper songs in his ear. Meanwhile, our 7-month-old was confined to his car seat and was NOT happy. I had to figure out a way to nurse him while making sure my other son was OK. It was exhausting.
Sitting across the aisle from us were two older kids (probably 7 and 10). Their mom was behind them and their dad was behind us (they were probably displaced because of us). In front of those kids was a man in his early thirties who wore an eye mask over his eyes for most of the flight and kept to himself. As we were making our descent to land in Houston, this man removed his eye mask, turned to me, and gave me a lecture that could have been entitled, “10 Reasons Why Babies Cry” after which he said that he worked at a pediatrician’s office in Houston and he had never seen such a bad mother as he saw in me that day.
I was stunned. Who was this man? He didn’t know me! He didn’t know all of the good things I did for my children and how much I love them. He judged me and my ability to mother based on a horrible two-hour flight and not even based on what he saw, but what he’d heard. It stung. I clenched my jaw and waited for him to finish. While he was talking, I had already decided that I would not retaliate, but that I would respond with as much kindness as I could muster and hoped that would put an end to the whole thing. I simply said, “Sir, you have no idea what we have been through in the past 24 hours. I apologize for disturbing you.” The father sitting behind me leaned over the seat and said, “Just wanted you to know, that guy was way out of line.” Even though I appreciated his comment, in my mind I was thinking, “Everybody heard that?! Aaaahh!” As everyone else was getting off the plane, I stayed right there in my seat with my two babies, on the verge of tears as I waited for my husband to come from the very back of the plane. I felt so horrible!
For weeks after this incident, I found those words coming back to my mind and those same feelings of being judged by this ignorant man returned. How dare he? He doesn’t even know me! And suddenly the words of a scripture came to my mind, “Judge not, that ye be not judged” (Matthew 7:1). Ouch. I got the message loud and clear:I knew how it felt to have someone judge me wrongfully and assume the worst of me and it felt horrible. Knowing that, how could I ever do that to someone else again? Now anytime that I start to allow my thoughts to go in that direction, I am reminded of this experience. I remember how it feels to be judged and I never wish that on another person.
Christy Wright continues her thoughts by saying, “And really, at our core, all the women I’ve ever met want the same things. We want a purpose we can be proud of. We want a family that is healthy and happy. We want a body that we can feel comfortable in. We want a life that we love. These are the ties that bind us together as women…Her methods may be her way and not my way, but that’s okay, because it’s her life. We don’t need more standards to meet; we need support. We don’t need more advice; we need affirmation. We don’t need more guidance; we need grace.”
Let’s give ourselves grace. Let’s give our fellow brothers and sisters grace. Ann Voskamp says,
“I won’t judge you for dishes in your sink and shoes over your floor and laundry on your couch. I won’t judge you for choosing not to spend your one life weeding the garden or washing the windows or working on organizing the pantry. I won’t judge you for the size of your waist, the flatness, bigness, cut or color of your hair, the hipness or the matronliness of your clothes, and I won’t judge whether you work at a stove, a screen, a store, a steering wheel, a sink or a stage. I won’t judge you for where you are on your road, won’t belittle your offering, your creativity, your battle, your work.”
Have you ever been judged? How did you overcome it?
