Member-only story
Who The Hell Are You To Judge Me?
We urgently need an occupation
Next time you play judge of my life — or anyone else’s — I hope this reflection hits you like a punch to the gut.
This week, while standing in line for coffee, I heard two women trash-talking a third because “she lost three babies and still hasn’t realized motherhood isn’t for her.” I swear my blood started boiling. What kind of sick shit is that, judging someone’s pain while sipping your lactose-free latte?
That’s when it hit me: we’re all victims and executioners in this shit. Yesterday I judged a girl at the gym (yeah, I’m talking about it but I’m not perfect either) who was filming all her exercises.
Then I got judged for wearing a skirt that wasn’t even short to a work meeting — “a bit too eye-catching for a serious presentation, don’t you think?” they said. It’s an endless cycle of hypocrisy we all take part in.
A few years back, this guy I used to fuck occasionally — I still have this shit engraved in my mind — told me I was “pretty, but could lose a few pounds”. Like, WTF?! You say this shit after fucking me? I was naked, vulnerable…
For months, I couldn’t undress without turning off the lights, caught a “little trauma” but thank god I got over it. Just to say that one shitty sentence planted a seed…