I wrote this a year and a half ago but it felt timely to repost. ~ Jen Pastiloff
The layers upon layers of judgments we hail at people all day. At ourselves. Morning and night.
I can’t believe you would do that.
I would never do that if I were them.
My family wouldn’t do it that way.
What are you wearing?
She is a good person.
I am ugly.
I am not smart enough.
Maybe you don’t do it.
I do. I judge all the time.
As I click clack my boots down the sidewalk in a hurry. As I waste time on Facebook, or sit on a plane, as I am now, my mind is full of misgivings and they did it wrongs. Its full of I am doing it wrong, I look fat/bad/ugly, I am stupid, this woman is walking so slow, that man looks like this, she looks like that, they must be a nice person, they are rude, a cacophony of noise all at once, and in between it all, moments of I feel good/happy, I am safe, I am not my body.
There are many parts to me. To all of us. We know this. There is the me that teaches my workshops, a combination of a Jewish/Baptist preacher in a Revival tent who likes to sing and dance and downward dog and read poetry and who knows damn well that we can manifest the life of our dreams if we change our thoughts and is spiritual and knowledgeable in the ways of the body, the heart, the mind. And then there is the other me who is also me, here and now. Drinking a shit ton of wine and wearing glasses and reading like I may never be able to read again.