Is Being too Judgmental Blocking our Ability to be Free?
Political Burnout Antidote: Be less "judgy" and more curious.
Last Sunday morning, I called an Uber to meet my mom at church. I’ve only started going to church this year — I didn’t grow up religious, and have spent much of my 20s dabbling in various spiritual practices, but was looking for something more consistent to strengthen my overall spiritual hygiene. I’m happy with my experience of going to church so far, and I definitely needed some preaching last week.
My Uber arrives, I climb into the back of the Nissan, and start making small talk with the driver. After the first few casual moments of “Happy Sunday” and “How’s your day going so far?” I casually share that I’m heading to church. The man driving the Uber then goes into an entire lecture about how Christianity isn’t meant for Black people, how the church is a pyramid scheme, and how he thinks I should do more research. I could feel the tension filling the Nissan. Not because I unilaterally disagree with his experience, because of course Christianity as a system and structure has caused harm across the globe for centuries, but because I could feel that this was a closed conversation between him and his beliefs, leaving no room for me, my perspective, or my opinions. There was no room for my stories of how I’ve seen the practice of going to church heal my relationships, or how the discipline of having a spiritual practice has strengthened my political resilience, or how it’s really good to have dedicated time to see my mom and have amazing conversation post-church at least once a week.
There was no room for me, and I am really good at knowing when to debate and when it’s not worth it. So I check my phone for how much longer I have before I arrive at church, then open Mario Kart and keep it pushing.
A minute or so later, my mom calls. “Hey Mommy”, I answer, as she asks for my ETA and lets me know that she’ll be on the left side when I walk into the church building. “Awesome, see you soon, love you”. I hang up. The man driving asks,
“Question, how old is your mom?”
Hm? Interesting question, and while I feel the imminent setup, I don’t quite know where it’s heading, so unguarded, I reply,
“Oh, in her fifties, why?”
“I heard you call her Mommy, so I was just wondering.”
At that moment, I realized that the energy filling up the Nissan wasn’t tension — it was judgment. Judgment of how I talk to my mommy (who I’m gonna keep calling Mommy cuz that’s my mommy!!!), judgment of going to church, judgment of how I’m showing up. I could feel the thickness of judgment swelling like an invisible cloud of smoke, blocking my eyes, making me tear up, and making it impossible to speak. I felt myself shrink in the smoke of judgment, and fell silent the rest of the ride as the man driving babbled on. I sat through the Sunday service distracted by the smoke’s lingering scent.
Later that day, I indulged in some comfort TV to shake off the funk. When it comes to movies and television, I usually partake in things that make me feel inspired by its creativity and beauty, impressed by the talent and intentionality, or seen and validated through representation and feeling — I try to keep my roster of mediocre white entertainment, which makes me feel none of the aforementioned feelings, to a minimum. Be that as it may, I’m sure I’m not the only one who has been sucked into the very entertaining mess of the Trainwreck series on Netflix — if you haven’t already, tread with caution because it’s an addictive mess.
Trainwreck is a documentary series that highlights some of the hottest messes of pop culture over recent years: the collapse of American Apparel via the madness of it’s leadership and company culture (or lack thereof), the scandalous former Mayor of Toronto who was caught on camera smoking out of a crackpipe and resumed his tenure in office, the real story of Project X, and so on. Some of the stories have been heartbreaking, some hilarious, all of them pretty stupid. I feel my ego swell in pride as I shout “I would never” and shake my head. The overall feeling that I have while watching the series is just how hilarious the madness is, how stupid the people involved are, and how I would neeeever be in those kinds of scenarios.
Judgment, judgment, judgment.
MOST pieces of work within our culture are mediocre at best: either because they are bland or lack originality, culture, and talent, or just plain money grabs, or all of the above. Because I feel better than the idiots I am watching, I feel a false sense of self-validation because of how much smarter, more accomplished, more morally sound I am in comparison. When engaging with the mediocre, I feel a level of smugness and detest because I am soooo much better. There is nothing that I can learn, because I have already decided that it is beneath me. The ego is massive. The curiosity, tiny.
One of the functions of the ego, which is Latin for “I”, is defense. In the brain, the ego is said to process our reality and surroundings — it’s the part of the brain that stops us from walking across the street when a car is flying by so we don’t get run over, because it tells us, “car, fast, unsafe, stop”. The ego keeps us safe. The ego keeps us comfortable. Even when the defense signal isn’t life threatening like the car flying down the street, but instead it’s something like taking a risk and getting out of our comfort zone to join a political organizing group for a cause we believe in — even then, the ego wants to protect us, because the database for the ego is familiarity. If the organizing group is unfamiliar, the ego will “keep us safe” by telling us that we should stay home and prioritize our comfort instead. If we’re not intentional about checking the ego and let it get unwieldy, there will be no room for curiosity and learning new things.
Similarly, when judgment is the driving perspective, we assess someone or something, immediately identify the difference between us and that thing, and categorize it based on that difference. Judgment automatically centers difference. Rather than letting us get close to the difference or learn from it with curiosity or interest, though, it forms a conclusion. It critiques. It ostracizes. Just like the experience that I had in the uber on my way to church, instead of holding space for curiosity in my church experience and maybe just letting the difference exist, the difference was shrunk by assumption and critique. Judgment. Judgment closes us up. Judgment shrinks us. Judgment leaves no space for curiosity, difference, and growth.
I am from Atlanta, which is often referred to as Black mecca. Black excellence runs through the concrete fabric of our city, and I am definitely a byproduct. I feel the city’s ego every time I leave the house. Also dubbed as ‘the Hollywood of the South’, Atlanta has a real saddidy air about it, and I’d consider us to be Talented Tenth HQ. If you don’t live in Atlanta, it’s glittery, it’s unapologetically Black, it’s intoxicating. But the paradox of Atlanta is that we are notoriously the most unequal city in the country, despite all the Wakandaness we emanate. It is in large part due to the unbridled and corrupt elite, many of whom are Black, being in cahoots with corporate interests and the ingrained master’s tools of capitalism and white supremacy, all masked as ‘Black excellence’. Political alliances are made not based on competence or integrity, but based on if we went to the same Atlanta public school or grew up in the same police zone (not kidding). Social capital and street cred hold a lot of weight in Atlanta, and the Black elite have a chokehold on our city. In Atlanta, class and social status are the currency. And with this criteria, there is a lottttt of judgment.
Can elitism exist without judgment and the ego? If I were to personify the elite, I picture exclusionary country clubs with tall metal gates and spacey, sheltered, cookie cutter people inside. I do NOT want to be in that club. In my experience attending prestigious schools, the ego was MASSIVE, and there was a thin line between excellence and elitism. Many of the folks I would identify as a part of the ‘elite’, especially the ones running the country right now, are spineless, incompetent brats with huge egos. Their egos are the poison that is breeding horrible policy after horrible policy. Their egos are limiting them from making actually good decisions if they even wanted to, because rather than having any bones in their body for curiosity and empathy, they have a God complex that is killing us all.
What if by releasing ourselves from judgment, we could create the conditions and collaborations we need to win against the corrupt elite? What do we make space for? What possibilities could we make room for when we are less judgmental?
As an ancestor in training, I am working on eliminating judgment from my personal practice. I’m a recovering anti-perfectionist, and I write often about how harmful the ‘Twice as Good’ standard of excellence is for us. I love being fabulous, and I pride myself on spending a lot of time making sure that I look amazing. Nails, hair, clothes, accessories, skincare, the works. In a way, it’s my form of resistance to the Black mammy trope, where as Black women, we exhaust ourselves to dust while everyone else benefits. While I do believe that my outward expression is an essential facet of my identity and wellbeing, I can slip into a tendency of judging myself — and unfortunately, others — by how they are dressed and how they present. In a previous post about decentering social media from our lives, y’all met my low self-esteem toad, but this time, meet their stronger, sexier, meaner partner in crime, my harsh inner critic: Miranda. Yep, as in Miranda Priesley from The Devil Wears Prada. My inner Miranda is judging for wrinkled fabric, uneven winged eyeliner, or God forbid, a black bag with brown shoes. If I let Miranda take over, I am spending hours getting ready before an event, making sure I am perfect. And it’s been exhausting. So part of my personal practice as of late is shutting Miranda up and letting myself be less put together, on purpose.
What started with me letting myself wear the baggy ripped denim jeans more or leaving the house without makeup turned into a beautiful exercise of letting people in to the mess that is my humanity. And witnessing the humanity of others. The less space I make for judgment, the more I have been able to make space for empathy, compassion, and understanding. The less time I am spending nitpicking what I am wearing in the mirror, or bingewatching stupidity on TV, the more time I have to practice loving myself in my immanent value. And, the more I open myself up for the unsuspecting possibility of learning from someone who I otherwise would have judged for showing up to a meeting with brown shoes and a black purse lol.
We are in a time where multicultural, intergenerational organizing is how we will win. But in order to create this diverse and abundant block of power, we have to release our judgmental tendencies. I know that Atlanta would be better if our ego as a city wasn’t as inflated. I know that Atlanta would be more inclusive, safer, and more welcoming if judgment (the nicer word for prejudice, in this instance) weren’t permeating through our neighborhood meetings, restrictive zoning laws, and policy decisions. I know this, because we would be engaging with our city from a place of curiosity and connectedness instead.
And when we are more connected, liberation is possible for us all.