The Judge

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I judge. I hate that I judge, but still it doesn’t stop me from thinking stuff like “Your ass is too old for that checked knit ultra-mini-skirt.” or “If I was her trainer, her form would be a little straighter and she wouldn’t swing those free weights”.

Because I know that I’m mentally judging others unfairly, I usually have that internal dialogue with myself to stop it. This happened this morning during my AM walk. My brain was arguing with itself.

Judge Judgerson: “OMG she’s trying to do push ups but she’s barely bending her arms and she’s bending from the waist so her head is almost to the ground and she’s looking at her shoes! What muscle group does she think she’s working?”

Amy Gupta Zenchild: “What are you judging? You can do maybe 5 girlie push ups”

JJ: “Yeah, because I’m focusing on getting the form right so I can build the muscles correctly.”

AGZ: “You are not her. Not in her workout routine. Not in her arms or abs or thighs. You don’t know the challenges ahead of her today, how her parents treated her when she was a kid, if she’s allergic to eggs. You don’t know ANYTHING about her. You are not her, so stop judging her.”

JJ:  “If I was, I’d actually bend my elbows and straighten my spine”

AGZ: “Oh Judgy, at least she’s out here doing something. And something is always better than nothing.”

JJ: “Except in cases like Ebola”

AGZ: “….”

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