Never Judge a Man Until You've Walked A Mile in His Shoes

Everybody judges everyone else; it's human nature.  We judge women's outfits and cleavage (or lack of it) and hair-dos.  We judge men on the kind of car they drive, the way they treat their women, and on what kind of job they have. Hey, we're all guilty of it.  But, just maybe, sometimes we need to look at the whole picture.  Not every book can be judged by its cover; and not every man, woman, or child SHOULD be judged for the basic surface elements.

Someone very close to me grew up under conditions that would make any "normal" person cringe to hear about: a childhood filled with drug addicts, beatings, neglect, and abuse.  When someone grows up that way, you not only expect them to grow up lawless, drug-addicted, and worthless (and with every right to do so considering how they were raised), but you're positive that's how they'll be.  Sometimes, though, those people find a way to become productive members of society: a good job, loving spouse, kids, etc.  But, I've recently learned, sometimes all of those things are just a sham.  In fact, sometimes, while they seem like they're the exact opposite of taking copious amounts of drugs and alcohol to numb/hide the pain of an unimaginable childhood; they're actually the way of hiding the pain--until the pain gets too deep.

This person I am speaking of grew up in a living hell but learned a trade, started a family, and did well for years.  Now, (s)he is just out of the hospital after a second suicide attempt, and I am watching as they fall into the abyss of what they know, rather than what they've created.  And it's easy for me to judge; it's so easy.  But I didn't grow up that way; in fact, I had the exact opposite:  parents that loved me and protected me, food every day, a safe home full of laughter.  And I keep telling myself that you can never judge a (wo)man until you've walked a mile in his/her shoes.

But I am so angry that this person, whom I love so much, is fighting the hard fight to eventually become a statistic.  If (s)he'd never done anything, never made it to start with, I wouldn't feel so angry and disappointed.    But, then again, who am I to judge?  Because I have never (and, hopefully, will never) walk a mile in those shoes.

And neither, hopefully, will you.