a diary of a mom


{image is a fist raised in protest, solidarity}

Years ago, a colleague of mine told me that I was the least judgmental person she’d ever met. I laughed. Hard. I told her that she really needed to get out more. She said, “No, really. You are.” I secretly took pride in her words.

I have spent a lifetime trying not to judge others. Trying to be open to their perspectives and belief systems no matter how far afield they might be from mine.

But there is a time to judge.

A place that demands that we judge.

This is it.

Last week, I held my breath as I watched the video of Baltimore ravens running back Ray Rice punching his fiancee in the face, then dragging her limp body out of an Atlantic City elevator, kicking her legs into place when they didn’t comply.

I judged him.

I did not vilify…

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