Why I Love to Judge You

What ice baths and Shrimp Jesus can teach us about self-preservation.

I’m in a bikini freezing my ass off. Across the ice baths, Kai—our granola guide for this meditation class—putters around the room. “The more you try to resist, the harder it’ll be,” he purrs. “Breathe.”

I want to wack this guy with a newspaper over the head.

*Thwap!* Easy for you to say. Dude, you’re laden with tiger eye crystal jewelry and Buddhist tattoos from what I presume is a stint in a monastery in Chiang Mai. Of course you’re an ice bath master.

I lose all feeling in my toes.

After two languorous minutes, the timer mercifully dings. I crawl out of the icy cauldron, my internal organs ablaze.

Kai herds the 40-something of us participants into the sauna. My sister, Lea, and I tuck ourselves into a steamy corner. “Anyone want to share something that came up today?” asks Kai.

A hand shoots up. “I just want to express gratitude for my body and everything it’s been through the last couple of months. I’ve been training for the New York Marathon and I’ll be running it this Sunday!”

The sauna erupts with poetry snaps. “Nice,” says Kai. “Anyone else?”

A manicured finger slices through the rosemary and pine needle-scented steam. “Hi. I came in today, like, so frustrated. Especially towards my boss.” Her valley girl voice singsongs. “But after this experience, I’m just feeling, like, so grateful. My nervous system feels healed.”

More snaps.

Kai dismisses the class. Lea and I shuffle to the changing room, raisin fingers fumbling with buckles and crackly zippers. Five minutes later we spill onto 23rd Street, and the camaraderie we’d shared moments ago with these strangers—scantily-clad, wet, and vulnerable—dissolves as Manhattan swallows us.

Shrimp Jesus and Marathon Runners

“If there’s one thing you can count on,” Lea laughs as the F train sways, “it’s that anyone training for a marathon will tell you they’re running a fucking marathon.”

Lol.

She continues: “And that other girl who shared. These people! I mean. They’re just so woo-woo.”

Woo-woo. (If you’ve been to a wellness class at Othership in Flatiron you know exactly what she means.) This isn’t the first time I’ve heard Lea say something along these lines—she’ll call out anything in the same zip code as cringe.

It could range from anything criminally offensive (e.g. a dude sharing on LinkedIn what his engagement taught him about B2B sales) to mildly concerning (e.g. a yoga teacher who had steak and raw milk for his birthday).

Our world is awash with woo-woo and absurdities and nonsense. (Have you seen the AI slop on Facebook recently? Two words: Shrimp. Jesus.) Marathon Guy and I Hate My Boss Girl pile onto the cacophony.

Lea’s right.

But she’s also judging.

And listen—we all judge. The instinct to mock someone who strays from the lines of nonconformity is practically in our DNA.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned the past couple of years, nobody judges you quite as harshly as the person upset that you permitted yourself to do something they’ve denied themselves.

Those Who Judge Aren’t in The Arena

Let me explain: Judgement is how we rationalize envy and regret.

It’s easier to label Marathon Guy as “cringe” than admit it’d be cool to feel so proud of our accomplishments that we’d share them with total strangers.

It’s easier to label I Hate My Boss Girl as “annoying” than admit we wish we could freely air our frustrations without worrying how we’d be perceived.

The easiest of all is to sit in the sauna and not participate.

Why? Because people can’t “judge” you if you don’t say anything.

It’s similar in the digital world. As a creator, I’ve endured my fair share of rude comments on my work. But the people who leave them are almost always anonymous.

That’s awfully convenient, isn’t it? These folks can flog your ideas and flay your writing but have no digital footprint—no essays, podcasts, videos—to size them up.

In other words: Those most likely to judge are those who aren’t in the arena. But while it’s safer to sit on the sidelines, that safety breeds resentment—towards themselves, their choices, and their unfulfilled potential.

To cope, they label others as “woo-woo” or “weird” to create a buffer between that unpleasant feeling and to justify why they’re not going after it.

“I don’t post TikToks not because I’m afraid! It’s because that’s cringe.”

“I don’t share in class not because I’m shy! It’s because it’s obnoxious.”

“I don’t go on dating apps because I’m afraid of rejection! It’s because dating apps are for desperate people.”

On and on and on.

What Part of You is Asking to Be Loved?

Lea nods in understanding. “I know I can be judgmental. Honestly, I ask myself: ‘Why am I always so angry at other people?’” She pauses. “I guess it’s just hard to be happy for others if you’re not happy for yourself.”

Bingo.

Here’s the thing: Lea is one of the most brilliant and warm people I know. Her judgment does not come from a place of malice, because the opposite of love is not hate: It’s indifference.

Hate—judgment—is love turned inside out. It’s a way to soothe our insecurities, to prop ourselves up when we’re feeling low. And why would we go through all that effort if, deep down, we didn’t want to love and accept ourselves?

The next time you feel that urge to judge—ask yourself:

What part of me is asking to be loved right now?

Replace judgment with curiosity and you’ll slowly start putting yourself in the arena. The result is a life where you get so much more out of it than you ever thought possible.