Our family had just moved into a new community. We knew a few families in the area, so I anticipated settling into the community and finding purpose. Neighbors informed us that word had spread about our family before we had even unpacked. That should have been a red flag. Instead, I had high hopes we would be embraced and included. I watched as my children faced conflict almost immediately. The neighborhood kids had known each other since birth. There was no room for any new kids on their block.  In one incident, my youngest was so ostracized that the children in Sunday school class ensured there wasn’t even a chair for her to sit on. She was pushed to the floor. I’m glad those lessons being taught were so impactful.

Eventually, my kids found most of their people outside our neighborhood, and I was fine with that. Actually, I was more than fine.

A woman and her family approached us at one of our first community social gatherings. Her smile was real, and she seemed genuinely happy to meet me. Every time she saw me, her face lit up, and she would smile. I was so relieved to see a friendly face. It wasn’t that I was shy, but my life experiences taught me to be cautious and to give relationships time to develop trust. I watched her interact with others and saw her sincere interest in everyone. I liked her. 

We had children the same age. We talked, and slowly I felt more and more comfortable around her. I began to feel seen and understood. Then, she scowled at me across the room at one social gathering. I immediately texted her and asked, ‘Are you okay? I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but were you scowling at me? Are you upset with me?’ Her response was disheartening. “I was just giving you the same look you give everyone else. Now you know how it feels.” 

Everyone else? Why would she believe that I would intentionally glare at anyone? And how would she know how everyone else felt or thought? Who was she talking to? I was stunned and hurt. I had begun to trust that she saw me. My bad.

Another incident occurred when a family man invited us for dinner. We arrived, and the husband answered the door and escorted us in. His wife appeared and asked her husband, “What are they doing here?” He responded, “I invited them for dinner.” She looked at him angrily and said, “Well, then you can feed them.” She and her kids went in the backyard. We awkwardly ate a meal he hastily prepared. 

It soon became apparent that this tight-knit community was not open to new people. Most of the people had lived in the area their entire lives, and there was an established hierarchy. How could we feel welcome when we weren’t?  We didn’t have any shared history. That seemed to be a prerequisite. 

Initially, I was invited to a lunch with women my age. Upon arrival, it was clear there was a leader. She mocked the help. She made derogatory comments about people. She didn’t want to tip the overworked waitress. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it wasn’t real. I declined to attend any future lunches. I didn’t want to talk about people. I wanted to talk about ideas. I once said in front of her something like, “Well, that sucks.” “Now, Pam, we don’t need to talk naughty.” Words were naughty, but gossip, judgment, or ridicule was okay. Got it.

There were exceptions. Some people responded to my offering of friendship, but it came at a price. They would tell me how people approached them and asked how they could be friends with me. They defended me. They told people I was very nice and fun. I had to hear these stories. Was I supposed to feel grateful that someone decided I was worth the effort? Few, if any of these haters had ever interacted with me, but they never gave me the benefit of the doubt. They believed and looked for evidence to support the hearsay and then the judgment. I also felt sad that my friends had to justify our friendship. Often, the social pressure became too great, and they began to believe what they knew was false. It is easier to follow the crowd. It feels safer to fit in. It feels good to belong. At least, I imagine it does. I’ll get back to you on that.

What didn’t feel good was knowing I was discussed absentia. It sucked. 

I became more withdrawn, minding my business and trying to be invisible. I did what anyone asked of me to the best of my ability. Even then, someone found me so offensive and annoying she commanded me to stop doing what I had been assigned to do in front of everyone present. Okay, do I need your permission to slither away and cry me a river?

I focused on my family and my career.  I watched the interactions from a safe distance and hoped that I would find my people. I am still searching.

And sometimes, the search was fruitful. I discovered I was not alone. Once or twice, a woman would confide that she felt apart, left out, left behind, or not accepted or valued in the community. She said that she knew I would understand and be able to empathize. She let me know that she had heard and knew what was said about me and how those influencers should have been kinder. It wasn’t that these isolated women were okay with my poisoned well; they were just relieved that their well, a tad low, wasn’t. They didn’t want to have their well poisoned by association. So, thanks for the talk.  See ya. 

One time, newlyweds moved into the community. They were both from this city, just different neighborhoods. So the game of, do you know… would invariably begin. I think this is called nepotism on some level. At any rate, at this young woman’s first social event, I approached and introduced myself. We joked and laughed, and I hoped she felt more at ease, welcomed, and accepted.  I noticed a piece of food lodged in her front tooth. I discreetly told her about it. She was so appreciative. “Thank you! That was so kind of you! Most people would have let me walk around and embarrass myself.” I told her that I hoped she would do the same for me if the need arose. I tried to seek her out over the next few months to make sure she knew she had a wingman, but soon, I saw her drawn into the crowd, and she never spoke to me again. 

All of these examples are sad life experiences. But they are learning opportunities. I realize I am a big part of the problem. I don’t intentionally glare at people. Why would I do that? Why would anyone think I would do that? What would be the point? I often think I am invisible as I observe others. And did I mention I have a bad case of RBF? I have been told this. And you would think I would try harder to smile. Guess what? I do. I think deeply, unaware that I might be looking at someone. Or I might be looking at someone, admiring their smile, talent, or skill. There have been times when their hurtful words reached my ears. I am sure I gave them the look to let them know I knew. I mean, shouldn’t there be consequences and accountability?

The judgment people justify is just a mirror of who they are—not who I am. This is a small consolation. I need to remind myself that is how they think, that is what they believe, and it is often based on hearsay, insecurities, a false sense of power, and narcissism.

I am just trying to live my life and find purpose. Now that I am old, I value my time more. I don’t have the energy to ponder why anyone acts the way they do. But honestly, sometimes I ponder anyway. Most of the time, I spend my energy on my hopes and dreams. And I spend time searching for my people—people who will appreciate and accept me and my watching eyes without judgment. 

That is why judgment is so wrong. I don’t know another person’s intentions because I don’t know their heart or thoughts, and neither do you. It is wrong, demoralizing, divisive, ugly and evil. That is why judgment will come back to haunt all of us.

And I know… that sucks.