Some people say, “Don’t judge.” As if it’s that easy. As if we’re not already judging — quietly, constantly — in line at the store, online, in the mirror. We judge others. We judge ourselves. We judge people for judging.

And we know, deep down, it’s not fair. That we’re not exactly clean either.

Because here’s the thing no one really wants to admit: it’s so hard not to be a hypocrite.

We mess up. We say one thing, do another. We hold others to standards we secretly can’t meet. We demand patience but snap when we’re tired. We want grace, but give criticism.

I tell myself I want to be kind. That I believe in compassion. But then someone cuts me off in traffic or says something stupid online, and I’m a courtroom in seconds — prosecutor, jury, executioner.

So how do we live with that? How do we carry the weight of being imperfect in a world that runs on judgment?

Because society does judge. Constantly. Grades, performance reviews, likes, followers, swipes — everything is evaluation. Who’s smart. Who’s good. Who’s worth listening to. Who’s worth hiring. Who’s worth loving.

And yet, if we’re all flawed — if we all sin, mess up, fall short — do we have any right to point fingers?

That’s the tension: if no one is worthy, can anyone speak? Can anything be held accountable? Or do we all just shrug and say, “Who am I to judge?” while everything burns?

I don’t think the answer is to stop judging. I think it’s to start judging differently.

With humility. With honesty. With the awareness that the line between “me” and “them” is thinner than we like to admit.

Because judgment without love is cruelty. But love without judgment is chaos.

Maybe the goal isn’t to be perfectly consistent, but to be honest about our inconsistencies. To know that we will mess up — and so will everyone else. And still, somehow, we hold space for truth. For accountability. For growth.

Not from a place of pride. But from shared humanity.

So yes, it’s hard not to be a hypocrite. But maybe what matters is that we know it. That we feel the sting of our own contradictions. That we judge, not to punish, but to protect.

And when we’re judged — when it’s our turn to be seen, fully, flaws and all — we remember what it felt like to be on the other side.

Maybe that’s where justice lives. Somewhere between truth and grace. Between what we are and what we’re trying to be.