Unboxed

Have you ever thought about the boxes you put people in? Have you ever thought that maybe you also do it to yourself?

My own judgmentalism has been a struggle ever since I started college. A friend's remark the summer before my freshman year opened my eyes to the fact that every time I looked at another person, I decided whether or not they deserved my kindness or friendship. With a quick glance, I wrote people off and moved on, not giving their humanity a second thought.

After realizing this, my personal goal coming into college was to get over it. Stop judging people and let them reveal themselves to me as who they were.

This was super hard.

I quickly realized my school wasn't a haven from those I'd label as freaks, weirdos, or undesirables. And, in fact, my major had a particular abundance of them.

Still, I tried. And somehow, by the grace of God, I started growing away from my judgmentalism.


But as my judgmentalism shrank, so did my self-confidence.


I realized I'd derived my "superiority" from my ability to tears others down and comparatively build myself up. The more I grew away from judging others, the more my view of myself went downhill.

Freshman year, I traipsed around campus with my shoulders hunched and my head down. If I didn't look at anyone, I wouldn't judge them. And hopefully, they wouldn't judge me.

It wasn't until returning sophomore year that I could shake this overwhelming insecurity.

I wasn't a freshman anymore. I had that one under my belt. I was experienced. I knew what I was about and I had wisdom to share.

As I interacted with the new freshmen, I felt more comfortable than I had all of my freshman year. But in my interactions, I amped up certain parts of my character to make sure I controlled what I was known for: writing, mashed potatoes and ice cream, stupid jokes, and deep devotional, figuring-life-out thoughts.

None of those things were untrue. They were -- and are -- integral parts of me. But they formed the walls of a box I built for myself.

This is who you are to them, I told myself. This is who you need to be.

Never mind the bajillion other aspects to my character. Never mind my big family, my sandwich-making skills, the fact that I can cook, knit, and sew -- oh, and that I'm curious about everything. Never mind that I like decorating and sports and the outdoors and deer meat, the smell of mowed grass, reading, thought-provoking movies, et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera.

Have you ever thought about the box you put yourself in?

I was telling my friend the other day something about me being a plain person. She challenged the idea: "I don't think you're plain. I think you're . . ."

I don't remember the rest of what she said because I was too busy pondering the idea that I'm not plain. I've called myself that for so long, but I'm not. I like glitter and pretty shoes and homemade scarves and french braids and hippie skirts and blingy bracelets. And maybe if I'd admit this more often, I'd actually stop biting my nails and paint them.

Don't box yourself in. There's no need to.

Life would be so much more interesting if people would relax and admit that they have a thing for rainbow-colored feather dusters and records and old man sweaters.

And judging people would be a whole lot harder.