Bind ourselves in judgment.

Binding ourselves in judgment.

Why do those who have stumbled the most often become the least forgiving of others who fall?

The burden is so heavy that every misstep feels like a stone chaining your spirit down. We enter this world already bearing the weight of our fallen nature, born into sin and imperfection. Now that weight becomes a weapon, not against your own struggles, but against the struggles of others. This biting, critical voice, this unforgiving judgment, often hides scars deeper than the failures themselves.

We sat together and talked, with tears running down his face and jaw tight with frustration, as he described his adult son's failures. His words drip with contempt: "He's irresponsible.” He never learns. Some people don't deserve another chance.

His own story hangs heavy in the air: three failed marriages, bankruptcy, and years of addiction. I am running a few minutes late; my previous meeting is running over.

The man radiating judgment toward his son's failures has intimate knowledge of failure himself.

For many shaped by trauma, especially Complex PTSD, this pattern is familiar. What complicates it further is when pain is met not with grace but with condemnation from those expected to offer refuge. I worked with someone who faced numerous setbacks, including lost jobs, fractured relationships, and deferred dreams. He was a devoted Christian, yet he frequently fell short in ways that disappointed fellow believers.

Instead of support, he faced harsh judgment from within his church. Members called him unrepentant, whispered criticisms, and signaled that he was less worthy. Leaders ostracized him, urging others to avoid association. The very place that should have been a sanctuary became a source of isolation and pain. This rejection deepened wounds, fueling a fierce internal critic. Soon, the harshness he endured turned inward and then outward, manifesting as unforgiving judgment towards others' failures.

The Psychology of Projected Pain

Our mistakes have broken us, and especially when met with condemnation rather than compassion, something psychologically dangerous happens.

The shame doesn't disappear; it gets buried beneath layers of hard-won wisdom and what we tell ourselves is strength. We develop survivor armor, a protective shell that helps us function but distances us from the vulnerable person we once were.

This armor shields us from re-experiencing the terror of being undone.

But it creates a blind spot. When we see others struggling with demons we've fought, instead of feeling kinship, we feel triggered. Their wounds become mirrors reflecting our buried pain.

The judgment that follows isn't about the other person; it's about our desperate need to believe we've transcended our former selves. If we can maintain the illusion that their failure is different from ours, we preserve the idea that we're safe from falling again.

Yet Scripture reminds us: "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23).

We all come from a fallen state, bearing imperfection's marks. Paul warns, "Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall" (1 Corinthians 10:12).

The Trauma of Unforgiveness:

Those who've lived where mistakes were met with harsh judgment, particularly within faith communities that should model Christ's grace, often find this pattern to be entrenched.

When you've learned that safety comes from perfection, and perfection fails, you must distinguish your failures from others.

The psychological cost is enormous. Constant judgment keeps the nervous system chronically activated. The hypervigilance required is exhausting and prevents the formation of healing connections.

Christ's command becomes distant: "Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you" (Ephesians 4:32).

The Forgetting:

Why do people who know failure intimately seem to forget that rising from failure is part of the human experience? Are we so callous that we forget where we come from?

The answer lies not in forgetting, but in remembering too well.

They remember every moment of suffering with painful clarity: shame, fear, a sense of being lost, and voices that told them they were unworthy. Because that pain was overwhelming, they've created psychological defenses never to feel that vulnerable again.

When encountering others in similar situations, these defenses activate. The judgment they express outwardly reflects the judgment they're constantly inflicting on themselves. They cannot offer others the grace they've never learned to extend to their wounded selves.

A Path Toward Healing

The breakthrough for my client came through a six-step process that helped reclaim tenderness for self and others:

First, Acknowledging the Pain Beneath Judgment:Recognizing that harshness shields unhealed wounds. When judgment arises, pause to ask, "What is this really about?"

Second, Remembering Their Own Humanity: Reflecting on their journey of falling and rising, learning to hold those moments with kindness, and developing genuine curiosity about understanding reactions and circumstances.

Third, Reframing Failure as Growth: Extending the same understanding offered to friends to past failures and seeing failure not as a final verdict but as painful, necessary learning, part of God's refining process.

Fourth, Practicing Compassionate Curiosity: Examining how family, relationships, and faith communities shaped their relationship with failure. Asking gentle questions instead of casting blame, recognizing patterns that no longer serve.

Fifth, Allowing Space for Forgiveness: Considering others' full humanity, including complex circumstances. Letting go of perfection's impossible burden, remembering Christ's words: "Judge not, that you be not judged" (Matthew 7:1).

Sixth, Cultivating Patience With the Process: Building new neural pathways, allowing for both accountability and compassion, and understanding that healing and success are gradual, messy, and rarely linear, like the disciples' growth journey.

This process didn't erase past pain but softened its grip, making room for empathy where judgment once ruled. The critical voice quieted, replaced by understanding that everyone's story bears struggles, and rising again is a part of the human experience. He began to see that the grace he sought from others first needed to be extended to himself.

His relationships with grown children improved dramatically as he learned to respond to their challenges with curiosity rather than judgment. Another client experienced similar relief, beginning volunteer work at a local shelter from a genuine desire to connect with others who had faced similar struggles.

The Courage to Stay Open:

Those who judge others' failures most harshly are often those who've never truly forgiven themselves. They've achieved external success, but at the cost of internal peace. They've learned survival, not how to live in proclaimed grace.

Real healing, which involves holding space for both our own struggles and those of others, requires enormous courage. It means removing protective armor and risking vulnerability again. It means acknowledging that our failures don't make us fundamentally different from anyone who has struggled.

If you find yourself harshly judging others' failures, look inward. What pain might you be protecting?

Have wounds from your past, including those from those meant to support you, even within faith communities, been heard and healed?

The irony is heartbreaking and beautiful. Those who've walked through failure's fire have the most significant capacity to offer others warmth and light on dark journeys, but only if they're willing to remember not just struggle's pain but the profound relief of being met with understanding during challenging moments.

When we hold our stories with honesty and gentleness, we create space for others to do the same. When we remember that rising from failure is part of the human experience and that life demands resilience and compassion, we become part of the increasing rather than the one who keeps others down.

In learning to forgive our failures, especially when faith and community add layers of shame, we unlock the grace to forgive others. That grace isn't weakness. Its strength is forged from understanding human beauty and struggle.

Remember: life demands resilience, but it also demands compassion, for yourself and for every soul's fragile, imperfect ascent.

The choice, always, is ours.

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