Escape the Torture of Your Own Judgments
Autism Is Less Harmful than Your Attitude toward It
Our minds are constantly making judgments. That's good. This is bad. I want this. I don't want that. It's how we navigate the world. But I've learned through my journey with my son that these very judgments—these seemingly innocent categorizations of experiences—are often the source of our deepest suffering.
When we first received my son's diagnosis, my immediate judgment was clear: this is terrible. This is not what I wanted. This is a problem that needs fixing. And that single judgment planted a seed of suffering that grew for years.
Our judgments of good and bad, desirable and undesirable, become the foundation for so many emotional struggles. Our comparisons fuel jealousy—I found myself envying parents with typical children, silently judging their "easier" lives while resenting my difficult path. Our positive judgments—"this is what happiness looks like"—lead to attachment and eventually pain when we inevitably lose what we cling to.
Perhaps most insidious are our negative judgments. Even without any external consequences, the very act of labeling something as "bad" disturbs our peace of mind. That constant mental rejection creates an undercurrent of resistance that follows us everywhere.
I realized something profound: even if my judgments about my son's autism were completely accurate (and they weren't), the judgments themselves were causing me emotional disturbance. My negative assessment of his condition upset me for many years—long after I'd accepted the reality of our situation.
Learning to Suspend Judgment
The simple truth about judgment is that we're often mistaken. We rarely have all the facts. We don't know people's true motivations. We have no idea about the larger context that might completely change the meaning of what we're experiencing.
The funny thing is, we imagine we know all these things—but we don't. Not even close.
I'd like to share some stories that helped me break the habit of snap judgments. These aren't just stories to read once and forget. Think of them as tools for what I call emotive meditation. Read them multiple times. Reflect on their meaning. Allow your mind to link them to your own experiences. Let them sink deeper into your understanding of truth.
The Sniper's Story
Suppose I told you about a man who personally shot and killed over 300 people. Would you immediately judge him as evil? As a monster?
Now what if I told you this person was a sniper in World War II serving his country? Does that change your judgment?
This man, Matthäus Hetzenauer, was German, fighting for the losing side—the side responsible for the Holocaust. Does that make him bad again?
What if he wasn't aware of the Holocaust (as many Germans weren't)? Does that make him good?
What if I told you he took personal satisfaction in being a skilled killer? Bad again?
And what if he had been American, or whatever your nationality is, fighting for your cause? Good again?
Who is to say which people are good or bad? We rarely have all the facts. We seldom know what truly motivated people to do what they did. And even if you somehow had complete information, are you really comfortable pronouncing righteous judgment, weighing all the extenuating circumstances? Are you God?
Given how little we actually know, how can we be certain about our judgments of good or bad in other people? I've found it's wiser to suspend judgment about people or events, acknowledging my incomplete information.
Once you internalize the problems with making absolute judgments, you'll make them less often. And when you do catch yourself judging, you'll temper it with the recognition that you could be mistaken, reducing the certainty that causes so much suffering.
The Zen Farmer's Wisdom
Contemplating the next story changed my outlook in profound ways. It eliminated the certainty in my judgments about whether things were good or bad. It smoothed out the emotional roller coaster of life's dramas. Most importantly, it reduced my resistance to "undesirable" outcomes and my fear of what might happen.
Once upon the time, there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.
"Maybe," the farmer replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.
"Maybe," replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his terrible misfortune.
"Maybe," answered the farmer.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.
"Maybe," said the farmer.
This simple story shows us profound wisdom. The farmer understands the true nature of life—that you can't judge any event as an "end." There aren't definite breaks separating one moment from another, and there isn't a perfectly formulated outcome toward which everything builds.
There's always tomorrow. And whether today was good or bad, a million effects can arise from a single event. Good and bad are interconnected—two sides of the same coin. If things seem perfect, they aren't. Things can change in an instant, at all times. And they will, sooner or later.
But I think the story of the farmer and the horse doesn't go far enough. It isn't only about our initial judgments of external events. The decisions we make based on those judgments often lead to poor outcomes in completely avoidable ways. The initial judgment is like planting a seed in our minds. The subsequent decisions and behaviors nurture and grow that seed into a vigorous weed that can eventually take over our emotional landscape.
When "Good Fortune" Becomes a Curse
Let me give you a more modern example. If you were to win the lottery, you'd immediately judge that as something wonderful. You'd imagine all the things you could buy with your new fortune. You'd picture the release from financial stress. You'd feel euphoric. Your belief about the goodness of this event would be absolute and unshakable.
But people who've won the lottery often discover there's plenty of bad that comes with the supposed good. Family and friends start asking for money. If they say no, they lose relationships. If they say yes, they encourage dependency and grow to resent the people asking. Their finances suddenly become much more complicated. They need to spend money on people to manage their money and taxes.
They begin to fear losing their fortune. Rather than finding peace of mind, they start to worry about not having money. They suspect people are out to exploit their generosity or steal from them. Many become miserly and practice generosity less often than before their windfall.
The Woman Who Lost Herself
Let me tell you about a real woman who won the California lottery in the early 1980s. She worked for a local charity because she enjoyed a life of service to others. She struggled financially because she lived in an expensive area with a low-paying job.
When she won the lottery, all her financial worries vanished overnight. She moved out of her small apartment into a large luxury home. She took her payout over 20 years of even payments, which provided several times what she made from her job.
At this point, the external circumstances were great, but the internal changes started to surface. She could have kept working a job she loved in service of others. She could have donated even more to charities doing good work. She could have devoted her time and resources to any number of good and emotionally enriching causes.
She did none of that.
She took a sabbatical from work to rearrange her life. The charity she worked for was understanding and accommodating. She purchased her new home and settled in. She particularly enjoyed sunning herself at her new pool and entertaining friends. She shared her excitement with friends about returning to work and doing good things with her newfound fortune.
But gradually, she came to enjoy her life of luxury a bit too much. One day, sitting alone by her pool, she asked herself if she really wanted to go back to work. The commute from the new house would be much longer. Some of the paperwork was drudgery and took time away from helping people. She noticed that some of her coworkers seemed to be jealous of her new circumstances.
She found her resistance to going back stronger than her desire to return to her old job. The thought of enjoying her relaxing freedom to work on her tan was enticing. Little by little, she surrendered a career of working for the benefit of others for a lifestyle of benefiting herself. In the process, she set conditions in motion that led to even worse decisions.
She started to complain about the cost of hired help. Since she wasn't working anymore, she didn't have that income to supplement her spending. Her new house was luxurious but expensive to maintain. The maid who cooked her food, did her laundry, and cleaned her house cost a lot. The gardeners who mowed her lawn, planted her flowers, and maintained the grounds were another expense. The pool maintenance person who made sure the water she swam in was clean also cost money.
She realized that paying all this staff prevented her from traveling more. Rather than feeling gratitude for all these people did to make her comfortable, she resented how much she had to pay them. She was becoming more self-important and less charitable toward others.
As the years went by, she became lazier, more self-indulgent, and she stopped giving to charities altogether because she needed to cover the cost of her own lifestyle.
After about 15 years, she started to worry about what would happen when the lottery payments stopped. But she didn't do anything about this worry. She didn't go back to school or seek a job. The worry grew stronger and more debilitating, but she did nothing to remedy it.
When the payments stopped in year 20, she looked for other sources of money. Her luxury home in California had greatly appreciated in value. She still had a small mortgage that she had paid down over 20 years, but she had millions in home equity. Since lenders at the time were providing home equity loans up to 100% of the value of the home, she took the money.
She borrowed against her house in what amounted to a personal Ponzi scheme until the crash of 2008 wiped out much of the value of her home. She no longer had lottery income, and the lenders stopped supporting her home equity borrowing. She was cut off.
She had spent 25 years nurturing a deep sense of personal entitlement. She was accustomed to lavish spending and living in a luxury mansion. She gained no skills that would help her earn a living. She became increasingly self-involved and indulgent. She stopped caring for or working for the benefit of others. When she lost everything, which she did, she was emotionally devastated.
Her initial judgment was that winning the lottery was a good thing. She reinforced this judgment with 25 years of self-indulgence. In the end, it all came crashing down—not due to some unforeseen outside force, but due to the results of her own poor decisions.
Do you think winning the lottery was good for her? I'm not so sure anymore.
The Primordial Error
Your reaction to your child's diagnosis was likely similar to mine—you judged it as negative. In the opening of this book, I asked you to suspend your disbelief and open yourself to the idea that your special needs child was not a curse. Everything you've read up to this point has been gently opening the door of your mind to this possibility.
When you came to realize and accept that you had a special needs child, you probably judged that negatively. It was a problem that needed fixing. It was an unacceptable outcome for you and your child. This was a cloud with no silver lining. It was all bad, and you were being forced to live with it.
That judgment was wrong.
That negative judgment was the seed you planted in your mind many years ago. You've been nurturing that idea for years. Every experience you've had with your child and others has been filtered through that negative judgment. Your interpretations of events have served to reinforce your initial judgment. That seed has grown into a deeply rooted tree with thick branches and poisonous fruit. It's so deeply rooted that it's become part of your identity. You believe the poisonous fruit is something you must eat to survive.
It's all a mistake.
You must cut that tree down, reject its fruit, dig out its roots, and destroy its seeds. It's no easy task, but it's essential for both you and your child. The good news is that by reading this far, you've already begun the process.
I promise you this: suspending judgment about your child's condition will bring you more peace than any therapy, medication, or miracle cure ever could. It won't change your child's diagnosis, but it will transform how you experience it—and that makes all the difference in the world.
