Be curious, not judgmental.

There’s a quote I keep returning to—one of those simple phrases that grows heavier the more life tests you:

“Be curious, not judgmental.”

It sounds gentle. Polite, even. But when you strip away the niceties, what it really says is this:

Don’t assume you know me.

Don’t reduce a person to their worst moment. Don’t mistake what you heard for truth. Don’t confuse surface with substance.

Judgment is the shortcut we take when we’re too afraid—or too lazy—to ask questions. It’s armor for the insecure. It’s a defense mechanism dressed in righteousness. And we’re all guilty of it, in one form or another.

I’ve been on both ends of that blade.

I’ve judged.

And I’ve been judged.

People have made their minds up about me based on a sentence taken out of context, a secondhand story, or a look I didn’t know I gave. They saw fragments and thought they knew the whole. And maybe I’ve done the same—maybe I’ve looked at someone’s actions and forgotten they were human beneath the noise.

But over time, I’ve come to see that judgment is almost always a projection.

We condemn in others what we secretly fear in ourselves.

Curiosity, on the other hand, requires courage.

It’s asking why when it would be easier to walk away.

It’s sitting in the discomfort of I don’t understand without trying to control or condemn.

It’s choosing to believe that people are more than their pain, their past, or their public persona.

And when someone chooses curiosity over judgment with you—when they look past the noise and ask, “What’s real?”—that is a gift.

A rare one.

That’s where gratitude comes in.

I’m learning to be grateful not just for love and praise and easy days. I’m learning to be grateful for the people who give me space to be real. People who don’t flinch when I show my rough edges. People who don’t run when I’m honest about the mess I’ve made of things. The ones who look at me and don’t see the story others wrote, but say: Tell me your version.

Gratitude isn’t just for the good.

It’s for the good-hearted.

It’s for the ones who choose to see you clearly—not cleanly.

There’s a special kind of healing that happens when someone doesn’t hold your past against you. When they don’t make you prove you’ve changed. When they simply witness your becoming and choose to stay. Even if you’re still fumbling through it.

I’ve made mistakes. Plenty.

I’ve said things that didn’t land right.

I’ve trusted people I shouldn’t have, and I’ve hurt people I didn’t mean to.

But I’ve also grown.

I’ve owned my shit.

I’ve done the work—not to convince others I’m good, but to believe it for myself.

And I’m deeply, deeply grateful to the people who’ve let me show them that.

Who didn’t let perception override presence.

Who didn’t buy the rumor but asked for the truth.

Who didn’t need a perfect version of me to love the honest one.

If you’ve got someone like that in your life—hold onto them.

Tell them thank you.

Not just with words, but with presence. With effort. With your becoming.

And if you’ve ever been that person—offering someone else the grace to unfold, to evolve, to try again—thank you. The world needs more of that.

We all carry stories we’ve never told.

We all wear masks when we’re afraid we won’t be accepted without them.

And sometimes, the bravest thing someone can do is ask: “Who are you, really?” and actually want to hear the answer.

So here’s what I know now:

• Be curious.

• Give others the space to surprise you.

• Say thank you—not just for what people do for you, but for who they allow you to be in their presence.

• And never let judgment be the lens through which you view a soul.

Because when it’s all said and done…

I don’t want to be remembered for how quickly I categorized people.

I want to be remembered for how deeply I saw them.

And how deeply I let myself be seen.

That’s enough.

That’s everything.