Survivor Saturdays - Judge not, and you will still be judged anyway

It happened again.

I should be used to it by now, but I’m always left a little stunned and hurt... and furious. Especially when someone I thought was a good friend dishes it out.

It will happen to you, most likely. At some point.

Just because your husband has “Doctor” in front of his name, people – friends – will assume that your life is a piece of cake and that having a large salary means that you don’t have a care in the world, that you are not a member of “normal” society, that somehow you think you are better than everyone else.

I hate it. I can’t tell you how much I hate it. So please pardon me if this post is part “survivor” and part rant and part whine. I figure you, of all people, can empathize.

Part of me wants to back this person into a corner and explain to her in great detail the last 14 years of my life. Of living on $20,000 a year and Hamburger Helper for the first five years of our marriage. Of having two kids and a house and a resident’s salary. Of rotations when my husband would leave at 5 a.m. and roll into our driveway again at 10 p.m - if at all. Of dinners without him. Of holidays without him. Of every“vacation” spent visiting our families 800 miles away. Of interrupted dinners and date nights and family time when he is on-call. Of delivering devastating diagnoses to his patients, the stress of which inevitably spills over into our marriage and family.

I’d like to tell her that while being a doctor – and a doctor’s wife – is an enormous blessing with a lot of perks, it is also an enormous responsibility that we take very, very seriously. I’d like to tell her that we strongly believe that our financial security behooves us to generously provide for the needs of others.

Yes, after 14 years of medical marriage, we are building a house. A great house. A very large house. Our dream house that we have been meticulously and prayerfully planning during the past 10 years. And we envision this house as a safe, warm, welcoming place for friends and strangers alike – because we have been very blessed, and our deepest desire is to be a blessing.

I’d love to say all of these things. I’d love to justify myself and my life. I’d love to cram it all down her throat and MAKE her understand.

But I can’t. First of all, that wouldn’t be very kind. But even if I could say all of these things, she still wouldn’t completely understand. No one could – not unless they have lived through it.

Which brings me to my next point. It is imperative that you have good friends who are also married to doctors. I now feel like I have to filter myself and what I talk about – especially the building of our house – when I am with friends outside of medicine for fear of coming across as pretentious or spoiled or out-of-touch or whatever. That makes me really sad. I wish I could be completely authentic with everyone. It also makes me slightly neurotic and paranoid (and admittedly and pathetically self-absorbed). What does THAT other person think about me? Who else is judging me? However, the friends that I have from training know me and understand me, and I can be completely honest with them. They are in (more or less) the same financial and circumstantial boat, so they know. They get it. They don't judge.

I also need to remember my own proverbial wisdom that I recite to my kids on a regular basis: If someone is being mean, there is always a reason. Always. There is a deeper hurt or insecurity inside that is causing them to lash out and act the way they do. (I'm convinced that's the reason God tells us to pray for our enemies.) So if someone is judging me because she thinks I’m a spoiled princess – well, obviously she doesn’t know me as well as I thought she did, and she also has some of her own issues that should lead me to compassion, not anger.

So put on an extra coat of thick skin, smile, and nod. They just don’t get it. They never will. But we’ve been there, and we know what is true. Remind yourself – and me, please – that what other people think about you is none of your business. It doesn’t matter. (it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter…)

Now, pardon me while I put on all my diamonds and prepare a tasty snack of champagne and bon-bons before jetting over to the spa...

Jennifer
Survivor in Pediatric Ophthalmology