by tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

I miss the chance to meet with me. older, but no wiser

Back to the jury I go today. It occurs to me that so much of human tragedy is played out in the court room rather than a counselor’s office. I am facing some uncomfortable feelings as I sit in the jury box judging this or that. Have never been really good at judging others. Far too quickly, understanding the other point of view rushes in to cloud my judgment. That is one of the reasons why, in my personal life, I have stayed in abusive situations for too long. Why do we blame others for the mystery and challenges of life? How do we put a price on pain, anger, loss, confusion?

Mind you, I have always been a harsh and relentless judge of me. Very early in my childhood I took other people’s opinions of me to be the truth about who I was or how I felt about things. Counseling helped me understand this. Most of the counseling process with Bob was, indeed, a genuine chance for me to meet with me – not other people’s versions of me. Sifting through the illusions was the most challenging. Learning just to hold still and face my vulnerabilities and strengths was, at times, excruciating. Blaming everyone and everything outside was so much easier than confronting myself. So I can understand how people mock counseling or shy away from it. Blaming others was often a relief from the challenge of understanding myself, or taking responsibility for the choices I make.

Indeed, judgment is confusing for me – of others or myself. I do not like being in this position. It is just so difficult for me to be objective about these matters. My personal experiences, feelings and biases surely cloud any verdict I will participate in. For the facts of the case are so play-acted from every side clearly using emotional manipulations for the jury as well as biased witness testimonies. I wish there was a juror’s counseling supervisor type person who was on call for us to share these uncomfortable feelings and help put them in some kind of objective perspective.

There has to be something so comforting, so deluding in believing that one is capable of being objective.