Understanding
I hate that damn word.
I bleed “understanding.” I am perhaps the most empathetic creature on the freaking planet. A perpetual fence-sitter, I can be swayed to understand almost any position if you put a human spin on it. I’d be a terrible juror.
I hate to be told I am “not being understanding.”
Really? Because I thought I was. There’s just a point where the hypocrisy of some statements irritate me to the point that I jump down off my fence and say, “um, NO.”
I’ve said it a million times; perception *is* reality. It doesn’t matter what reality is… people will spin in, twist it, manipulate it, warp it and stretch it into whatever they need reality to be just to cope with their lives and the decisions they have made. I’m not saying I’m not guilty of it… hell, I have an entire blog on my warped little version of reality. And most of it I will stand behind with sword in hand: THIS is MY REALITY.
(Occasionally I read something I wrote and laugh, though. Occasionally, I’m a little delusional.)
But understanding? I think there’s a fine line. There’s a point where “understanding” is taken advantage of. There’s a point where “understanding” is a cheap cop out for bad behavior, or a lame excuse for a poor decision. Sure, I’ll be “understanding…”
But I won’t be a doormat. I “understand” why you made that decision… but I’m not going to stand around and watch you make it again without throwing something at you and calling you an idiot.
It’s called TOUGHLOVE. Sometimes, you just have to hold up the mirror.