The older I get, the less patience I seem to have.
Somebody starts telling me a story and within three minutes I’m already spotting the plot holes. Somebody promises the world and delivers absolutely nothing. Another person somehow finds themselves at the centre of every bit of workplace drama whilst maintaining they are merely an innocent bystander.
Before long, I’m sitting there wondering whether I’ve become judgemental or whether I’ve simply reached an age where my tolerance for nonsense has quietly packed its bags and left the building.
The strange thing is that I don’t actually think I’m a particularly nasty person.
Most people would probably describe me as fair, helpful and reasonably kind. Yet there are moments when my internal commentary could rival a panel of grumpy pensioners sitting on a park bench watching the world go by.
The even stranger part is that my instincts are often right.
Over the years, I’ve occasionally taken an instant dislike to someone and then spent months feeling guilty about it. Perhaps I’m being unfair. Perhaps I’m making assumptions. Perhaps I’m projecting something.
Then six months later they create exactly the chaos I suspected they would.
At which point I’m left wondering whether I’m judgemental or simply operating several chapters ahead of everyone else.
The Human Lie Detector
I don’t think age necessarily makes us more judgemental.
I think age gives us more data.
When you’re younger, everybody feels like a brand-new experience. You haven’t yet met ten different versions of the same person.
Then life happens.
You meet the friend who only contacts you when they need something.
The colleague who somehow avoids every ounce of responsibility.
The relative who creates a crisis every Christmas and then acts shocked when people start avoiding them.
After a few decades, you begin noticing that human beings aren’t nearly as original as they think they are.
The packaging changes.
The behaviour rarely does.
It’s a bit like watching reruns of the same television programme with different actors. By the third episode, you already know who’s going to betray someone, who’s going to make terrible decisions and who’s going to spend the entire season blaming everybody else for problems they created themselves.
That isn’t judgement.
That’s pattern recognition.
The Neurodivergent Problem
I suspect this is even worse for neurodivergent people.
Many of us spend years studying human behaviour without consciously realising we’re doing it. We analyse conversations, replay interactions and try to understand why people behave the way they do. Whilst other people are simply participating in social situations, we’re often busy observing them.
Over time, that creates a rather interesting side effect.
You start noticing inconsistencies.
You notice when somebody’s actions don’t match their words.
You notice when somebody complains about the same problem for ten years whilst rejecting every possible solution.
You notice when somebody constantly paints themselves as the victim despite being the common denominator in every disaster.
Unfortunately, once you’ve developed that skill, it’s very difficult to switch it off.
It’s a bit like learning how a magician performs a trick. After you’ve seen what happens behind the curtain, you can never quite watch the performance in the same way again.
The Fairness Hangover
I also wonder whether some of this comes down to fairness.
Many neurodivergent people seem to have a strong internal rulebook. Honesty matters. Integrity matters. Keeping your word matters. Taking responsibility matters.
None of that sounds particularly controversial until you discover that not everybody is reading from the same instruction manual.
Some people say things they have no intention of doing.
Some people make promises simply because they want the conversation to end.
Some people avoid accountability with the skill and agility of an Olympic gymnast.
And if you’re somebody who genuinely tries to do what you say you’re going to do, this can become incredibly frustrating.
The older I’ve become, the less irritated I am by mistakes and the more irritated I am by patterns.
Everybody gets things wrong.
Everybody messes up.
What wears me down is watching the same behaviour repeated over and over again whilst the person responsible acts completely baffled by the consequences.
The Bit I Had To Admit To Myself
However, there is a catch.
Just because we become better at spotting patterns doesn’t mean we’re always right.
This is where things get uncomfortable.
After enough disappointments, it becomes easy to assume you already know how the story ends. Your brain starts filling in blanks before the evidence has arrived. You meet someone new and immediately start comparing them to people who hurt, frustrated or exhausted you in the past.
Sometimes that’s wisdom.
Sometimes it’s baggage wearing a fake moustache and pretending to be wisdom.
The difficulty is figuring out which one you’re dealing with.
Because whilst experience can make us smarter, it can also make us defensive. If we’re not careful, we stop seeing people as individuals and start seeing them as potential future disappointments.
That’s not discernment.
That’s self-protection gone slightly feral.
Burnout Makes Everything Worse
I’ve also noticed that the most judgemental version of myself tends to appear when I’m exhausted.
When life is ticking along nicely, I’m generally quite understanding. I can see nuance. I can appreciate that human beings are messy and complicated creatures.
When I’m stressed, however, everybody suddenly seems to become an absolute idiot.
The person talking too much becomes unbearable.
The person making excuses becomes infuriating.
The person creating unnecessary drama becomes somebody I’d quite like to launch into low Earth orbit.
The funny thing is that those people haven’t changed.
My energy levels have.
Burnout has a remarkable ability to remove whatever filter normally prevents us from announcing exactly what we’re thinking.
So Am I Judgemental?
After thinking about it, I don’t believe the question is whether we’re judgemental.
Every human being judges people. It’s how we navigate the world.
The more interesting question is whether our judgement is helping us understand people or simply helping us build walls.
There is a huge difference between recognising genuine red flags and assuming everybody is carrying one.
There is a huge difference between learning from experience and allowing experience to make us cynical.
And there is a huge difference between spotting patterns and assuming every person will follow them.
Personally, I suspect I’ve become a little less patient, a little more observant and considerably harder to fool than I was twenty years ago.
Whether that’s wisdom or simply age-related grumpiness remains a matter of ongoing debate.
What do you think: have you become more judgemental with age, or have you simply become better at spotting behaviour that no longer deserves your time and energy?
