Who Gave Us the Right to Judge Someone Else’s Love?

Sometimes I wonder why we make something as beautiful and simple as love so unnecessarily complicated.

Why does it matter whether the person you love is a man or a woman?

Why should anyone’s sexual orientation determine whether they deserve respect, kindness, dignity or happiness?

Why have we given ourselves the strange authority to decide which kind of love is “right” and which kind is “wrong”?

At the end of the day, isn’t love—whatever form it takes—still love?

It is that inexplicable feeling that makes our heart race a little faster. It gives us warmth when we are lonely, strength when we are struggling and happiness when the world feels heavy. It makes us want to care for another person, protect them, stand beside them and share our lives with them.

Whether that love exists between a man and a woman, two men, two women, or people whose identities don’t fit neatly into the categories we grew up with, the fundamental human emotion remains remarkably similar.

We love. We care. We need companionship. We want to belong. We want to be loved in return.

So who exactly appointed us judges?

Why should someone else’s love bother us?

If I am straight and someone else is LGBTQ+, what exactly have I lost?

Does their relationship take something away from mine?

Does their happiness diminish mine?

Does their love prevent me from loving the person I choose?

No.

Then why should I be angry about it?

Why should I feel threatened?

Why should I condemn them?

Their life is theirs.

Mine is mine.

Perhaps the healthiest attitude is simply:

“You live your life. I will live mine. And if our paths cross, I will treat you with the same humanity I expect from you.”

It really can be that simple.

We don’t have to understand everything to respect it

One of the excuses people often give for judging LGBTQ+ people is:

“I don’t understand it.”

But does understanding everything have to be a prerequisite for respect?

I don’t understand every culture in the world.

I don’t understand every religion.

I don’t understand why some people enjoy things I could never imagine enjoying.

I don’t understand every decision another human being makes.

Yet I don’t automatically condemn them.

Perhaps we should learn the difference between understanding and respecting.

I may not completely understand someone’s experience.

But I can still say:

“This is your life. You deserve dignity. You deserve to live without being humiliated or hated.”

That doesn’t require me to change who I am.

It simply requires me to be human.

Love isn’t a competition

There is something particularly strange about the way society sometimes treats sexuality—as though everyone has been placed into teams.

Straight.

Gay.

Lesbian.

Bisexual.

Transgender.

And then somehow we are expected to defend our team and criticise everyone else’s.

But love isn’t a cricket match.

There is no scoreboard.

There is no winning side.

Someone else’s love does not make mine less valuable.

If a person finds someone who makes them happy, gives them companionship, supports them through difficult times and gives them a reason to smile, why should I want to take that happiness away?

Isn’t happiness something we should celebrate rather than police?

And what about morality?

Of course, every society has values, traditions and beliefs.

People are entitled to their religious or personal convictions.

But there is an important distinction between living according to your own values and forcing those values upon another person.

You can believe something is not right for you without declaring that another human being is worthless.

You can choose a particular kind of relationship without demanding that everyone else choose the same.

You can disagree without humiliating.

You can have principles without cruelty.

You can hold strong beliefs without turning another person’s existence into an insult.

That, perhaps, is where maturity begins.

Imagine being judged for something that is deeply personal

Before judging anyone, perhaps we should pause for a moment and imagine what it would feel like if our own most personal choices were constantly questioned.

Imagine having to explain whom you love.

Imagine being afraid to introduce your partner to your family.

Imagine wondering whether friends would stop speaking to you if they knew the truth about your life.

Imagine being mocked, excluded or treated as though something was fundamentally wrong with you.

Imagine having to hide an important part of yourself simply to avoid being rejected.

Wouldn’t we want someone to look at us and say:

“You are still a human being. You still deserve kindness.”

Then why deny that same kindness to someone else?

Love gives us something the world desperately needs

Think about what love does to a person.

It can make us more patient.

It can give us courage.

It can make us feel seen.

It can make loneliness bearable.

It can give us someone to call when the day has gone badly.

It can give us someone with whom we can share the most ordinary moments—tea in the morning, a silly joke, a movie, a walk, a quiet evening.

It can make life feel less lonely.

And isn’t that what most of us are ultimately searching for?

Not labels.

Not approval from the entire world.

Just someone who looks at us and says:

“I see you. I know you. And I choose you.”

Why should the gender of that person determine whether their love deserves respect?

Perhaps we should stop making other people’s lives our business

There is an old-fashioned wisdom in simply minding our own business.

If two consenting adults are living their lives, caring for one another and causing no harm, perhaps we don’t need to become investigators, judges and executioners of their relationship.

We don’t need to approve every choice people make.

We don’t need to understand every relationship.

We don’t need to participate in every lifestyle.

But we can practise something far more powerful:

Live and let live.

And perhaps even more importantly:

Love and let love.

What if we judged people by how they love rather than whom they love?

Imagine if our questions were different.

Instead of asking:

“Is he gay?”

“Is she lesbian?”

“What is their orientation?”

What if we asked:

“Are they kind to each other?”

“Do they respect each other?”

“Do they stand by each other?”

“Do they make each other happy?”

“Do they bring out the best in one another?”

Wouldn’t those tell us far more about the quality of a relationship?

Because sexuality tells us whom someone may be attracted to.

It does not tell us whether they are kind.

It does not tell us whether they are trustworthy.

It does not tell us whether they are compassionate.

It does not tell us whether they will stand beside someone when life becomes difficult.

Those are the qualities that make a human being worthy of respect.

So who gave us the authority to judge?

That question keeps coming back to me.

Who gave any of us the authority to degrade another person because their way of expressing love is different from ours?

Who made us the guardians of someone else’s happiness?

Who appointed us the gatekeepers of love?

And if we believe in a world where every human being deserves dignity, perhaps the answer is very simple:

Nobody did.

We appointed ourselves.

And perhaps it is time to resign from that position.

Let people love.

Let people find companionship.

Let people discover who they are.

Let people live honestly.

Let them laugh together, grow together, grow old together and hold each other’s hands when life becomes difficult.

And if their love isn’t our kind of love, that’s okay.

It doesn’t have to be.

We don’t have to live their life.

We only have to make sure we don’t make their life harder simply because it is different from ours.

Because when you strip away the labels, the arguments, the politics, the social conditioning and all the noise surrounding sexuality, there is something very ordinary underneath it all:

A human being wanting to love another human being.

And perhaps that should be enough.

At the end of our lives, I doubt any of us will wish we had spent more time judging whom other people loved.

We will probably wish we had loved more ourselves.

Been kinder.

Been less afraid.

Hugged more.

Forgiven more.

Laughed more.

And allowed other people the freedom to find their own happiness.

So let us stop asking whether someone’s love looks like ours.

Let us ask something much more important:

Is it making them kinder, happier, more fulfilled and more human?

If it is, perhaps we should simply smile and say:

“Good for you. May you be loved, and may you love well.”

Because love, in all its beautiful and bewildering forms, is one of the few things in this world that costs us nothing to give—and can make the enormous burden of being human feel just a little lighter.