It is easy to accomplish hypocrisy. We do it through our ignorance and sometimes through our laziness. It is rare that we do it on purpose.

Back in my university days, I used to share a small flat with my friend. We worked well together as flat-mates; he loved to cook, and I found cleaning up the dishes afterwards relaxing (once I’d unclogged the sink of potato peelings). But the peelings were not his only imperfection. He would produce great food, but I’d often have to wait until late at night to receive it.

The problem was that it took less food to sate his smaller frame. He would eat a couple of pistachios and it would keep him going for hours. I needed a full square meal every night. Preferably two.

One night, about two hours after what I considered to be a sane eating time, my stomach took over from my brain and began to rumble its anger. “Why won’t that boy cook?”, it said. “All he’s been doing all day is watching the telly, while you’ve been busy working your arse off.” It had indeed been a long day, so I rose from my chair and headed for the lounge to seek an answer from my telly-addicted friend.

But I never reached him.

Before I could, my brain kicked in, cried hypocrite, and reminded me of the washing-up I hadn’t done. He cooks; I tidy; that’s what we had agreed. I tried to convince myself that I’d had a busy day, was tired and so should be let off the hook. But I couldn’t convince myself and so dragged my body to the kitchen sink.

Oh, how high and mighty of me. What a good boy I was. But that’s not me. Not really. That’s just how I try to act, but I don’t always manage it.

Sometimes I know I’m acting hypocritically, but am too tired or scared to act how I think I should. Other times I’m completely unaware of it or have a habit I can’t break. I lambaste a racist joke, then laugh at one. I become upset when ignored, then ignore others. I ridicule someone’s sloppy dress-sense, then realise I have a stain on my shirt. That’s the worst one.

The easiest escape from hypocrisy would be to stop criticizing. If I never complained about anything—never tried to demand a higher standard from others—then perhaps I would feel less guilt when I failed to reach that standard myself.

But I do not want to be like that.

Criticism is good. I want people to reach that higher standard, just like I want to reach it for myself.

So. I acknowledge that I am a hypocrite from time to time. I refuse to be embarrassed when I get caught out. I’m not going to be defensive either. It is okay to accept that to some degree we are indeed the frauds we feared we were. It’s okay when you understand that everyone else has a little fraud in them too.

Because I should be able to tell you: ‘you really should drink less coffee’.

And you should be able to tell me: ‘you really should get more fresh air.’

And we should be able to nod in agreement. Or argue our case. To try and change together. Or ask for help improving ourselves. Or decide there are more important things in this world than drinking too much coffee indoors.

We should ask for this.

Because we are better at criticizing others than we are ourselves. And—as long as we listen—that’s okay.