Tired of Being Unhappy? Me Too.
Comparing, competing, and ruining your joy
When I graduated from the 8th grade, our school principal gave us a stern warning during his commencement speech. “If you compare yourself to others,” he said, “you’ll never really be happy.” At the time, my 13-year-old brain couldn’t really appreciate the meaning behind his message. But now, nearly 35 years later, I give an awful lot of thought to Mr. Clements’ words.
It’s a self-diagnosis, but I have come to believe that I suffer from a nearly incurable case of comparisonitis. This disease won’t kill you (thank goodness), but it will certainly rob you of many of life’s pleasures. In fact, I am so acutely aware of my (sub?)conscious reflex to compare that I purchased a small framed sign to place in my family room. The sign reads, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” The quote is attributed to Theodore Roosevelt. While I know very little about what President Roosevelt accomplished on behalf of our country (minus our beloved stuffed teddy bears), I know that wiser words have never been spoken.
My drive to compare may be born out of my genes. My mother tells me stories of when I was a little girl sitting in the sandbox. I’d look up from my playing and ask her, “Is this right?”
If there was a “right,” that inherently means there was also a “wrong.”
I must have looked at some other child’s sandbox creation, and I must have seen something different. Which I then translated into “something better.” I compared my sand creation to someone else’s sand creation. And even with only a handful of years under my belt, I already had decided that “someone else” knew more about sand than I did… and, therefore, could create something with sand better than I could.
I’ve spent a lot of my life chasing what I think other people know, have, believe, and so on.
Studying hard for a math test? Someone still learned more.
Becoming a runner in my early 40s? Someone else my age could run faster and farther.
Redecorating our house after 10+ years? Someone else just bought a second home in Tahoe.
Adding another plate to the barbell at the gym? Someone else is stronger, having long-ago bypassed that amount.
Finally, sitting down to put my thoughts on paper? Someone else has already said what I have to say.. and they’ve likely said it better.
I don’t know what the hell I actually expect from this “exercise.” Sure, there may be times when I watch an episode of Teen Mom, and I’ll smile as I quietly think, “well, as least I have my shit more together than she does.” But really. I’m making myself feel like More by looking at someone else as Less? That’s crap, and no one wins when we play that game.
My constant instinct to compare grew even worse once I became a mother. There is no shortage of opportunities to measure your child against another, and some mom groups I joined fed that beast hard. Whether the conversation centered around nighttime sleep (“My baby has been sleeping through the night since 6 weeks of age.. Has yours?”) or breastfeeding (“You shouldn’t stop trying..it really is better for your baby than formula.”), I always felt like these mothers were on to “something,” and I didn’t have the inside scoop.
As my daughters grew up, I continued my silent penchant for comparing them to other children their age. I saw kids who medaled at every swim meet. Kids who mastered Mozart for their piano recital. Kids who zipped down the sidewalk on two-wheeled bikes. Kids who had clear artistic talents. I saw excellent manners, chores being done after the first ask, and siblings who always seemed to get along.
I looked around and found all the things that confirmed what I had somehow come to believe: I was behind, my children were behind, and I had no clue how to catch up (and keep up).
I know it’s wrong, and it looks even worse to see this confession in print. But, I have spent far too much time comparing my daughters to others, and I have an extremely high success rate for making myself feel bad.
Here’s the thing.. I don’t think I’m alone in this behavior. I’m sure some parents have total confidence in their child-rearing skills, as well as women who look in the mirror and love what they see (I don’t hang out with anyone like this because these people are most certainly not my people). But I think there are far more of us who feel this struggle just like I do.
And whether it’s comparing our offspring or the size of our thighs, it all leads to Nothing Good.
There will always be richer, smarter, thinner, faster, braver, prettier, stronger, and more popular. The list will never stop because you can always find someone “better” in whatever category you are measuring. That’s the rub. There’s really no end to being “one-upped.” But, I’m doing this to myself. I’m letting someone’s 10-mile run turn my 5 miles run into “less than.” I’m the responsible party when I feel that my daughter may be “missing out” because she doesn’t have as many friends as some of her classmates. I negate so much of my day-to-day existence with my destructive reflex to compare. I bring on my own disappointment, and it’s got to stop.
Mr. Clements and President Roosevelt — you guys had it right. Comparison is the pathway to worry, dissatisfaction, and disappointment. It’s the road to eroding confidence and a straight shot to feeling less than. It’s a crap-worthy endeavor, and I’m sick and tired of doing it to myself.
The challenge, now, is on me. Is there a way to rewire my brain into celebrating my joys rather than negating them? Hard to say. My husband and a few friends now call me out when I’m staring down a comparisonitis streak. That helps, actually. But it will take time to break my well-worn reflex response to look at what others are doing.
It will take a deliberate decision to pause and honor me, my children, my family.
It will be hard.
It will be fraught with failure.
It may take me longer than someone else to find my way.
But, if all goes well, I won’t know about that “someone else” because I’ll be too busy cheering for myself.
