Comparison - Thief of Joy?

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

We've all heard it... and, honestly, I have used it to talk myself out of a negative spiral or two while scrolling on social media. Because, really, scrolling social media can be brutal. The feed is stuffed full of everyone's life highlights; I can't escape seeing someone's fucking Europe vacation if I try. And listen, I'm not bitter or jealous; I love knowing people are happy and thriving, I do... but sometimes seeing someone on vacation in Italy while I'm simultaneously trying to make it to my next paycheck, with a hundred bucks to spare... it sucks to have to see it. In moments like that, I totally agree: comparing definitely steals joy. Because while I might not have the bank account that supports a European vacation, I do have a good life and a lot to be thankful for.

But here's the thing: I'm not convinced. I'm not sold on the idea that "comparison is the thief of joy..." as a standard... I mean, in a quick scroll through the Rolodex of times I've struggled, I can't think of one where hearing someone else's similar crappy situation wasn't helpful. A time period when I was in the depths of hell during marriage. Or dealing with a sick kid. Or the gauntlet of addiction... someone else being there too, it helped.

I've dealt with many struggles (as have we all), and the deepest, most painful ones I can think of; caparison was the ladder that allowed me to climb out of the abyss. I think comparing our low-light reels gets a bad rap... it gets confused with "misery loves company." And in no way am I condoning being miserable and finding someone else just as miserable to sit in it with... Now, I do believe firmly that finding someone with similar struggles (and, sure, okay, maybe technically "as miserable as me") can be life-saving. And it has been, for me. Finding a girlfriend who is struggling with motherhood helped me feel a little less isolated. Realizing a friend's child is going through a challenging time with a learning disability, around the same time my daughter was, brought me clarity and recognition that what I'm going through is not-that-abnormal. Hearing a dear friend talk about the not-so-pretty parts of marriage was paradigm-shifting, because "what do you mean a relationship that looks perfect is not?" And "what do you mean marriage problems doesn't mean the marriage is over?" I did ALL the comparing with this one, sometimes... I still do. Not in the way you might think, though. I compared where I was in my journey to where she was in hers, and in that comparison, I found hope. Vice versa, she found purpose in the tough stuff because, in sharing it, she was able to help a friend see the light. And that's the thing: when comparison is used as a tool and done constructively, it can actually create joy, not steal it.

Now, two things before we dive in. First, "constructive comparison" is not groundbreaking. You've already done this in a conversation where you've talked to a friend about a problem you have in common, and either of you left the conversation with a positive. Second, I am not a professional; this is not professional advice; I just happen to have lived through a great deal of turmoil, am lucky enough to have learned from most of it, and sharing how I got through it (or haven't) fills my cup.

I'm going to start with being a mom... because motherhood can be brutal. It's also beautiful, I know, but let's get into the weeds here. I remember the moment I found out I was pregnant; I wasn't that young. I also wasn't that grown. It also was... not planned; I was not prepared, and one of my first thoughts was how terrifying it would be to push a baby out of my body... because how is that even possible? Next, of course, was the 'retreat'... can I go out Saturday night with the girls... unfortunately, no - I'm busy throwing up and feeling like absolute shit, sorry. It's the beginning of giving-it-all-up. Then, the doctor's appointment where I discovered there are a lot of rules, and I will actually not be a let's-grab-sushi girl because sushi is not allowed. I will also not eat lunchmeat, or soft cheese, or... whatever. All of a sudden, I thought, "wait a fucking minute..." where are the 'rules' for creator number two of this baby bump... I would like a list of his rules as well, please. What would you know... no list for him. Now, talk about a comparison that did steal joy. I could have probably focused on that a teeny bit less... but retrospect will get you every time. Point is, the second I found out I was pregnant, I was catapulted into being a "mom" - and I didn't know what that meant, I didn't know exactly what that looked like, I was being told what to do, what not to do, and none of it allowed for me to remain the girl that I was before. It was like a fog rolled in, and I no longer had any idea where in my life I was, no direction, no clear destination... "Hellooooo, where did everyone go..."

The only people I could hear through the fog had a lot of opinions, lists, comments, suggestions... but none of it focused on how to clear the fog. It was more like, "nothing is about you anymore, and that's the choice you made." Also... you really should be SO grateful for it. So, I'm totally lost in life, but "just don't eat the soft cheese." That's a lot to unpack...

The lighthouse...

Now, we won't get lost in the story of motherhood through stages because I could truly write a book on that. My purpose here is that becoming a mom is hard, lonely, scary, and sometimes, painful. On top of it, I felt bad for feeling anything negative about it... because I am healthy, my baby is healthy, etc. But not saying anything kept me isolated and lost in the fog for far too long.

Three years and two babies later... Out on my patio one day, I heard a new neighbor. Spunky, blonde, Australian. She was beaming... a light I couldn't take my eyes off of. It only took a few days; she called over to "bring the kids." I threw one on my hip and held one hand; they were three and one and a half - I was in the depths of the toddler stage. Claire. Effervescent Claire had one little girl, three years old. Immediately, I was captivated... she felt light, happy, full of life... I felt like if I was just-close-enough maybe I'd be dusted with her magic, and I could be bright and shiny again too. Claire got dressed every day... she drank wine on the patio as the sun went down, she pole danced in her living room... something she did on a national, competitive stage in her younger years (btw - 'pole' in other countries does not mean what it means in America). I was mesmerized. We developed a great friendship. Clarie single-handedly proved to me that being a mom had no rules. I did not need to be defined by anyone's definition of the word "mom." We haven't been neighbors for a long time, she's off living in Italy, traveling the world, of course. While I've since given up the pole dancing workout classes... I remain dedicated to being true to myself, so that I can be a light for anyone who needs it, including my kids.

Claire was my first constructive comparison... I could have seen this vibrant, full-of-life woman next door and easily retreated. I could have stewed in anger (which would really have been jealousy) about how she drank while her toddler ran feral. Or in "what kind of mom pole dances... ?" What kind of woman thinks she gets to be wild and free when it is not about her anymore... I could have allowed myself to drown in the age-old idea that she was not a good mom because she put herself first. I've seen many mommas get lost on this road...

Instead, I saw something in Claire that I desperately wanted... So, despite our differences, I trusted her joy and decided to compare. Little moments, like joining her for a glass of wine while the kids played too late and our flawless bedtime routine went up in smoke. I left the kids home to join her for (gasp) a pole-dancing class, where I danced and laughed like crazy... We signed up for 5Ks with our toddlers, on Saturday mornings, without perfectly packed diaper bags; kids cried half, full diapers, spilled water bottles... And guess what happened... absolutely nothing. Other than I allowed myself joy. I will forever be grateful for Claire, my lighthouse, who led me back to shore.

The trenches...

My daughter was born quickly; she showed up with this urgency to experience everything, all at once. My beautiful, brilliant girl. She walked early. She talked early. She could do everything by herself. As she's grown up, she's become this little powerhouse of creative energy... I'm convinced she sees the world in colors the rest of us can't see. I always knew she was a little-bit-different. Much different than her brother, her cousins. She's always been a little bit outside the box. Which was always fun and exciting, until she started school. Lots of little incidents, not listening, not keeping her hands to herself, couldn't sit still to save her life. As she got older, it turned into bigger incidents... impulsive decisions that were often unsafe. Inability to make and maintain friendships. One day in 3rd grade, her teacher called me in to let me know... she could not read, and they were considering special education services. I was beside myself... first of all, she absolutely CAN read and does so at home almost every day; the argument commenced. This was a rabbit hole, as you can imagine. Hard to hear your child is struggling, harder to hear them struggling with something at school you KNOW they can do at home. It got worse. She was coming home hating school, feeling and saying horrible things about herself. I was watching her light slowly go out... and I tried, I tried to convince her that school is only one form of "being smart." That there are so many ways to be brilliant, that no one in her classroom could design and sew an outfit for their doll when they were seven years old. Unfortunately, being unique is not a desirable quality when you're in fourth grade... fitting in is.

I finally found a specialist I trusted enough to see her, and sure enough, she was diagnosed with severe ADHD - which apparently a person is either hyperactive or attention deficit - alas, my precious girl was measured off the charts on both accounts. This again was hard... mostly I had a hard time, because she is just like me. I couldn't help but take it a little personally. The doctor recommended medication... medication... a controlled medication... I made it to my bed that night and cried myself to sleep. I called my mom, that was not helpful. The gist from my mother... ADHD is not real, she is just like you, and just like me, she's got more common sense than any kid I know (oh, my personal favorite)... putting her on medications will make her a drug addict... Great. Perfect. So helpful. More crying... I chose no medications for that school year and cried every time I got a call from or had to go into the school. It was awful.

She started to create this narrative that she was not smart and that she was bad. Seeing her fall into this dark space was like being eaten alive and having to watch.... she was so, so sad. And I was consumed by her sadness.

A girlfriend forced me out to lunch one day, and one of her friends joined. Ugh, just what I wanted, right? Well, go figure. I had a mortifying mental breakdown in the middle of the day, on the patio of this very full, waterfront restaurant. When I tried to leave so they could enjoy their day, the friend reached out, gently held my hand, and said, "Oh my gosh, I know exactly how you feel..." Normally, I hate when people say that. But I knew she did, I could feel it... She shared her story about her son (a freshman in high school at the time), but she started from the beginning, in third grade, where it all started. Our stories were so incredibly similar, I could almost guess what she was going to say next. Except when, all of a sudden, she said how grateful she was for the improvements he experienced with medication. I knew it. Too good to be true. Because I will not drug my child. Turns out, after I stopped being a judgy bitch, I found out it took her three years to decide to try medication. It was a really painful choice that she struggled with every inch of the way because once he tried medication, he quickly excelled - in school, with peers - and then she was riddled with guilt that she had 'kept him from it all' for years. We talked about this for hours, all my questions were answered, some with answers I liked and some that I didn't. But all of it was helpful. I would have never allowed my nine-year-old to try medications if I hadn't heard this moms' story, or seen the tears in her eyes when she talked about how she wished she'd 'helped him sooner.'

I trusted her, trusted the guilt I saw in her eyes. I saw something in her that I desperately did not want to carry. So, I made a choice. Despite any fear of my own, I made the call and got my daughter's first prescription. What happened... my girl is doing fabulously... she's excelled in school, she'd made a few good friends, she's able to consider her choices (most of the time), and the shimmer is back in her soul. We chose not to do medications through weekends, or breaks, or summers because when she is home we love to see her be wild and free in a way she is not able to do in school. We all talk about and appreciate the importance of both.

I am forever grateful for my chance encounter with a friend... who was vulnerable enough to share the path she took and the nightmare she and her son experienced on it. I'm so grateful for her honesty... for the humility it must have taken to share 'where she went wrong' for the purpose of directing us towards the smoother road. Now, I'll be clear, medication may not be the answer for everyone. But it was the answer for them. And it was the answer for us. We are still great friends... we continue to compare what's working for our kiddos now and then - because of course with something like this... the solution is an ever-moving target and the calm comes in waves. I'll be the first to tell you, it's really wonderful to have someone with me in rough waters.

If I'm being honest, I was going to get into marriage here... but that might make this unreadably long. So, I'll end with this...

Comparison is the creator of joy... when you do it right.

Love Always,

Bev