Dare (Not) to Compare

"She's so much thinner than I am." "She's so much prettier than I am." "Her clothes are so much nicer than mine." "Her house is so much cleaner than mine is." "Her kids are so much better-behaved than mine are."

That's an inner dialogue that plagues me on a daily basis. Admition: I compare myself to others. A lot. And 98% of the time, I come out in the one-down position. I have found absolutely no benefit in these constant comparisons; rather, they are an incessant reminder of my own shortcomings, my inadequacies, my failures. If only I could be like HER, I think, then I wouldn't be so bad.

Now, I've gotten far enough along in my journey to appreciate some of my lesser-ideal qualities. I am loud, and I am obnoxiously opinionated... but I enjoy that about myself. I procrastinate... and I get a rise from the thrill of getting things done barely in the nick of time. There are other things, though, that continue to cause me grief. My body is an obvious example.

There are a lot of people out there who have "better" bodies than I do. Sure, some of them are 17. Some of them have never borne children. Some of them are professional athletes or models or actresses, and get paid big money to look as they do. Some of them are mired in their own uncontrolled eating disorders, achieving those bodies I've long coveted through the very same behaviors that nearly cost me my life. I recognize all of those things. And still, I compare.

The same can be said for my home, and my children, and every other area of my life that I (unrealistically) view as an extension of myself. My often-messy house, my frequently-argumentative children (by the by, how can I be surprised by this? They are MY children, after all), all force me to acknowledge how imperfect my life is. It's a cruel experience, and it's a type of suffering wholly unnecessary and brought about entirely by my own choices.

You see, here's the thing. All of those "perfect people" to whom we compare ourselves? They're not perfect at all. They have their own insecurities, their own secret failings they pray no one will discover. No one among us is flawless, however that Glamour magazine cover may represent her. I have a couple friends whom, upon first meeting them, I despised on principle: they were so put together, I just couldn't stand it. Then I got to know them, had the privilege of seeing their faults, and I took back my judgements. I realized that it is their very humanity (definition: weakness) that makes them incredible.

If I can love my friends for their flaws, their struggles, their imperfections, then why can't I love myself for mine? The first step in getting there, I think, is to stop the comparing. Just stop it, for crying out loud. Any exercise that concludes with my certainty that I suck is not an exercise conducive to a happy life.

I invite you, friends, to JUST SAY NO to comparing. Celebrate the flaws in yourself just as surely as you love the flaws in your fellows. If we all looked like the girl on the Glamour cover, if our houses all looked like those on the Good Housekeeping covers, if our kids all acted like the ones on the Parenting covers, what a dull world this would be.