The Thief of Joy

There's this lady in my church who appears perfect in every way. She has silky blonde hair and sparkling white teeth and feminine style and a demure, gentle personality that leaves me convinced small animals must follow her through the woods when she takes walks. She even has a pair of perfect, blonde, well-mannered children who have probably never been dirty or sticky in their entire young lives. I hate her. Or rather, I hate what she brings up for me. Being in the same zip code as this girl inflames my own insecurities. My hair is pretty cool, but it cost a lot of money and someone else had to do it for me. My teeth are crooked and stained. My style, while authentic, won't be on the cover of Vogue any time soon. And my kids? They're amazing, but they're also loud and very, very grimy. If this lady is New York City, I am Hoboken.

How can it be that I try so hard to look like I've got my shit together - unsuccessfully, on most days - and other people can just roll out of bed with rays of light beaming from their skin? They're prettier than I am, more approachable, smarter, funnier, kinder, and damn it all, so, so much thinner. (I imagine we all have one marker of our own failings that cuts a little deeper than the rest; this is mine.)

And don't even get me started on accomplishments. I am blessed with some remarkably talented, hard-working friends, who collectively have an entire alphabet of credentials after their names. Comparing my professional achievements to theirs is like comparing a street mongrel to a pedigreed show dog. These people have done things! Real, important, meaningful things! I'm pretty confident my students like me, and I love what I do, but there are no letters after my name. (Perhaps I can ease my anxiety about this by forcing my students to address me as, "Your Highness," or at the very least, "Esteemed Madame." Might be a tough sell with sixth graders.)

What is a girl to do when she's surrounded by people so obviously, glaringly better than she? I've tried a couple techniques in the past. I call the first one pure, unfiltered bitterness. It fails almost immediately, because while it's briefly cathartic to think, "You're more __________ than I am and I hate you for it," it's pretty lonely and toxic. The second technique relies on a sort of reverse comparison. Instead of finding yourself in the down position, seek out people who make you feel superior. This one is actually fairly easy - "Well, at least I don't wear slippers to bring my kids to soccer like that poor sap," - but it fails because it is profoundly unkind. You will end up feeling just as miserable and inadequate as before, but with an added scoop of guilt and shame. The third technique, which has been my default for as long as I can remember, is to harshly berate yourself for your deficiencies and do whatever possible to fix or hide them. For me this technique forms the spine of my decades-long eating disorder. "You are good, I am bad. I don't know how to be as good as you, but I can be thinner, or I can die trying." The logical fallacy here is crystal clear: The negative self-obsession simply leaves no room for actual constructive growth.

There's a fourth technique I've considered but haven't tried. It's a strange concept I'll dub Empathic Realism. This technique presumes that all people - regardless of how perfect and sparkly they appear - experience pain, fear, and self-doubt. We're really not so different at all. Even the Disney princess in my church has likely cried herself to sleep, yelled at her kids, fought with her partner, and felt inferior to someone else. Here's the power in Empathic Realism: it's an equalizer. It levels the playing field for all of us and invites us to see each other the way we really are. What we see on the outside is almost never the whole picture. A lady with a dazzling smile may be hiding deep distress. A husband who brings his wife flowers every day may be hiding infidelity. A guy with a successful career may be distracting from an addiction. A 1950s-worthy wife and mom may be hiding desperate, aching loneliness. That's the realism. The empathy piece comes when we acknowledge the humanity, not the veneer. When we look at someone and say, "I see the real you in there. I'm right there with you."

That acknowledgement must extend to ourselves, too, for this technique to reach maximum effectiveness. Am I perfect? Ha! We're already determined that's not the case. But I try to to the right thing. I try to be honest, act with integrity, and serve others. I stumble often, but I get back up. In the end, it's the soldiering on that's the true mark of success. When we can soldier on together, in solidarity and shared humanity, we've achieved the best success of all.