Chapter 8 - Comparisons

The thief of joy.

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It’s a punch to the gut every time. At a playground, I see a small child climb a ladder in seconds, race across a suspension bridge, and tumble down a slide, unexpectedly landing upside down on the hard ground. He shrugs it off and keeps playing with seemingly endless energy. It’s a stunt my son is incapable of, and might cause serious injury if he tries. On impulse, I compare the two kids, unfairly. My heart sinks, wondering when my beautiful boy will catch up.

It’s so easy to compare ourselves to others, and let those observations dictate what is “fair” and “balanced.” Everyone has their own issues to deal with, and the most difficult among them are often hidden beneath the surface. These judgements can be out of our control, and get in the way when we want to help someone deal with a challenging situation.

“Comparison with myself brings improvement, comparison with others brings discontent.” Betty Jamie Chung

When you’re talking to a friend who’s suffering, you’re both seeking a connection. They want you to understand what they’re going through, and you want to do something for them that will actually help. This desperation can make us do funny things. When your friend offers up a detail about their problems, it’s tempting to show them you’re the right person to talk to by offering a comparison from your own life.

When this common ground reveals itself, we can make the mistake of saying “I know what you’re going through,” when this is hardly ever true. Even if you’ve both had parents who got divorced, or survived a deadly disease, your memories aren’t as important as the problems they currently need to understand and overcome. There are so many variables at play, so many hours in your friend’s day you’re not privy to, that there’s no possible way you could meet them on the same emotional level. Even if you truly feel that you’ve been there before yourself. Your history, however similar, can prepare you to process your friend’s case better than others, but it isn’t a template for how to handle the current situation.

Instead, say “I hear you,” or “that’s tough,” so they know you’re paying attention, and you validate their experience. Repeat what they’ve said back to them, and wait for them to elaborate if they’re able. Making a comparison tells your friend you’re focusing on your own life’s struggles, more than theirs. Or worse, that you think the thing that happened to them isn’t really a big deal. Certainly not bigger than what you went through, which makes the comparison seem almost like a contest.

Even sharing another person’s story with your friend, whether it has a happy ending or not, potentially derails your friend’s healing journey. They start drawing comparisons instead of looking inward and finding strength in their own decisions. Unless your friend asks “Have you ever gone through something similar?” or “Do you have any friends that I could talk to about this?” keep the spotlight on them as much as you can. Or you can ask them if they’d be open to hearing a story that might echo their own. But if they say no, take it as your cue that they need you to listen, not to try to fix the situation.

Don’t change the subject.

Relaying hard truths can also feel like gossiping in a way, which can prompt you to overshare or “one-up” the person opening their heart to you. Therapeutic conversations can quickly devolve into a game of “who has it worse,” where your brain won’t stop giving you examples of things you’ve had to survive that may be tougher than the issues plaguing your friend.

At the first party I attended after my son was released from the hospital, a former colleague asked me what I’d been up to. I wasn’t sure if they’d seen the news of my son’s illness from my sporadic posts online, so I relayed the basics of his evolving situation. I didn’t want to tell my sob story to everyone in attendance, since they were there to have a good time, but this person asked, and was someone I believed to be empathetic, so I shared the tough year I’d had.

I could see inspiration flash across their eyes, and they immediately launched into their own recent tragedy (which was admittedly awful) involving their child and something scary that happened at their school. I reacted as best as I could, echoing their distress and emphasizing all of the most shocking parts. When they were finished, the conversation moved on. They didn’t ask how I was, or my wife, or if my son was recovering.

I was confused. I thought, “Did this person not hear what I said? Was I babbling? Did I tell the story incorrectly? Was my son’s near-death experience trivial and unimportant?” It was hurtful, but I also appreciated her authenticity, because I learned not to share something so personal with them again.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” Theodore Roosevelt

Looking back, I understand where they were coming from. When someone talks about a hardship, it can feel like a cue to add one of your own. That way, you’re confronting the reality that bad stuff happens, and these are just more things that will solve themselves in time. Gatherings with lifelong friends can often play out this way. “Oh yeah, well you won’t believe what happened to me!”

One way to tell the difference between gossip and a truly horrible thing, is how difficult it feels for that friend to share it. If they’re taking pauses between sentences, or getting choked up while reliving each moment, now’s probably not the time to cut them off with bad news of your own. Try to get a sense of what they want out of you when they’re done telling their story. If this is unclear, give them space to finish and let them decide when the topic needs to change.

You don’t need to walk around on pins and needles every time someone brings up a challenge they recently faced, but when it’s clear that someone is leaning on you for emotional support, or sharing news that you don’t believe many others are privy to, let them put it all on the table before you shove it to the side and start piling on your own stuff.

Comparisons go both ways.

Bob Odenkirk, in the latest episode of Mike Birbiglia’s “Working It Out” podcast, said he’s most jealous of parents who still have little kids at home. “I knew what I was doing when I had kids growing up,” Bob said. “I was being a dad. That was my job. I didn’t have to ask myself what am I doing here? How can I be a part of this world? How can I be meaningful today?”

Here’s one of this century’s most celebrated actors saying he’s jealous of people like me. His honesty reminds me that, while times can be tough, I’ll look back on them in ten years and wish I could do them all over again. Comparing my kid to others deprives myself of my current joy. I’ll try to remember this the next time I get hurt seeing a healthy kid simply do what kids their age should be doing, and let everyone at the playground grow up at their own pace.

Let’s talk it out.

Want to compare (see what I did there) thoughts on comparisons? Have you ever been caught in a tragedy one-upsmanship? Let me know in the comments.

An audio version of this post is available below (for paid subscribers).