Comparison: The Thief of Joy

It happened again, just yesterday. I was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when I saw an old college friend’s post. Her boyfriend had just proposed to her after 8 years of dating (I had actually been the one to introduce them), and there were at least a dozen different images of them smiling and celebrating: surrounded by family and friends, all of whom looked equally euphoric. I texted a friend: “Can you tell me why I’m jealous?”

Most of us have heard a variation of the adage “comparison is the thief of joy.” Often attributed to Theodore Roosevelt, the phrase always resonates with me. It makes me think about the ways in which I sometimes manifest feelings of either inferiority or superiority – and how I can return to a more healthy, whole baseline. It also makes me think of how and why many of us are prone to make such comparisons, including the notion that others have more fulfilling lives; there is even research that indicates many people believe others’ social lives are richer than their own. Social media platforms have likely exacerbated the tendency to indulge in self-comparison, often serving as vehicles for people to showcase the “highlights” of their lives.

I seem to slide into feelings of social comparison relatively frequently in my recovery, especially recently. Having turned 30 around half a year ago, that specific birthday triggered a host of feelings rooted in inferiority. My inner dialogue was rife with “what if” statements: “What if I had gotten sober sooner?” “What if I had gone back to graduate school a year or two ago?” “What if I had chosen a better, healthier relationship?” “What if I don’t get the life I’ve always imagined?”

These feelings are always compounded by the fact that I went to college with – by and large – a cohort of extremely ambitious, high-achieving individuals. I’m sometimes flabbergasted at the notifications I receive on LinkedIn about the careers my former classmates have chosen to pursue, or the litany of advanced degrees many have received. It makes me feel small; it makes me feel insignificant; it makes me feel…unimportant.

And then, without fail, someone in my life delivers a much-needed reality check. Earlier in my recovery, a former sponsor in Alcoholics Anonymous furrowed her eyebrows at me when I communicated my feelings of regret and comparison to others who were “further along” in life. “Did all of them overcome alcoholism and drug addiction? Did they spend years of their life trapped in a sickness, and then years of their life embarking on the journey of recovery?” she asked me. When I begrudgingly shook my head, she raised her eyebrows with a knowing look. “Well? How can you even compare, then?”

Around 2 years ago, one of my close friends sent me a quotation from author Emily Maroutian, who has written several books in the fields of personal development and philosophy.

“On feeling behind in life: You’re not behind in life. There’s no schedule or timetable that we all must follow. It’s all made up. Wherever you are right now is exactly where you need to be. Seven billion people can’t do everything in exactly the same scheduled order. We are all different with a variety of needs and goals. Some get married early, some get married late, while others don’t get married at all. What is early? What is late? Compared with whom? Compared with what? Some want children, others don’t. Some want a career, others enjoy taking care of a house and children. Your life is not on anyone else’s schedule. Don’t beat yourself up for where you are right now. It’s YOUR timeline, not anyone else’s, and nothing is off schedule.”

I’ll never forget how I felt when I read this touchstone quotation. I like to return to it when I lapse into feelings of self-doubt. It’s a tangible reminder that making comparisons is often harmful to me and, moreover, that it typically detracts from my overall happiness. But perhaps most importantly, it reminds me that there is no timeline for life, nor is there any scheduled order for the ways in which things should happen. The more I adhere to the cognitive distortion that my life “should” look a certain way, the less I am able to fully live in the present and enjoy the life that I’ve built in recovery.