Raspberry Iced M

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” – Theodore Roosevelt

This quote is easily said. Rolls off of the tongue.

And it’s easy to understand. The implications that come with the quote are across-the-board accepted. It’s as if he knew what everyone was thinking.

Ole Teddy became the youngest President, at age 42. So to me it seems like it would be easy for him to say such a thing – because people were probably comparing themselves to HIM. And while he was criticized for being a believer of racial hierarchy, for being aggressive and somewhat egotistical, even his critics probably had to admit that he was at least successful.

I wonder, if Teddy existed today, how much truer he would find his statement. In an era where Instagram exists. In a time when it’s easy to open a phone and watch other people flourish, reach their goals, spending money out of their seemingly overflowing bank accounts.

I often look at the lives of people who are or once were in my life. I scroll through social media occasionally and observe the smiles.

“Oh, look – Sally got a new car. Why does she deserve a new car? She just got one last year and wrecked it. She must have good auto insurance.”

Funny thing is – she posted a picture of the car. Not a picture of the bill.

“Look how grown Susan’s kids are now. And they all got together on Thanksgiving. Wow, it’s almost like her kids forgot that Susan snorted cocaine for the better part of their childhood. Why does she get to have a relationship with her kids?”

But what Susan didn’t post was the $20,000.00 rehab charge, or the texts full of ultimatums from her kids that said, “If you don’t stop, we won’t talk.”

“Wow, Kelly and Brad are still together. Didn’t he cheat on her, like, 10 times?!?! Where is her backbone?”

But what isn’t shown is the number of nights Kelly spent on her knees in a closet somewhere, asking God if she should walk away…or try harder.

My point – we often compare the details of our lives to the highlights of others’. And it’s convenient to post our own highlights so that other people don’t know that we are sad. Or lonely. Or scared. Or broke or broken.

When I decided to start this blog, I remember making a silent promise to myself that I would be raw, real, and genuine – even if it hurt. And for those of you reading this, who think, “She must really have it together,” I can’t tell you how far that is from the truth.

So here is the truth…or at least…the truth right now:

I woke up at 6 a.m. with the worst indigestion I have had in my entire life. I didn’t go back to sleep until nearly 8 a.m., and I missed church because I wanted extra rest. [Insert guilt here.]

I fed my son McDonald’s for lunch because I didn’t feel like cooking or even getting dressed to go out.

And right now, it’s 4 p.m., and I’m sitting on the couch on my laptop while two loads of laundry that need folding stare back at me, wrinkled and cold now. I’m half-listening to what is playing on YouTube on the t.v., Steven Furtick, because I’m feeling pretty lousy today. It’s cold outside. It’s cold inside.

There are dirty dishes in the sink, the bed is unmade, one of my nails just fell off.

I make more money now than I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I have more money than I’ve ever had…but I don’t want to log in for work tomorrow. I’m discouraged.

There are two other people in this house, and I sit here fighting tears because I’ve never felt more lonely or less worthy of love or affection or affirmation. The grace upon which others rely to get through a day is the same grace that – right now – in this moment – I do not feel I deserve.

I’m a little different than other people.

I don’t want people to see my “highlights.”

I don’t want people to see me at all.

I’m convinced that I’m too broken, too insecure, too unworthy, and unusable. I pray for direction, and the answer doesn’t come. So I must not be a good listener – or worse – I’m not worth listening to.

So I pray harder. Cry more. Try to do better. I fill my day with as many tasks as possible and ignore the fact that I can barely breathe sometimes. I stay off of my phone so I can avoid watching others’ highlights, because, as Teddy reminds us even a century later…

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”