Why is comparison between women so pervasive?  What factors play into the ways and extent to which we compare ourselves to others?  Growing up in the suburbs of New Jersey, comparison has been my companion for long as I can remember.  Attending a predominantly white elementary school ushered feelings of comparison to the forefront of my mind.  Don’t get me wrong, my mom took me to diverse shows at Philadelphia’s Annenberg Center and enrolled me in Freedom Theater dance classes to balance the influences of my suburban life.  I still measured myself against my peers more often than I’d like to admit.    Why wasn’t my hair straight and flowing like my classmates?  Why wasn’t my style quirky and cool like Clarissa from Clarissa Explains it All or any of the Huxtable daughters?  Why was my wit nothing like the cast of All That?  My preadolescent-self believed that if I were similar to these ideals, I would be the next Barbizan model destined for fame.

Sidenote:  How could any eighties baby forget reading Seventeen magazine (while in elementary & middle school) and laying eyes on the Barbizan Modeling Agency ads in the final pages.  My recurring daydream consisted of being discovered and signed to a lucrative contract while shopping at the mall.  Spoiler alert…I was never signed by a modeling agency. 😔

These feelings of comparison didn’t fade as I stepped into young adulthood.  Now, I didn’t just have my subconscious notifying me that I needed to upgrade my outward appearance, I had the voices of my friends added to the mix of whispers in my ear.  One of the rites of passage for any young lady is learning how to engage and often disengage with frenemies (those girlfriends that pass out backhanded compliments and criticism like a fresh stick of gum, hiding behind the guise of friendly advice).  My arch frenemy would always say, “You’re so skinny!!  You’re like a little twig!”  Translation:  I was tall with NO curves.  I had the body of a 10 year old boy.  I can remember telling my mom how much I wanted to finally not be flat-chested.  She assured me if I waited until I was an adult, got married, and had a baby, then surely boobs would arrive.  I didn’t have the patience to accept this as my only option.  Faster, yet unsuccessful options included socks, tissue, and water balloons.  How come everyone else had it made, but I still felt as though something was lacking.

Fast forward to present me.  I love myself, but I’m still a work in progress.  It was about a week ago I had been carrying this image of my pre-baby, early twenty-something, body ideal that I’d hoped yoga and running would get me back to.  A conversation with a fellow mommy and good friend helped me to refocus on reality.  I have to accept and embrace the body that I have NOW.  (I’m not in my twenties anymore and my body has been the vessel for two human births.  And I have the battle scars to prove it.)  I can improve the body that I have now, but I can’t magically spin back the clock.  Self-acceptance is a process that I’m working through daily.  Many mornings I get up, look at myself in the mirror and find something specific and positive that I can say.  “Hey, your hair is on point today!”  “You’re blessed. You’re blessed. You. Are. Blessed!”  Other times, comparing statements pop into my mind, at which time, I consciously acknowledge the thought, heeding what is true, and releasing what doesn’t serve my mental health.

So I scroll through Instagram with care.  I admire the beautiful asanas and super toned bodies of IG yogis, but let any feelings of envy reflect on the fact that these women work diligently to achieve their levels of strength and flexibility and I too can attempt these unique poses with consistent work towards them.  Myleik Teele mentioned (in one of her podcasts) that social media is a collection of posts and pictures that are curated to tell the tale as the storyteller wishes.  The highlights are shared with the world, while the awkward and dark moments are often deleted from the photo reel.  Ms. Teele also mentioned Theodore Roosevelt’s quote,

I hung this quote on my vision board.  Comparison is also fuel for the Ego.  I notice that when I’m scrutinizing myself alongside another woman, it’s because I want to make myself feel better, which ironically does the exact opposite.  As a measure of self love and preservation, my IG browsing is limited and is for entertainment, enjoyment, and inspiration ONLY!

I’m uniquely me and I need to embrace that and remind myself of this on a daily basis.  Because honestly, “…I’m fearfully and wonderfully made…” I’m my own kind of beautiful.

What techniques do you use when battling thoughts of comparison?

Namaste,

Dominique Anitra