Comparison is the Thief of Joy

It's been a while...In fact it's been so long, I've almost forgotten which font I normally use.

It's taken me a while to get back to this. Not because I've had nothing to write about. I've had tons and tons to write about in the last few weeks. Thanksgiving, Road Trips, 50th Birthday Parties, Christmas Shopping...

 

But every night, when I tuck the kids in, and sit at my computer. I stare at the screen that asks me if I have anything new to write.

 

Of all the Sins that I've "committed" in my life, there is none that plague  me as much as Coveting. But today, I'd rather call it "Comparison".

 

When they say, "Comparison is the Thief of Joy" they, whoever they are, must have learned the Hard way. As I do, mostly, everyday.

I haven't written because I sit at my computer and read tons of other blogs, that are, well, amazing. These people actually get paid to do this. They are fantastic at what they do, they go to conferences to learn how to be better, and I just sit at home, wondering if I'm really that relatable. I've been told that everyone loves reading my blogs, but that doesn't stop me from thinking otherwise. Am I still funny, honest, and relative?

 

Comparison doesn't just haunt my blogging life, it hinders my entire life.

 

I love my kids to the Moon and back, but they have this way of getting in the car with their clothes on, hair brushed, and clean faces. However, when we get to the store, it looks like they fell out of an ad for a Tide commercial. They have taken their shoes and socks off, rubbed their heads into the seats to do wild things to their hair, and have dug up dirt or food to rub all over their once clean faces. 9 times out of 10 I am alone with the kids. When I left the house, my hair was down, I looked nice. By the time I got to the store I'm sweating, my hair is up in a messy bun, and I look like a mess. I know, or at least think I know what people are saying. I'm a young girl, with two kids, by my self, who is clearly a mess...and they go on shaking their heads.

 

Why Can't I look older? Why Can't I look like I have it all together?

 

Whenever I met Bill, I compared him to meeting a Greek God. I was hypnotized. He's funny, and smart, and yeah, the other obvious aspects he has to offer. I however, at 22 just learned how to apply eye liner properly, and I'm just gonna say it....I'm about 25 lbs over weight. This may or may not have anything to do with my love affair for junk food. But in the back of my head, more often than not, I think, "What the heck is he doing with me?"

 

Why can't I just find more time to exercise, or eat less, or maybe grow an inch or 2?

 

This cycle goes on and on and on. I don't like the way my house looks, or my furniture, or my clothes. I don't know how to do anything with my hair, have I run out of jokes to tell, or interesting things to say?

 

Comparison is the Thief of Joy.

 

I know my kids love me. I know my husband loves me. Why can't I stop comparing myself to everyone around me? Comparison made me stop writing, and made me pick up a bowl of cookie dough. I don't want pity, just understanding. I only air out my dirty laundry because I'd rather be honest than anything else. As long as I'm comparing myself to the world, about all, at least I know I'm truthful. Which is something, most can't say anymore.

So I'll take my honesty, and everything I have to be thankful for, and work a little harder tomorrow.