On Comparisons

Disclaimer: The dialogue in my posts has been fabricated (unless otherwise stated) but the stories I share are true personal experiences.  

It’s a gloomy Sunday morning today. You run in late to First Watch, mentioning something dramatically about the obnoxious Tennessee humidity and not being able to find parking. I smile, it’s our first time meeting in person. The waitress comes over and offers us coffee. I decline, as usual, I never drink coffee. She pours coffee into my cup anyway.

Thankfully, we skip over most of the small talk (PTL) and skim-chat a little about books, fashion, our years abroad, and our families. We’re still trying to feel out the situation and get comfortable. “You like being an only child?” you ask me.

It's lonely. I always wished I had an older brother. “It’s pretty okay, it’s nice to have everything to myself,” I laugh. I’m trying my best to get past the formalities and be truly comfortable with you, but it’s hard and goes against my typical mental process with people I’ve recently met.

I don’t remember how we get to the topic of female comparisons, but I realize I’m really into the conversation once I noticed I’ve stopped shuffling in my seat and stopped laughing to fill the silence. I begin to share with you about my ongoing experiences with comparing myself to other women.

I used to think I wouldn’t really classify as a competitive person. I’m relatively chill, I don’t care much for sports, and if you challenge me to anything I’ll probably dismiss you and/or let you win because most of the time I don’t feel like proving anything to you.  Or at least that’s what I thought. I’ve come to realize I won’t take anyone up on a challenge unless I know for sure I have a winning chance. I am a sore loser. I have never taken losing well, and I have an incredible fear of failing–to the point where I limit myself from trying things unless I know I will be great at them (!!! please take note of my impeccably realistic expectations). 

Put me in a playing field with other women and it’s a done deal. We compete with each other on social media, over attention from guys, over smarts, and overall success–whether socially, academically, romantically, etc. If one of us posts a fire selfie on Instagram, you’ll see it flooded with comments from other girls like “MARRY ME SUSAN,” “YAS Queen” and “you’re so hot omg what even.” Now, of course, some of these may be genuine comments from friends. A girl deserves to be hyped up for her beauty! But for the comments that aren’t genuine, are we commenting to overcompensate for feeling threatened by how much attention another girl is getting, are we just being fake, or, like… what’s good, mi gente?

A few hours later, one of us may feel compelled to even out the playing field by posting another selfie and comparing how many likes and comments we got to either further puncture or soothe our ego. This scenario can apply to any other sort of social media post (a life update, a relationship status, etc) or basically anything in real life outside of just social media. I could literally write a series about things we could compete about (which I will expound on in later brunch dates because the waiter is probably about to kick us out at this point).

I’ve gone through phases where I’ve resented other women for feeling like they were doing better than me. They seemingly had their lives together, they were gorgeous, talented, extroverted and well-liked. I have lived in the negativity inflicted upon these women because I felt their shine diminished my own. When you struggle with low self-esteem and struggle to find things that make you happy, it’s really easy to pick other people–other women–apart.

There’s always an audience for negativity, and I’ve had to learn (and am still learning) to catch myself when I entertain negativity pointed at other women for the purposes of soothing my own insecurities. Like seriously, there could be someone with a bullhorn announcing they have found the way to eternal inner peace, or anything that gives us deeper insight into the human experience, and a few people will pause to listen. But if anyone shouted “I’ve got Kim Kardashian nudes,” a line will form. The exploitation of other people and their pain builds so much of our culture and conversations.

By now, the waiter has come around 7 times and asked if the food was good, if we wanted dessert, if we’re ready for the check–the whole shebang. Two and a half hours have passed and I hadn’t even noticed. We take a spot in line to pay for out meal, and then start heading out together.

“Also like…” I continue, finishing my last thought before it hops on the next train. “Although it’s tempting to pick other women apart in our own self-destruction, it’s literally so magical to root, and be rooted for, by other women who have been in our shoes, experienced the same things, and felt the same pain.”

We end up sitting in your car for about 30 more minutes, exchanging stories about the women experience. I’m literally so happy to have met you, and we pencil in a brunch date for a couple of weeks from now.

The more we mentor, support, and strengthen each other in our pain, the more empowered we are. We are the only ones who understand the women experience (therefore the only ones who understand each other), and we cannot afford to leave any woman behind. We need each other, every single one of us, on the frontlines elevating each other–for the good of our current generation of women and for the women who come behind us.