Compare Me Not

When Kendell and I were first married, there was a couple in our apartment complex who we became friends with. Katie and John were one of those just-right-for-us couples wherein everyone liked everyone, our situations were similar (newlyweds, working, going to school), and we never had to argue about where to go to dinner because the answer was always "the Brick Oven." (Ah, for those good old days when the Brick Oven had the Eat Great Late special: all-you-can-eat pasta bar for $3.99 and OH! for the days when I could eat two enormous bowls of pasta with cream sauce without gaining an ounce.)

Our friendship started to sputter, however, after an argument Kendell and I had. We were fighting over what I hadn't yet learned we'd fight over for the entire foreseeable future: the clash between his neat-as-a-pin tendencies and my clutter-isn't-a-big-deal opinions. He pointed out that Katie and John's apartment was never cluttered. It was always clean and tidy and vacuumed and there was never mail piled up on the desk or unfolded laundry in baskets. This was because Katie was one of those perfect women. That her apartment (and later, her house, even after she accumulated four children) was always tidy isn't an exaggeration. It was true, and it happened because of her personality: she couldn't stand clutter. She needed a clean space to be happy, and so she made sure her space was clean.

We stopped spending as much time with Katie and John because after that argument I couldn't stand being around her. It didn't help that she was pretty, blond, thin, and majoring in something useful (computer programming). Or that when you opened her kitchen drawers you'd notice that her towels were arranged in neat, color-coded stacks and her pantry shelves were neatly organized, soups next to soups, black beans next to kidney next to refried, all in orderly rows. Or that she always seemed put together—she didn't leave the house until her hair was gorgeous and her make up perfectly applied.

We'd go somewhere together, the four of us. I'd sit in the back seat and look back and forth between Katie and Kendell. I was just young enough to let the comparison sink in, to let it start an endless loop in my head. If I were a real woman, a successful one, I'd be like Katie. I would put my whole heart into cleaning the house not because it mattered to my husband but because it mattered so much to me. We wouldn't ever fight anymore, I thought, if I could be just like Katie. If I could fix the not-like-Katie flaws in my personality, everything would be OK.

I don't think, in that long-ago argument, Kendell intended to make such a scar. (He was young, too.) But it festered nevertheless. Every time we argued about whatever I'd failed at around the house, I'd think of Katie and I'd know: she will never have this fight with John because she will never fail this way.

It's taken me a long, long time to disinfect the wound left by that comparison. It's really still here, festering just a little. But—and only through the process of time, and of thinking and talking and writing, of accomplishing goals and of forgiving myself—I am finally able to see something else. This became so clear to me over Thanksgiving weekend, when I found myself watching the different couples in our lives. Our friends, for example, came to eat Thanksgivin with us, and they hung out at our house for a few hours before we went to Kendell's sister's house for dinner. I was elbow-deep in Thanksgiving prep when they came; flour was everywhere, the cinnamon pie crust was just about ready to burn in the toaster oven, and the floor was sticky from where I'd dropped the apple peels. But it was warm and fragrant and welcoming, I hope.

Staycha hung out with me and Haley while we put the rolls together. I got the pie out of the oven just as Steve walked into the kitchen, and he said something like "Hon, why don't we ever bake pies?" and I thought don't. Don't compare us. I thought about how insecure I was feeling, with my kitchen in a disarray and my guests starving and there was nothing to snack on but an assortment of nuts. With my knowledge that I've never been in their house and found it a mess. With my memories of Staycha, who always looks gorgeous and is one of the kindest people I've met, who is smart and compassionate and dedicated.

So what if I can make a pie? I started to think. She always has a clean house. The wound started bubbling away—but then I stopped. I realized: I can make a pie; she can keep her house perfectly organized. Both of those things are strengths—and neither of them are better than the other.

I don't know what to name this knowledge, but I saw it at work a few hours later, when we'd finally arrived at my sister-in-law's house. My brother-in-law, who is well known for not really being one to do husband sort of things like fixing broken whatevers or replacing light bulbs or weeding the flowerbeds, was in the kitchen with an apron on, cutting the turkey and mashing the potatoes. I found myself thinking of Kendell, who is known for doing those husband-esque things (sometimes he does them for our brother-in-law) but would never, ever step into the kitchen to slice the turkey and mash the potatoes.

I started, just for a second, to yearn for a husband who would help in the kitchen, but then I stopped myself. It is enough that he does the other things. He might not mash potatoes but he does clean out the gutters and make sure the leaves get taken care of in the fall and fix dents in walls and repair broken whatevers.

I am realizing, right now in my life, exactly how destructive comparisons are. They create an endless store of discontent because there is always someone who has a quality your spouse doesn't have. They wound because they strike out at the very core of what love is supposed to be about: loving that person for exactly who they are. I am finally growing up enough to feel a little bit more secure in the value of who I am. I know I will never be like Katie, with her organized linen cupboards and her always-vacuumed floors. But I know enough about myself that I will continue being friends with Staycha, whose house is always clean. My marriage would be easier if I could be like them, but, you know, Kendell didn't marry Katie or Staycha. He married me—with my lack of being made crazy by a cluttery house, true, and all the other faults I have. But I also can bake a pretty decent apple pie (or peach, cherry, three-berry, chocolate, or even pumpkin). My strengths (and my failures) are what make me who I am, and if that is not enough then our troubles are deeper than our cluttered kitchen desk.

On mornings like this one was—when we were out of Carnation packets for Haley's breakfast and I couldn't find the sandwich bags for Kendell's peanut-butter sandwich and Jake thought he could wear shorts to school when it is 18 degrees outside because he really needs some new jeans and I haven't gotten around to getting him any and the kitchen is still dirty from Sunday's afternoon pancakes and the bathrooms need to be cleaned and I still have three loads of "weekend" laundry left—the bitterness starts to creep back in. It's too bad you're not like Katie, my inner monologue goes, because everyone would have started today happy instead of annoyed with you. The self-hatred starts to flare and I start making mental lists of all the things I've failed at so far this month.

But there is also the salve of my recent knowledge: this is who I am. I need to try harder and do better, of course; obviously. But I hope—I hope—that my failures this morning aren't larger than my successes last night, when the kids and I laughed together as we took out the Christmas tree ornaments. I hope what is good about me is enough to overcome my failures. And I want to be better at noticing the strengths of the people I love—especially my husband—instead of their foibles.

Comments

[Janssen]

Oh, I needed to read this post this morning. I am really bad about comparing myself (both favorably and unfavorably) to others and the older I get, the more I recognize how destructive that is. But it's still hard for me to fight against.

[heather hoyt]

Sometimes, too, some people are just good at doing things, but not so good at being something.

It doesn't matter what we can do, as long as we are trying to be our best selves.

I loved this post. This morning, I wrote out a list of my small successes in life. It made me feel better--even when I'm not perfect, there are those things I can do. And sometimes it's nice to focus on them.

[wendy]

Wonderful post, of course! It was good to talk with you a little about this the other day. Keeping our eyes on the doughnut, and not the hole . . . . Thanks for posting this!

[Andrea]

You are amazing! And there have been many many many times that I have thought if I could be more like Amy. My teenage daughter wouldn't despise me, I could sew beautiful things, I could write eloquently, I could have a job, always have me kids clean, dressed and well behaved, I could run a marathon, my kids scrapbooks would be caught up, I would always have something thoughtful to say, I could bake, and so many other wonderful things if I was only more like Amy. Know that people don't see your faults. All I see is someone who is wonderful!

[Helena]

You can come hang out at my house. ;)

[Judy]

Love this thoughtful commentary Amy - LOVE IT. I also needed to hear it today. Because ... you know ... I own some pretty powerful emotional self-whips ... and use them far more often than I should. It's good to remember that in the eyes of others, we are wonderful and accomplished and we should see ourselves the way others do.

[Ray]

Our house is always in a state of busy-ness. We have "nests" of stuff growing everywhere, because everything is always in progress, or it gets done and there's not time to put the debris away before moving to the next Thing.

We have some dear friends whose house is always neat as a pin - everything organized and put away, like something out of the pages of Sunset magazine. They have a lot of Things going on, too, but you can't tell it by looking around their house. It's a different mindset, I guess.

One day, their daughter (and our semi-adopted daughter, because she spent as much time at our house as she did at her own) was at our house, baking cookies or something. I apologized for the general state of clutter, and she said something like, "Oh please, don't apologize. I love the piles of stuff. I spend so much time over here because it feels like people really live here."

Here's to cluttered homes. (Raising a toast, in the last clean glass in the cupboard - all the rest are still in the dishwasher, clean, but not put away yet.)

[Melanie Bell]

Reading these comments, I hope you realize an amazing thing about yourself - that your ability to share your feelings so openly and express them so eloquently helps a lot of women! So many of us are feeling the same way and feeling like we're alone, but reading your blog helps us to realize that we're NOT alone.

As usual, your post really resonates with me. Ten years into my marriage, I'm still comparing myself to the other wives who seem to have it all together - and I don't even know if they really do! I imagine that everyone else can keep a house clean and be perfect in every other way. I have to stop beating myself up like this. Thanks for sharing and for being a good example. :)

[Britt]

I needed this today. Thanks!

[karen]

oh Amy. I needed to read this too and I am paying attention to the same realization lately. I am not tidy like Katie, nor can I bake a pie like you. But, alas, I have my own sets of goods and bads. And I think you're absolutely right that looking at the positive values of the ones we love is the key. (including ourselves) We all have our own set of magic to offer to the world. And I always remember that there's a specific combination of magic that attracted me to my husband and made me fall in love with him. When I start comparing, I remember that no one else has the exact same combination of magic he does. (just like no one else has mine.)

[karen]

i've also noticed we're so good at undermining our "goods" because they are ours. They seem insignificant. (maybe second nature.) But other people look up to you and the magic that you are.

[Becky K]

The best part of this post? When you said you forgive yourself. It brought tears to my eyes. Remember how we felt when we read the story of Don Diego, Ricardo the Priest, and the damaged book. :)

You are amazing!!

[heidikins]

I have read this post exactly 7 times today...today is a "but what about Katie!" kind of day for me, not in a house and home sense, but in an education and workplace/career sense. And I need to remember that I am good enough just as I am. And I am accomplished and talented and successful, even if I have different strengths (or resume/qualifications) as the girl in the next cube over, I am doing juuuuust fine.

xox

[Elizabeth]

Wonderful. And really, when you think about it? Everyone has her Katie, including Katie.

You would feel right at home at my house : )

[Jenna]

I enjoy reading whatever you write. I have learned that everything is no one is perfect. I can keep an immaculate house, but I am a horrible bear of a woman to live with when it is. We live with a little bit of clutter (maybe a lot...).

[Jenna]

... including my post which includes a nonsensical sentence.

I have learned that things are not always as perfect as they appear.

[Sarah M.]

A wonderful post indeed! I can't possibly thank you enough for writing this. It really hits home in so many ways.

[Christa P.]

Exactly what I needed today, yesterday and let's be honest-every day. I do this so much and I try to stop myself. I'm you and always wonder what I'm doing wrong that I can't be Katie. It's just who I am. Period.

[Maureen]

I neither keep a tidy house nor bake if you are ever feeling really low and need a comparison pick me up ;) Great post.

[Lucy]

I’d love some of your tasty pies! Can’t make them at all. I can sing for you. We could have a mean book discussion. Should we do this in your messy house or mine?:)

Adore you. Well thought out and necessary post.