Resisting the Urge to Compare

Annabelle is a really good jumper. Seriously. I’ve seen it. Once every month at her dance class, the instructors turn on the cameras in the room so the parents can watch their adorable little ballerinas. This month, as the parents looked on with smiles and awkward laughs, the girls did some jumping — over blocks, into squares, etc. — and Annabelle jumped far and high.

Farther and higher than the other girls, in fact. I know because I watched them, too. I had to see if Annabelle was a better jumper.

Why, you ask? Great question. I wonder the same thing myself.

If there’s one thing I would change about myself as a parent, it would be my tendency to compare my kids to other kids. Even if it's just for a split second. I can’t help it. Maybe you can’t either. If other kids can do something, I want my kids to be able to it, too. I want them to be as good or better at absolutely everything. The feeling comes, I assure you, from a place of intense love, but I wish I didn’t have it.

The feeling goes beyond dance class, of course.

We had a parent-teacher meeting at Annabelle’s preschool a few weeks ago to hear about how our 3-year-old was doing in the classroom. The answer: very well. Annabelle knows right from wrong, listens well (most of the time), helps other kids with their coats and shoes, and is “a leader in the class.” Bridget and I were all smiles, of course. “A leader,” I said. “Isn’t that great?”

But what if she wasn’t emerging as a leader? What if she kept to herself most of the time? Or had strong emotional reactions whenever she didn’t get her way?

Annabelle, of course, has her challenges. Like many of us, she’s pretty shy when she enters a room — especially if there are a lot of people in the room. She hides behind us, looks at the ceiling when she gets a compliment, and speaks very quietly when she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know. I see other kids (not many at the age of 3, but some) who speak clearly and confidently in new situations. And for that split second after I witness this, I wonder why Annabelle isn’t like that.

It’s that split second I want to change:

• That split second at a grocery store when I see a kid throwing a tantrum and I feel lucky Annabelle isn’t 
• That split second when I see Annabelle following other kids around the playground and wonder why they aren’t following her 
• That split second when other kids want to play soccer with their Dads instead of showing off their new dance moves 

Those split seconds have seeped into the way I see Aurora, too. She was a premature baby (six weeks early), so her development has been delayed here and there. She doesn’t crawl yet, for example. Other kids in her class are running around like their feet are on fire, but not our little munchkin. And I wonder, anxiously, when it’s going to happen.

Again, why? I’m bright enough to know that everyone moves through life at their own pace. Everyone is good at some things and not-so-good at other things. For example, I can dribble the heck out of a basketball, but I can’t stand on a pair of ice skates. I can turn a phrase, but I can’t make heads or tails of a geometric proof.

Now, I have a new challenge: Resist the urge to compare my daughters, to other kids and to each other. I found this article pretty helpful. It won’t be easy (I'm competitive by nature), but I’m going to start working at it and I’ll get better.

The obvious reality is that my daughters will succeed, fail, and succeed again throughout their lives. They'll be wonderful at some things and mediocre at others. They'll jump really high and really far and they'll fall — a lot.  And I hope those moments, the falls and the getting back ups, will be my proudest.