What's a little healthy competition, right?
Except when it isn't.
I've been thinking about this a lot in the last few months. As I've decided to enter back into the blogosphere and share some of my thoughts and struggles and yes, successes, I've been ruminating on the main reason why I left a couple of years ago. I blamed it on being "too busy" and yes, there was some of that. I was insanely busy - Mike's job was demanding and unrelenting, and the natural consequences of having six kids include things like increased work with daily tasks and errands. The kids were getting bigger and getting more and more involved in outside activities, and this added work, with Mike's added work stress, and my bout with postpartum anxiety made the interwebz a very unsafe place for me to hang out and share my thoughts for a time.
Now, as I tiptoe back into writing and posting, I'm reminded of why I'd left: competition isn't always a good thing. It isn't always healthy.
What do I mean by that?
Of course, there's what we all know and talk about often, it seems. The negative self-talk that comes from comparing our reality with someone else's Facebook and Instagram. The depression and anxiety that comes with feeling inadequate. The jealousy when seeing someone else's vacation and seemingly perfect life.
And I've struggled with my fair share of that.
I've sat there and looked at someone else's perfectly dressed children doing perfectly precious things and stressed about how my children still had the remains of breakfast on their faces as we walk into the grocery store...at 11 am...as I was also realizing that they had their shoes on the wrong feet (but they were on!! Shoes on is a good starting point!).....while also realizing that I didn't remember brushing the four year old's hair for at least a day or two. I felt jealousy at their ability to handle all.of.the.things, even while I couldn't remember to wipe off my kids' faces before heading to the car. I felt inadequate and like a failure as a mother.
So, I get it. I really do.
But what I've been thinking about recently is something that's been a dark undercurrent in the mommy world - one that I'd first seen in action at playgroups when my oldest two were wee little ones. Competition. The Mommy Wars to make sure our kids are doing all.of.the.skills and acing all.of.the.tests.
But I see it on steroids.
And flipped somewhat, it seems.
Because now, what I'm seeing more resembles a competition to tear down anyone else's negative experiences, but not in a way that builds them up and helps them through the challenges.
No, not like that at all.
It seems that the goal of this competition isn't to break down the negativity as a means to *help* the person experiencing it.
It's a way to dismiss it, and as a result, dismiss and discredit the validity of the experience of the person in the situation.
What do I mean?
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It's the mom of one little one struggling with exhaustion....only to be told by a mom of many that she doesn't know what it's like because it's a "vacation" to only have one kid.
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It's the person with a steady income, and hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt that is swallowing that income, being told "it must be nice to be a ____'s spouse" when commiserating about the cost of groceries....because their spouse earns 6 figures instead of 5.
****
It's the wife who's struggling with her husband's work schedule being told "at least you're not a single mom like I was" when she's stressed out to the max.
****
It's the high school student trying to work through the anxiety of finals week being told that she doesn't know "real stress" because she's not an "real" adult yet.
****
It's the college student falling asleep all day long because she's up all night, trying to keep up her grades being told "Oh you don't know what tired's like - you have no kids!"
****
Is there some truth to these counter statements? Maybe. Maybe not. We really can't say, without knowing all of the details. (and since I'm sure you're all wondering.....yes, all of these things happened to me personally)
We only see the snapshots. The images and experiences shared.
We then take those sound bites and filtered images and we create a story. We create a story with our friend or acquaintance as the main character.
And it's a work of fiction. Sometimes a pretty elaborate one.
It didn't really hit me that this was the root of my discomfort with these counter statements until I read Jen Fulwiler's post on Facebook earlier this week. Jen was reflecting on the sad news of Kate Spade's apparent suicide in her New York apartment. In part, Jen writes:
We’ve talked a lot recently about how comparing ourselves to other people impacts *us*. But seeing the news that Kate died in an apparent suicide is a stark reminder that when we indulge in envious delusions about how perfect other people’s lives are, we objectify and dehumanize them. We don’t see their struggles because we’re determined to believe that they have none.
Take this opportunity to reach out to *that* person in your social circles - the one who seems to have it all, for whom every detail of life seems to be perfect. Ask her how she’s really doing. I bet you’ll be surprised by the answer. (emphasis mine)
This was at the core of my reaction to these statements when I'd heard them in my own personal life. One of the main reasons why I'd stepped away from the blogosphere was that it was an act of self-defense and self-preservation. I'd heard my share of these kinds of comments - the "must be nice to be married to a doctor" when I worried about paying the bills for Theo's adoption and all the things that broke during that time. The "but you have no idea what it's *really like* to have anxiety" when I was struggling with postpartum anxiety. The "at least you have a husband!" when I was exhausted to the brink of collapse with a newborn and 5 other children, one with special needs, and Mike was gone, yet again, at work.
Those comments stung. They completely dehumanized me and turned me into who the speaker *thought I was*, not who I really was. They turned me into a storybook "doctor's wife", who wasn't allowed to legitimately have concerns and anxieties and fears or struggles, because it didn't fit the narrative.
So I walked away for awhile. I hid the hurt and stopped joining in the conversations, even as the looming student loan bills and rising taxes kept me up at night. I kept the anxiety away from most people and only confided in those who trusted the legitimacy of my experience. I laughed off the feelings of inadequacy in my parenting with jokes of caffeine infusions and future therapy costs.
I hid the pain.
It didn't go away. It just lurked in the dark corners of my life, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.
I circled the wagons around my family, and only trusted my fears and struggles to a very few, trusted people. Read: Mike.
And I was lonely.
Good Lord, I was lonely as hell.
My husband was working 80-100 hours per week, and falling asleep on the couch as I tried to work through these issues with him (not maliciously - he was just exhausted, too!), but he did his best.
And it mostly worked. I still bear some scars - literally and figuratively - from the stress that I was under. I still fight back the urge to be vulnerable. Writing this post is taking all the nerve I have - because I'm sure there are those of you out there who are shaking their heads, muttering #firstworldproblems, as you read it. And yes, they might be "first world" problems of crushing student debt and home maintenance and child care, but they're still legitimate stressors and problems.
Just because they don't match your own struggles doesn't mean that they're not valid ones.
I log onto Facebook and Instagram every day, and I stress about what I post. I worry that I'm perpetuating this myth of a perfect Circus Tent and wonderfully behaved clowns and perfectly executed maneuvers, and I know that most of my posts are going to inevitably leave those impressions.
But do you know why I post them anyway?
...because those dark corners are still full. They're still waiting for me to enter into the pain and anxiety and want to steal my joy. So, every morning, as I lie in bed, listening to the girls sleep (because they're both still migrating into our room every night still), I click on "On This Day" and I smile.
I relive those moments that I posted last year, or three years ago, or eight years ago. I laugh at the silly moments, and goofy faces, and motivational quotes, and I force myself to focus on those. I lie there and pray to God that He will help me find those moments of beauty in the coming day, and give me the good sense to capture them for the future Heidi, scrolling through her memories ten years from now. So she will know that the present Heidi got out of bed, and fought back those demons of negativity and self-hatred and fear and pushed through to try and be the best steward of the gifts that she'd been given at that moment.
That's what we don't see in the pictures. The long-fought battle for those snapshots. It does us a disservice to refuse to acknowledge those, even in the "perfect" people online, in our families, or in our communities.
We need to stop responding with "Well at least you ____" comments when they trust us enough to share their pain, their vulnerability.
Even if we don't understand, we need to listen and acknowledge. Until we do, the darkness will continue to steal some of us away.
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