WINNING THE COMPARISON GAME
“Comparison is the thief of joy.” - Theodore Roosevelt
Growing up, we are told that our differences make us strong, beautiful, and extraordinary. Throughout my adolescence, I was reminded of this fact by my mother during the times where she knew I needed it the most. First was my eighth grade dance, where to my dismay, I was one of the only girls who was not asked to slow dance to Ed Sheeran at the end of the night. The second time I can recall was sophomore year of high school, when a boy told me, unsolicitedly, that I would “never be datable” (This one actually makes me laugh, because I ended up dating one of his best friends the year after). And finally, when I was back in my hometown after my first semester of college, my mother held me in her arms for hours after I found out my ex-boyfriend had gotten into a new relationship with someone else. During all of these experiences, regardless of my age and maturity, I was already dealing with the never-ending mind game that is comparison. More importantly, the narrative you accidentally find yourself believing in your lowest moments - that there is always someone prettier, smarter, funnier, or nicer than you. As I’ve entered into my twenties, I have definitely become better at silencing the voices in my head (I also owe a parial thank you to my anti-anxiety medication).
Earlier this year, I decided to take a risk, and move to New York City after seven long months of living in my small Connecticut hometown. While I had always been exposed to the glitz and glamour I associated with the New York lifestyle, mostly thanks to Sex and the City and weekend trips on Metro North with my parents, I was definitely unprepared for the harsh realities of moving to a major city - especially New York. I risked it all, moving to a new place with familiar faces few and far between. And somehow, I miraculously did that while also jump-starting a career in my dream industry.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I applaud myself for my bravery and dedication to the bit. Being a “cool girl” in New York City is something most girls dream of, and from the outside looking in, you could say I’ve somehow made it. However, living here for the past six months has taught me more life lessons than when I was a teenage girl. That’s the thing about growing up - you never truly stop learning.
Long story short, living in one of the greatest cities in the world is hard. Not just because of the hyper-independence, or the sky-rocketing cost of living. Yes, a part of me wants to cry inside when I get the bill and realize I spent $25 on a cocktail. However, a majority of my battles have been mental - mostly re-teaching myself how to have confidence when seemingly everyone around you is cooler, smarter, richer. In a city where you can see celebrities walking around in broad daylight, and meet influential people on every corner, you can’t help but feel a little intimidated during a walk to your local coffee shop. Moving to Manhattan as a 23-year-old post-grad catapulted me into a mental battle I hadn’t dealt with since high school.
Every time I step onto the streets outside of my East Village apartment, I hear a voice in my head that questions whether or not I belong here. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help that my local neighborhood is a breeding ground for up and coming “cool girls,” effortlessly walking around like they’re in a new issue of Vogue. Every night out feels like a competition to be in the trendiest places, wearing your most fashionable outfit, with the goal of meeting someone who has the power to bring you to an even better spot next weekend. At least in my lowest moments, it feels that way. Even a simple walk to the grocery store can make me question everything I’m doing.
Of course I’m aware this is not the reality of the situation - my most important critic in this city is myself. I’ve met plenty of wonderful people during my time here so far, including two amazing roommates I met on Facebook, who make me feel better about myself every day. However, I can’t help but question myself during moments alone. Am I pretty enough to be at this club? Am I “somebody,” or anybody at all? Is my success measurable to others? Am I doing the right thing at the right time?
Re-teaching yourself the same virtues and affirmations your parents used to tell you as children is hard. When I was younger, if someone was mean to me, I had two parents who preached “they’re just jealous of you.” Growing up with this phrase echoing in my mind definitely helped boost my confidence when needed. However, learning to be your own parent in adulthood is another story. While my friends and family can compliment me or lift me up all they want, the only person who can truly encourage me to love myself, is me. I know that sounds really obvious, but there is a science to self-love, especially in a generation where our every move is photographed, shared on socials, and can be public for the world to see. Especially in New York, you’re never truly alone.
I’m still doing my best to try and learn to appreciate the woman I am, and genuinely applaud every single inch of her. She’s a kick-ass daughter, sister, roommate, girlfriend, friend, and employee. She works in one of the hardest industries known to man - believe me, fashion isn’t easy - and has learned so much already in just one year. Even the little wins are worth applauding, even when it’s hard to give yourself credit for them.
Overconfidence isn’t key - but giving yourself grace and appreciation when necessary is. It’s okay to “fake” self love every so often, even if it just helps you get through the day. That’s all I’m really trying to do these days, especially living here. Little by little, you’ll start to realize that maybe you’ve got a point. There is truly never going to be anyone like you, so why try and pin yourself against everyone else? You’ll never be them, and they will never get to be the amazing person you are. Now let me leave you with one of my favorite affirmations that started this conversation in the first place: your differences really do make you special.
