Comparison is the Thief of Joy
That’s what they say, isn’t it?
It’s something I remind myself often, even as I feel a deep internal bitterness at the thought. But it’s true. There are moments when I’m feeling content and then that sneaky little thief comes creeping in, sometimes a punch in the gut, other times a tiny little splinter that slowly works its way in. No matter how, once it’s there, it lingers. Comparing Fitz’s milestones to other babies his age (or younger), pregnancy announcements and maternity photoshoots of mothers to be who are beaming with joy and pride instead of worry and fear, the blissful ignorance of the mundane day to day life that seems so foreign and far away now. The realization that 7 months later I am just now beginning to process the trauma of last year.
Alongside this sneaky little thief is its loyal companion guilt. Guilt that I am comparing my child to others. Guilt that I am envious of those mothers to be when I am so fortunate to have experienced two successful pregnancies. Guilt that I struggle to be a supportive friend at times because of how trivial the stressors in someone else’s life seems when my infant just had open heart surgery. Finding myself feeling self-centered when so much of what I do is give.
Every. Single Day.
If comparison is the thief of joy, what is the deliverance of happiness? For me, it’s the present. The here and now. The sound of a giggle. The gift of a smile. The weight of a snuggle. That last glimpse of the eyes before sleep consumes. It’s so easy to remember the past and theorize the future, but the present, my friends. That’s where it’s at. That’s what life is all about.
I originally wrote the above this summer after Fitz’s first open heart surgery. I found myself caught up in the web of comparison of “easier,” “normal,” “healthier.” Here I am after open heart surgery number 2, which has proven to be a much tougher recovery so far. After a year of Fitz, however, I’m just so grateful for my gift. He’s alive. He’s happy. He’s ours. Comparison to those with more complex health issues is still the thief of joy, only it’s not stripping me of my joy. There are so many other families going through tougher journeys than ours who, in spite of the challenges, find joy. If they can do it, so can I. We all can.
I was in the main waiting area of the CICU while they performed a procedure on Fitz that required a sterile environment (aka mom, get outta here) and I overheard a family checking in with the front desk explaining the reason they had more than the two approved visitors. Their baby was DNR. Do not resuscitate. Code word for: all visitation protocol goes out the window. My heart sank, stomach in knots. How awful. How terrible. How downright tragic. But you know what? They were smiling. Cracking jokes with the front desk staff. I realized, I would likely be the same if in their shoes. I’m sure they take it minute by minute and have gone through the deepest depths of sorrow and grief, but I like to think they found their way to the surface for a breath of air to appreciate what time they had left with their baby. Of course I know nothing about the situation, but this is what went through my mind as I tried not to eavesdrop, as I thought about what I would do in their shoes. But, again, if the shoe fits, you put it on and Just. Keep. Going.