Go Compare! (By Which I Mean, Don’t Compare)

My apologies to anyone reading this blog, particularly early in the morning. I have given you an earworm. If it’s any consolation, I’ve given myself one too.

Sometimes I sit gazing at a blank screen for ages trying to think of a good first paragraph (or indeed any first paragraph), other times it simply drops into my head. So here I am, late in the afternoon on the 6th, writing my MTW blog and looking out of the window at the weeds, the rampant nettles and the long grass. I really should be out there with the lawnmower, but, dear reader, my first duty is to you, so it can wait. 

I’ve spent most of my life comparing myself to others and coming off pretty badly. In primary school, I’d watch my classmates playing netball without ever having the teacher shout at them (“Stand still, Ruth! You can’t run while you’ve got possession!”) sail over the vaulting horse and get ten out of ten on their maths questions. I was resolutely unsporty and could barely count to ten (this is still the case). 

I carried on comparing myself throughout my life. I was always too tall, too quiet, too loud, too everything really. I hadn’t been a member of ACW for very long when someone used the phrase, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” And how right they are. It is. 

Three years ago, our eldest was doing his GCSEs. He had what you might call a relaxed attitude to learning and as Results Day loomed, we had the following conversation. 

Him: “Look, Mum, don’t get your hopes up. I’ve probably failed them all.”

Me: (bracingly) “Nonsense! I’m sure you’ve done much better than you think.”

Him: “I haven’t. Honestly. I’ll be lucky to get anything.”

On a hot August day, we drove to his school and I was instructed to stay in the car and wait until he came out. Every so often, the quiet summer morn would be rent asunder by the excited cries of a fellow parent. 

“12 A*s? Well DONE darling! Cambridge here we come.” 

He appeared clutching his piece of paper and confirmed that his prediction was correct. He was the proud possessor of 2 GCSEs. I cried most heartily all the way home while he tried to reassure me that his life was not over. He was right, too. As predicted (by him), the college in Ipswich took him and he is now two years into his Music course and loving every second. He’s an accomplished drummer, has a lovely girlfriend and a large circle of friends and has managed to pick up his Maths and English GCSEs along the way. 

Our second son is the complete opposite. Were you to meet them, you’d never think they were brothers. One is tall and muscly with flaming red curly hair and blue eyes; the other tall and lanky with brown hair and green eyes. Son Two is a studious chap, well-organised and good at everything. He has been coasting along at school but recently changed up a gear or two and is revising every night. A couple of weeks ago, we had the following conversation: 

Him: “Here’s my revision schedule. I’ve used coloured highlighter pens to work out my timetable. Thanks for getting me those revision booklets. They’re really useful.”

Me: “Well done! That’s great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Him: “No, it’s OK. I’ve made myself flash cards for every subject.” 

I had to fan myself at this point and take some deep breaths. The thought of any child of mine making himself a set of flash cards was almost too much to bear. The plan is to get into Sixth Form and thence to university to study psychology. Goodness only knows what our daughter will be doing in three years’ time, but you could be reading about it here. 

I could compare my sons to each other. But that would be incredibly disrespectful to both of them. They’re wonderful in their own right. I’ve loved watching the eldest blossom, conquer his nerves and go up on stage and deliver a fantastic set of perfectly played songs. The younger and I share a love of literature and wordplay (he feels about music as I do about raw tomatoes) and frequently have long, rambling philosophical conversations. 

If parenting two such different people has taught me anything, it’s that comparison is a pointless occupation. I often look at fellow ACW members and long to be more like them, comparing their writing and marketing and achievements to my own and coming off worse. But I really, really need to stop doing that. God created me and you just as we are, for a reason, just as He gave me two sons with a completely different set of skills and talents. 

You might write memoir, or poetry, or novels, or flash fiction. That’s your gift and God’s got a plan for you, just as He does for me, although I might not always think so.

Lastminute.com versus flash cards 

College versus university 

It doesn’t matter. 

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Images by Pixabay

Ruth is a novelist and freelance writer. She is married with three children, one husband, assorted poultry and a cat. She is the author of “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, “The Trials of Isabella M Smugge” and is currently writing “The Continued Times of Isabella M Smugge”. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities, reviews books for Reading Between the Lines and blogs at ruthleighwrites.co.uk. Ruth has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and TikTok at @ruthleighwrites and at her website, www.ruthleighwrites.co.uk.

 

 

 

Comments

  1. Thank you for that wonderful glimpse into the Leigh family. I had the same attitude with my two. The studious firstborn who excelled and is creatively talented but who battled huge self confidence issues. The second born who managed to get a history degree without ever attending a lecture, reading a whole book, or visiting the library! Both turned out great. If only we could realise that God sees us like we see our kids. He loves us and champions us but never requires us to be anything other than what He has made us to be. And certainly not identical to any other of His children. Vive la difference!

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  2. It's so interesting as they grow up. The whole comparison thing popped into my head after the conversation with Child Number Two about flash cards. Vive la difference indeed!

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  3. Oh Ruth, this is the most WONDERFUL post. It actually made me tearful. What a powerful way of viewing our differences to others - something it is SO hard not to do negatively as writers. To think of God rejoicing proudly in our different achievements while we look at each other enviously, really puts it in perspective. Thank you for this fabulous post xx

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    1. Thank you so much! You've encouraged me hugely. Sometimes I write my post and send it out and don't quite know if it's what I was meant to write. Clearly God was guiding me on this one - I'm glad it worked xx

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  4. Such a great post Ruth. So interesting about how the kids are so different too - with one of mine just about to take his A Levels, I relate! Thank you for the reminder to celebrate who we are.

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    1. Thanks Liz. They've taught me so much over the years

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  5. It's quite interesting to compare 'what I was then' with 'what I am now' and to realise that God is always encouraging us to 'go for it', and that he's ready to help us pick up the pieces when things go badly. Thanks for an interesting read.

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    1. Looking back is often a helpful exercise to realise just how far you've come

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  6. You are so right. Comparison is joy-draining but also pointless. We can't be other than we are (though of course there is always room for improvement!) nor can we work like anyone else. Thanks for your wise words.

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  7. Such a good post. I love it. I shall stop being jealous of you Ruth for being such a brilliant writer and book promo dynamo and ebullient personality and... yes I will promise myself... (!!) The 2 exclamation marks are in lieu of suitable emojis.

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    1. No need, believe me Sheila. I've just finished sighing over the fantastic photos in both your Warwickshire books and longing to be able to take pictures like you, Jamie and Abigail do. I can't. There it is. And you were the person who told me about selling books out on the road! So you gave me my start on that one - thank you.

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  8. As a parent and grandparent, the the idea of comparing my children with their own children or comparing their different parenting methods with how I raised them as kids can be fun! Sometimes too, I can compare my own childhood with theirs and appreciate how the different eras have had an impact on our lives. Definitely, this is not the harmful aspect of comparing which destroys but produces mirth, pleasure, fun and humour.

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    1. Excellent point, Sophia. Not all comparison is a bad thing.

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  9. Very wise words. It's one of the things that is most damaging about the whole writing shenanigans and can tie us up in knots. I for one am jealous of those who never use jaded metaphors such as 'tie us up in knots'.

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  10. Are there such people? I do not know them and would refuse to be introduced should they attempt some kind of social pass. I love a jaded metaphor. At the end of the day, when all's said and done etc etc

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  11. I'm always comparing myself most unfavourably with others, especially some of the most brilliant writers like yourself, Ruth. Mind you, I'm heartily consoled to read that you were really unsporty at school and terrible at maths. Me too! Maybe we're not so different after all. Bless you.

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  12. PS Both of my sons are really high achievers and I sometimes wonder where they came from?!

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    1. You're very kind Sheila - honestly, I am no good at anything except reading and writing. When they come knocking asking me to write my autobiography, warts and all, you will be even more heartily consoled. Shy, anxious, rubbish at maths, sports, science and languages at school, prone to being easily led, no social skills. I had to reinvent myself in my twenties and this is the result! God has been very good.

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  13. Bit late to the party (talking of jaded metaphors), but loved this, Ruth. My four kids are so ridiculously different that questions have been asked about the consistency of the DNA involved. ( I can assure you that all is well on that score.). A refreshing reminder of the frustration and pointless pursuit of comparison, and yet... Thank you.

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  14. Thank you Jenny. We are 24 hour party people are we not, so never late. Same here - but DNA all matches up! So glad you liked it

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  15. This was wonderful, Ruth, and I'm staggered that you could have doubted this post. If only you lived closer then Suffolk, how I'd love to come round for a cuppa and a flapjack and meet your fabulous sons. I also picked up my maths and English GCSE at college. I'm delighted how God has guided you into pouring out so many of your mishaps, doubts and mistakes and turning them into the pure gold that is Isabella Smugge.

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  16. Martin, you are such an encourager. Thank you! I do doubt myself, frequently, but am working hard on it. Don't tell anyone, but I still haven't got my Maths GCSE! I'm so grateful to God for giving me the opportunity to do just that - Isabella is such a helpful person to write about in so many ways.

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