Comparison Didn't Steal My Joy. It Sent Me to the Basement.
On imposter syndrome, new beginnings, and what happens when you open the door.
They say comparison is the thief of joy.
I’ve never had much of a problem with comparison.
Well, unless it’s when I look at someone else’s plate at a birthday party and I get jealous that they got a bigger slice while quietly reminding myself that I neither want nor need a larger piece because… sugar.
Aside from that, I’ve realized that I don’t often want what most others have. Or maybe I let myself be oblivious to the joys that can come with having what others have. In either case, I’ve always been generally content with where I’m at.
In very recent times, I decided to put myself out there. To try and sell a snail mail product with the intention of helping people get to know themselves and love themselves more. To do that, the marketer in me realized the important role that she has to play in making this happen. I’m learning to navigate the tension between a heart that wants to spread love and a world that operates on transactions.
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As someone who has built a career in marketing, my ego believes that certain aspects of what I’m doing, like posting on social media, should be easy. But putting my own product out there is far different than doing so for a company. It’s humbling to realize that even with years of experience, I am still a novice. I need to shed the identity of expert to make way for the student.
Still, I found myself scrolling through people’s content with a marketer’s eye. The more I watched, the more I found myself comparing. How are they so good and so disciplined? How can they do this with such confidence? How can I be more like them?
My body was contracting. I felt smaller and less than. My mind was telling me I’m not capable. I was actively judging and putting myself down.
The bigger truth is that I’m new to this space. Part of me could acknowledge that, but most of me was stuck in comparison.
I took a break from my phone because it became too much for me. Too much comparison, too much putting myself down, too unmotivating.
Instead, I chose to write.
Oftentimes, I write letters to the various parts of myself that are experiencing big feelings. At this moment, the imposter syndrome was particularly loud. So, I wrote her a letter.
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I have this visual I use to make sense of my feelings. I imagine myself as a house and I’m in the dining room with all the feelings I acknowledge. But the one that’s being big (in this case, imposter syndrome) is locked away in the basement and she’s banging on the door demanding I let her in. It’s up to me to open that door. To feel the feeling, to process it. The letter I write to her is doing just that, letting her in, and offering her a seat at the table with all the other parts of myself that I’ve acknowledged.
I know I’m not alone in this feeling. We’ve all dealt with big emotions and often ignored them until they started adding fire to the furnace in the basement causing us to blow up without warning.
This practice is a gentle way of allowing space for emotions to be okay. To not demonize them. To acknowledge them and experience how much quieter they get when we do.
In an effort to support others in acknowledging the different parts of themselves, I’m excited to start my series, Letters to My Selves, where I share the letters I have written with some added reflection.
If any part of this resonated, come find the letters. I share them on Instagram, TikTok, and Substack. I also include some added reflection on each one. Come sit at the table with us, I’d love for you to pull up a chair too.