I’m Comparing You

I’m comparing you. 

To myself.

Should I? No, but I do it unconsciously, and it’s a habit I’m working on breaking. In fact, I thought I had made significant progress with this goal. Until this last week. 

I signed myself and my daughter up for a mom/daughter event at a local church – one of those pre-teen girl events that talk about bodies changing and emotions and #allthethings a pre-teen girl should be able to openly talk about with her mom. My daughter and I don’t get many opportunities for girl time these days, and she’s growing up awfully fast, so this event became a huge priority for me and I was willing to move heaven and earth to make it happen.

I didn’t know any other moms that were going, and my daughter didn’t know any other girls, but we thought maybe we’d meet some women/girls we hit it off with and possibly get some new friends out of the deal, too.

We got there ridiculously early. We might have been a little too eager to get out of the house and leave the boys home with daddy.

We picked up our food and chose a table. We finished our pizza as more and more moms and daughters entered, but none of them joined our table. Everyone seemed to already have friends and be plugged in with a group. It was nearing the start time, and it was still just me and my daughter at our table. I wasn’t worried, since my intention was to build my relationship with her, and I knew we’d have fun even if it was just the two of us at our table.

And then SHE approached our table and asked if she and her daughter could join us.

She was immaculate. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect poise.

And my instant thought – which I didn’t say out loud, of course – was: “We probably have nothing in common, and she will quickly find out just what a hot mess I am. Guaranteed she’ll be at a different table next week.” But I’m always up for meeting new people. And I would never tell someone they couldn’t sit at “my” table, so of course I said “Absolutely!”

What could we have in common?? My hair was barely kept out of my face with two bobby pins, and a wind-blown mess. I don’t even wear makeup. At all. It’s been years since I dressed up or wore heels for anything other than church – and I don’t even always do those things for church. And poised – I am not. I can be a bit of a clutz. Especially when I’m dealing with another round of brain fog – leftovers from a previous brain injury.

Anyone as perfect as she was clearly wouldn’t understand children with neurological disorders, an exhausted mom with brain fog, or have confusing marriage issues to work through. Obviously, we wouldn’t have anything in common.

But her eyes were kind. 

And tired. 

Okay, we had that much in common.

We exchanged names and other strangers-introducing-themselves things. She was easy to chat with, and it quickly became apparent the tired look in her eyes was at least partially due to her daughter having something… extra… going on. And while I wasn’t about to start trying to diagnose a child I just met, I recognized certain behaviors that reminded me of one of my sons. Things like talking out of turn, and seemingly abrupt conversation changes – but with an undercurrent that let you know there was a backstory to the subject that had big feelings for her mom. 

And now I looked at my new friend with new eyes. I wondered if she had come straight from work. (She had.) I wondered if this evening to bond with her daughter had been as high a priority for her as it had been for me. (It was.) I wondered if she was as worn out on the inside as I was. (I’m now convinced she was every inch as exhausted as I was.)

And I realized I had been absolutely ridiculous with my snap judgment that we could probably never be friends based on how she looked when she walked up to the table. 

When the evening ended, I wanted to say “Let’s sit at the same table at the next session!” But I didn’t. Honestly, I was afraid she’d made snap judgments about ME. I was afraid she’d see my messy exterior, my lack of makeup and perfect hair, the evidence of brain fog that I sometimes can’t hide no matter how hard I try. I was afraid she’d done to me what I did to her. 

But then she looked up with the brightest and most authentic smile on her beautiful face. “Let’s look for each other and sit at the same table next week!” 

I was so relieved. And happy. Because I liked her. I really really liked her. I’d already learned quite a bit about her, and I wanted a chance to get to know her more. I’d already learned:

• She was a mom who loved her daughter enough to move heaven and earth to attend this event.
• She was exhausted.
• She had a child with extra challenges.
• She had a great sense of humor.
• She was married to a man who was frequently not home, and therefore no stranger to solo-parenting.
• She loved Jesus.
• It was important to her to help her children develop their own relationship with God, and to give them opportunities to develop friendships with other Christian kids.

And those things were definitely enough to make me want to get to know her more.

A few days later I met up with my friend Shiloh, and told her I’d met someone that was new at her church, and that it sounded like they’d met already. She looked a bit hesitant, and said “Is it the gal that looks……..” She paused.

I filled in, “Put together?” and she grinned sheepishly. “Yes.” 

I laughed. “Yep. That’s the one. I think you’ll really like her.” 

Shiloh looked a bit surprised. “Really? I didn’t really know that she’d be interested in being friends with me.”

I laughed again. “You mean because you and I feel like a hot mess during this season of life, and she looks like she’s got it all together?”

“Yes.”

I told her about the evening I’d spent with my new friend, and Shiloh asked for her phone number so she could connect.

When the second session of the mother/daughter event rolled around, I was so happy to see my new friend walk in. She looked even more tired this time, if that was possible, and slumped into the chair – with a smile on her face but still looking like she’d rather be anywhere but there. We exchanged brief explanations of our day above our daughters’ heads, as moms tend to do.

And I felt a sense of relief all over again that regardless of whether or not I felt like a hot mess beside her, we were now friends. I liked her. She liked me. We might both feel a bit crazy on the inside, but we had offered friendship to each other – and we had each accepted the offered gift.

The whole point of this is: I could have so easily missed out on a beautiful friendship because…

I’m comparing you. 

But I’m learning not to.

If I’m comparing you to me, then I’m more likely to be looking for differences rather than similarities. If I’m comparing you to me, then I’m most likely wallowing in my own insecurities instead of celebrating the uniqueness of both of us. If I’m comparing you to me, then I am likely making snap judgments about you based on first impressions, rather than allowing the time needed to get to know the real you. If I’m comparing you to me, then I am looking for ways to feel superior to – or inferior to – you. (Either way, we both lose.)

My challenge to myself (and to you) is to give friendship a chance. Even when we think it doesn’t stand a chance. Even when we feel insecure. Even when we think we don’t have anything in common.

I found Katy. (Or did she find me??) And you just might find your own Katy. I hope you do.

(For more thoughts about friendship, read My Small Yes and Making Space For Someone to Meet Jesus)

Resources:

• Friendships of Women
• Faces of Friendship
• The Gospel Comes With a Housekey