My husband and I love Target. The possibilities there are endless, and I don’t think we have ever been without leaving having purchased something we didn’t need because everything there is cheap and superstores still excite this third culture kid. One of my favorite (or least favorite) things about Target is that those who shop there seriously give The People of Walmart a run for their money. The other day we sat in the little Starbucks while I nursed the baby and every single person in line wore strange clothing or had strange hair colors or strange facial features–it was bizarre. There are also a million children in Target–children in shopping carts, children running around with their own shopping carts, children begging for candy corn, children pulling clothes off racks while playing hide-and-seek, and children screaming because their mom told them she was not in fact going to buy them another Nerf gun (or was that me talking to my husband?)

Do you know what I do when I see these children? I look down at my sweet baby and think, well at least you’re quiet.

Seems innocent enough.

The other day our church held the service at a park in the city. We arrived late and due to the lack of seating (and lack of foresight to bring our own lawn chairs) we sat down at a picnic table with another young couple and a baby. Their baby looked to be about three months old, sleeping peacefully in his daddy’s arms. As we struck up conversation with the parents we learned that this quiet, inactive, young looking baby was in fact older than my five-month-old son.

My son is so much more alert, I thought. He’s growing so well. Everything about him just seems so much…older. 

Still innocent.

He’s so much more advanced than this other kid. What do his parents do with him anyway?

Not so innocent anymore.

This morning as I stood in the shower, I thought back over these instances and a million more came pouring into my head. That time I looked at the baby at church and thought he was too big to be cute. The mom at the grocery store with the ugly kid. The friend with the daughter that is too needy. The neighbor with the obnoxious and disruptive child. Me with my son who is better.

There is nothing wrong with being proud of our children. I truly think my son is the cutest and I love him more than I love your child because if I didn’t I would throw him out the window the next time he refused to eat because the tiny bit of visual stimulation coming from the lamp in the corner is too much. If he wasn’t my kid I might just give it up and let him starve. God designed moms to be crazy about their kids because if He didn’t we might just put them up for sale, so there is nothing wrong with thinking our kids are the greatest thing since Trader Joe’s gyoza.

The issue is that we compare our kids to other kids. We compare what we do as moms to what we see the lady at Target doing. We complain that the lady on the internet ranting about having to spend an hour buying multivitamins for her kids is judging us moms who think things like vitamins are important and then we post on Facebook about what a bad mom this person is, effectively doing to her what she just did to us. We compare what they are doing with their kids to what we are doing with our kids and they always come up short. Why is that? Why do we feel the need to put other moms down because they did not stack up in the comparison game? There is nothing wrong with opinions, with thinking another mom is wrong and that our way is right–the issue is that it turns into an attitude of my kid is better than her kid and I am a better parent than she is. 

I do it with my house too. I think I have a gorgeous house and I am proud of it and there is nothing wrong with that. But when I walk into other people’s homes it always turns into who has the nicer furniture, who has decorated better, and whose kitchen is cleaner.

So ladies, why is it that when we compare ourselves to other women we are the ones that fall short?

Is it overcompensation? Are we trying to make up for our insecurities? We are believing we are better mothers but yet failing as women. If we are such great moms then why do we have such difficulty believing we are great women as well? Why are there so many of us who look in the mirror and sigh, and so many of us who still feel like we are failing our husbands and our kids? Remember how when we were kids our moms told us bullies are mean because they’re insecure? Yeah, that’s us. Essentially, we have become mom-bullies.

We don’t just compare how we parent and we don’t just compare our kids, we compare her perfect haircut and our second-hand shoes and her designer makeup and good night her coat is from Ann Taylor–I could never afford to shop there! 

Comparison is a disease. A joy-sucking, relationship-destroying, animosity-creating disease. An epidemic.

What do we do about it?

Look, I’ll be honest–my son is almost 10 months old now which means I’ve been sitting on this post for five months. At times I get a little over zealous when I blog which leads to the beginning of a great idea and when I reach the end I realize I’ve run dry. Basically, I’ve got nothing. No solution, no brilliant epiphany for you to ponder during the quiet moments when you’re trying to fall asleep. I wish I could tell you the step by step process that I’ve taken to overcome the struggle but I don’t have one. I am jealous, I am insecure, and I compare myself to everyone around me right along with the rest of them.

I am the mom bully and the most I can do is pray for sanctification because Jesus is the only one who can convince me of my worth. When I am secure and confident in how I am precious to God, I can stop feeling small compared to women who have more and do more and I can stop trying to feel bigger than the moms who parent differently. I don’t have to compare myself to others because my worth doesn’t come from how I stack up.

Listening to my husband when he showers me in compliments would help too. He’s great about telling me how awesome he thinks I am, I just always have a reason to justify why he’s wrong. I mean, he’s my husband–he has to say that, right? Our husbands are confidence gold, ladies. Listen to him.

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I still walk into Target and compare myself to other moms. I still compare my son to other kids. It will probably happen for the rest of my life because I am sinful and it’s in my nature, and I’m not much closer to figuring it out than I was when it became an issue. That is absolutely no excuse but sadly, it’s true. This post is more an admission of my failings than it is a solution to the epidemic that is the comparison game.

Admitting that I’ve failed and that I have work to do is the first step to fixing it. If we don’t think we have work to do, no work will ever be done. Friends, it’s a process–a slow, humbling, often discouraging process.

Next time I see a mom trying to placate her screaming kid with candy, I’m going to think about how I can love my son instead of what she’s doing wrong with hers. Then I’ll probably think about how I’ll never placate my screaming kid with sugar because I’m still way at the beginning of this stop-comparing journey but let’s be real, at some point it will probably happen. Moms should never say never.

It’s a process, indeed.