To be Compared.

Before I begin to scribble down all these thoughts. I want to define a little the culture I hope to create here. These stories are personal, if they move you I’m grateful. If they challenge you, I’m curious. If they make you disagree, then I’m truly at peace with that and hope that you can be too. I do not stand for the cancel culture, I stand for tolerance where we can respect different worlds even when we don’t completely understand it. We can always honor effort and passion that’s rooted in values.

I hope my journey, my lessons, my failures, encourage you.

The Parent you are is often born out of the Child you got to be.

A big part of being or becoming a mother meant reflection to me. It meant acting on the lessons learnt. And it meant learning from the way I act. I have two intense boys that I get to call mine. And loving them has shown me so much about myself. And about the parts of my childhood that were open wounds. Some reflexes of mine that were really just programmed reactions to the things that have been said to me or about me.

The bleeding wound of my childhood, and perhaps even my life was Comparison. The unnecessary voice in our heads. Or in my head at least. Every child is unique, or rather is allowed to be until it becomes inconvenient. Then the Big People make decisions or make statements, that time and time again chip off the fine edges you were made with. Fitting into routines, structures and goals take priority.

FIVE

Five years old. I remember having a bob hair do, wearing what I was told to, and saying what I had to. I remember having dinner at the table and my relatives speaking about how I was too skinny, too dark, too loud, too bossy. I remember being compared to classmates and cousins. Aunties and uncles pushing me to join hobbies I was never really interested in. Telling me to be more like ‘them’, so I guess less like myself. But of course at 5, you are just beginning to figure it out and it seems like it doesn’t really matter.

But the PROBLEM with comparison, is that it occupies space. The spirit of Comparison, takes up SPACE in your head. When it gets encouraged and added on to, it gains weight and it has power. It makes you look left and right, before you can look straight ahead. It makes you feel like you are in a constant competition with others. It becomes a voice in your head that tells you more often than not, that you will forever be unseen if you aren’t recognised. It makes you strive for the approval of others.

At 5 maybe its family and relatives. At 10, my fair-skinned friends. At 14, the allrounder classmates. At 16. the hot and cold boyfriend who comments about your weight. At 17, in Theatre School, I was anything but myself. The earlier you get acquainted with ‘Comparison’ the more detrimental it is to your growth as person. Especially if no one teaches you, that you are allowed to be you. If no one equips you with a DEFENCE.

‘ Amma but I am Me and he is He.’

My sons get into trouble. A fair amount.A healthy amount of times, it’s really natural and unavoidable. One time they got into trouble and one of them owned up to his mistakes and said sorry and moved on to his legos. The other however, was spiralling, stomping, being obviously mad and refused to find a resolution. His emotions were incharge and there really was no way out, he had to ride this one out. If I had had a wellness retreat the day before, spent hours in prayer and went to the gym, had a hot coffee , and was in the ZEN-est of places, I would have let him go on for as long as He needed to. BUT I had just overcooked something on the stove, missed a call, had had an argument with my husband via Imessage and wanted nothing to do with more emotions. So I said, ‘ Look, he chose to apologise and come to me, and the problem is resolved. You are choosing differently. You are not making this any easier.’ And without much of a delay he replied ‘Amma (Mom in Tamil) but I am Me and he is He’

I know it’s nothing dramatic. But it really woke me up to the sad reality of how I still had talking patterns archived within me. The same things that really hurt me, the things I absolutely never wanted to give forward, was what I was functioning with when I had nothing left in me.

Comparison is A Thief.

Whether it was my hair that I straightened to fit it. Or the face powder I would slap on to make myself fairer.

Whether it was the kind of backpack I wanted to carry. Or the college that I wanted to go to.

Whether it was the clothes I chose to wear. Or what I wished my friends would say about me.

Whether it was my dreams and goals. Or me working hard.

No matter what I did, I searched for recognition, And I yearned to be ‘good enough’

Don’t get me wrong, part of growing up is dealing with Comparison. It is learning to be who you were made to be. It is becoming resilient. But when it starts robbing you of your Identity, or chipping off at parts of you that are so unique to you, it is not simply a topic to confront but a spirit to kick out. The words that were spoken around me made me feel surrounded but never supported. The things I have heard said about my laughter, my skills, my singing, my body and my personality, it became my reality. Although I had parents who almost always supported my wildest ideas, I couldn’t always see it because I was always busy comparing. This is the power it holds, it blinds you to the beauty of what is and what could be. It keeps you addicted to how much ‘better’ it should be.

Now, however

““Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load.””

— Galatians 6:4-5

I can be loud when I need to be. soft when it has to be. I am radically passionate about the things I believe is true. And I can make things possible and find ways where there might seem to be none. No matter how much life has thrown at me, I continue to strive to have a soft heart in a world where ‘hard’ is strength. I am all these things now, and I am growing into my own skin slowly now that I know what was weighing me down. Now as a wife, a mother, as a worship leader, and as someone who has Faith, it is different. I know I stand in my God given Identity and Authority. I know I am loved, so I can love that much better.

My kids and I speak about Comparison very often, I use them as my mirror. They can reflect me, my words and my actions. I am as transparent as I can be about how I grew up, and why I do the things I do or say the things I say. I want them to know how IMPERFECT I am, and I need them to know that I HAVE NOTHING TO PROVE. I need them to know Grace and Forgiveness first.

I need them to know that they are unconditionally loved by people who are still healing.

“The longer I live, the more I am enabled to realize that I have but one life to live on Earth, and that this one life is but a brief life, for sowing, in comparison with eternity, for reaping.
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— George Muller