When the reality of the pandemic first sank in, a heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach like a lead weight. That feeling hasn’t entirely lifted. It seeps into my memory, disrupts my sleep, dulls my appetite, and drains my energy. This dread is complex—it’s not simply fear; it encompasses anger and frustration, a disruption of my sense of balance and progress.
Yet, amid all this turmoil, I recognize that I am okay. I have much to be thankful for, especially when I consider how others are faring.
The notion of comparing our struggles is often frowned upon. Influencers like Mia Thompson and Ava Collins, whom I admire, advocate against it. The sentiment in online discussions often echoes, “This isn’t a suffering competition!” The belief is that comparison can invite shame for our valid emotions, suggesting that we all deserve to feel whatever we’re feeling without judgment. Grief in any form is legitimate, and we shouldn’t minimize that.
I wholeheartedly agree that we should not shame ourselves for our feelings. I recognize the vast body of psychological work that argues against comparing suffering. However, I believe that comparison can be a tool for gaining perspective and helping us navigate our emotional challenges.
The concept of “downward comparison” gained traction in the 1980s, describing how people often look at those worse off to feel better about their own situations. Critics argue that this view overlooks essential factors like access, motivation, and opportunity.
In simpler terms: sometimes, downward comparison falls flat because some situations are genuinely dire, leaving individuals feeling hopeless. It’s inappropriate to suggest that they simply think, “It could always be worse!”
However, for those of us who are privileged, it’s likely that our circumstances aren’t the worst. Using downward comparison can help foster a more positive outlook. It’s entirely feasible to remind ourselves that we have it relatively good compared to many others, without slipping into a spiral of self-loathing. The aim here is not shame but perspective.
In my journey through COVID-19, I’ve faced challenging days filled with panic attacks and bouts of sadness. There were mornings I only got out of bed because my kids needed to see me acting somewhat normal. There were times I showered not to feel clean but to have a moment alone to cry. That persistent ball of dread remains.
On a practical level, uncertainty looms. As someone self-employed with multiple income streams—some of which vanished overnight—I often feel lost. My partner lives 1,400 miles away, and I have no idea when we’ll be together again due to travel restrictions. The schooling situation for my children remains unclear, with a confusing mix of mask-wearers and those who refuse to follow guidelines. I used to have a roadmap for the months ahead; now, it feels like an unpredictable terrain.
At times, I could easily succumb to sadness. But instead, I choose to compare. Yes, I’ve experienced panic and difficult emotional days since the pandemic began. Yet, when I look around, I see that I am healthy, both physically and mentally. I don’t rely on medication that could be hard to obtain. Should I need medical assistance, I have a healthcare plan and local providers to support me. Compared to many, I am fortunate. Reminding myself of this helps me rise and keep moving forward.
Although I have lost income, I still have some financial resources. Unlike those who’ve lost everything, I find myself in a better position. While the future is uncertain, I have a support network that ensures my children and I won’t go hungry, regardless of financial setbacks.
I miss my partner, but I think of military families separated for extended periods or those in different time zones from their loved ones. I reflect on how difficult it would have been to maintain this relationship two decades ago without modern technology, or even four decades ago when societal acceptance of our queer relationship might not have existed. It could be much worse.
While I’m uncertain about my children’s schooling, I realize many face far graver challenges. In some parts of the world, children lacked access to education long before the pandemic. We are fortunate, with choices at our disposal. The absence of structured schooling doesn’t equate to insurmountable suffering. The resources available to us before the pandemic will still be there when it ends. The truth is, we are privileged, and we will be okay.
These downward comparisons remind me to feel gratitude. I’m not fond of the term “downward comparison,” as it can imply arrogance—this isn’t the intention. The purpose of this kind of comparison is to gain perspective and nurture appreciation.
When that heavy dread threatens to overwhelm me, reflecting on the deeper suffering of others provides the perspective I need to adopt a more positive outlook. It empowers me not only to feel better about my own situation but also to extend a helping hand to those in greater need.
I have no shame in admitting my struggles. Everyone should feel free to express their sadness and grief. Yet, it’s entirely valid and even beneficial to compare. Perspective is a powerful tool.
Conclusion
In conclusion, while acknowledging our pain, we can still find strength in recognizing that our struggles might not be as severe as others. This perspective can cultivate gratitude and motivate us to support those around us.
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