One of my ten-year-old son’s friends has a hot mom. Like a seriously hot mom. I joke to my husband, “I bet you want to drop off James just to see Frankie’s mom, don’t you?”
The funny story became a series of:
“Oh, Frankie is coming over? Who is dropping him off?”
“Frankie’s mom is here!”
“James! Frankie is here — and his mom, too!”
We both laughed about it because well, the husband and I both have eyes. We can both see and recognize how she’s just fabulous. She’s Swedish with long blonde hair, super tall; she is that perfect blend of human that doesn’t-try-hard-yet-looks-perfect. She’s also so sweet, smart, successful and nice.
Me, on the other hand? I am that incredible species of trying-so-hard-and-still-can’t-quite-get-it right.
I used to be massively slain by women like Frankie’s mom.
I wasn’t jealous, per se. (Okay, yes I was totally jealous.) But then I decided I didn’t care, so I went off in another direction entirely — which was gain a ton of weight, barely bathe and develop a booze problem — to really prove that I didn’t care about how I looked.
I grew out of that particular destruction and thankfully before it was too late, but even still, I felt a pang in my chest when I would encounter really fabulous women. I had a hard time feeling like I existed in their presence. I felt invisible and I hated myself (and okay, them too) for it.
But something funny happened sometime last year. I realized that I had been playing my entire life in terms of two factors: greater than and less than. I realized I was causing my own issues, and I was doing it consciously.
Greater Than
When I felt like I was greater than someone or a situation, I was happy. If I was out-working, out-doing, or “winning” any given situation, no matter how petty or small, I was on Cloud 9.
I was living my goals and my life in terms of being better than people — even if they didn’t know we were having said competition.
Oftentimes, I would pick the wrong individuals as my competition — I would choose supermodels and scholars, and then wonder why I was “losing.”
I was creating my own sick, self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew I wasn’t winning this game.
Less Than
So what happened when I felt like I was less than someone or a situation?
Well, I wilted. I created drama or incorporated some good, old-fashioned destructive behavior into my routine.
I learned to really go off the deep end, and fast.
How silly is that? How egotistical and destructive? How vain. (The song was totally about me.)
All these years of struggling with math and my entire life’s equation was a math problem of greater than or less than?
I was suffering, though. I really was.
Internally, emotionally and with my choices — there was suffering. Suffering doesn’t have to be death or cancer or tragedy — suffering is simply being in a place where you can no longer see yourself.
I was invisible. That is suffering. I was suffering.
I was first-world suffering, sure. I know that. I knew that.
I was comparing my internal suffering to everyone else’s: Oh, I don’t deserve to be sad, not when Sally’s suffering is greater than mine.
Greater than. Less than.
Then I managed to make my life a suffering competition, because, well that’s what I was good at doing: who deserves to feel and own their suffering more?
I was not suffering just because of Frankie’s mom — she was the least of my worries. But my day-to-day life was categorized and centered on Frankie’s mom-type scenarios. Comparison, self-loathing, competition, bitterness, and guilt.
The “Equal To” Experiment
I started a small experiment with myself — what if I stopped using the thoughts and words and terms of greater, better, smarter, taller, thinner?
What if I stopped using those comparison words in my life?
Just for a day or two? Then maybe a week?
What if I stopped thinking about every part of my life as an equation, and I just started thinking equal to.
I have a fundamental belief that balance is an impossible ideal, something impossible to achieve. So I do not believe equal to in a sense of balance — after all, I am escaping the math stuff here.
But I believe of thinking of equal like equilibrium — as a sense of wellness, okay-ness, and non-comparison.
Equal to. I liked that.
So instead of thinking of Frankie’s mom being so much greater than me in hotness (totally true), I just would shift my thoughts to, “Hey I bathed today. Points for me. I rock.”
Silly? Yes.
But so is comparing myself to everything and everyone every single day.
After a few weeks? Well, it worked. I wasn’t thinking about everyone else so much. I was not competing in ways that didn’t matter. I was shuffling through my life and tasks with a greater sense of purpose, not as much competition — and it made all the difference in my day-to-day happiness.
I was on to something revolutionary for myself. This made a difference.
I was suffering less, and all because I stopped doing simple greater than / less than math.
Equilibrium
Last night, Frankie’s mom came by to drop off Frankie. She and I laughed about our kids, the weather and how tall Frankie had gotten.
I had a three-second wistful moment when I saw her amazing skin under the dimmed lights — but then I realized that I looked pretty darn good too — despite the fact that I hadn’t bathed that day.
“Frankie’s mom is here,” I had shouted across the house, as she pulled up. I noticed that my tone didn’t have the usual dread. That I didn’t feel like I needed to fuss with my hair.
It was just a statement with no undertones: Frankie’s mom is here.
As I walked to the front door, I thought to myself: Man, I look amazing for someone who didn’t bathe today.
I chuckled to myself as I greeted her with a hug.
Now that is winning.
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Meredith Atwood is a wife, mom, IRONMAN triathlete, author, coach and podcaster. She is the author of "Triathlon for the Every Woman" — which is available for FREE here. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, two kids and a lizard. Follow her everywhere on social at [@SwimBikeMom]. Read more at www.MeredithAtwood.com
