That Bitch, Comparison

I recently interviewed a heroine of mine, Jasmine Star – photographer and branding expert – a woman made from moxie, beauty, grit and what I can only imagine is fairy dust.

She admitted to struggling with what I would call, comparisonitis.


That she had been afraid there’s not enough room for herself and her fellow sisters.

Someone has to get out of the elevator.

But we know that the truth is; the only thing there is no room for is comparison itself.

Her words stuck with me (may be because of the baked goods association):

“It isn’t that there’s just enough of the pie to go around. There’s a whole freakin’ BAKERY of pies to go around!”

So let’s talk about this. If someone as wildly successful as Jasmine can have these fleeting fears – what hope is there for the rest of us?

Well that in itself is proof: none of us are immune from feeling threatened or insecure. From feeling not enough or not ‘there’ yet.

If we wanted to go all science-y on this, then I’d pick our reptilian brains to point the finger at. Millions of years of hardwired survival reflexes have led us to this – and hey, it’s only trying to keep us safe.

Back then, there was a limited pie (or prehistoric rat or whatever they ate) to go around.

But we’ve evolved. So let’s act like it.

Easier said than done, right?

Well, it’s something I’ve been practising in time for Wildfire Women 2017.

I want to know that when I wake up on Saturday morning, I’m only feeling love, support and giddy as hell to step up on stage with all of these fantastic people.

My practise is simple – not necessarily easy – but simple.

It starts with pausing.

The reptilian brain wants to jump from 0-100 on the indignant bitch scale, which goes from:

100 = scorn directed at my fellow sister
70 = judgement directed at myself for being so pathetic
40 = pity for myself and my brokenness
0 = calm knowledge that we’re all equally whole and valid humans

The quicker I can bring reptile brain down from 100 to 0, the better I’m doing.

It’s likely my attempts at meditation have helped me in ways the me of 10 years ago couldn’t have moved past 65 on the scale for a good hour or so.

At the bottom, my heartbeat slows, my shoulders soften, my forehead unfolds (mostly) and I can feel love flowing freely again.

That still, small voice can be heard again.

She whispers: ‘Now are we ready to do this thing?’

So I invite you too to come do this thing, and check that comparison bag at the door.


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