When Life Doesn’t Go as Planned
“Stay in your own lane. Comparison kills creativity and joy.” ~ Brené Brown
Just a few weeks ago I wrote about progress over perfection and that one of my loved ones that I provide care for was having a hard time accepting their lack of mobility. We are still encouraging micro-steps as progress and try to celebrate small wins. I think looking at progress, no matter how small, instead of perfection, pairs nicely with this week’s topic of compare and despair.
“Compare and despair” thinking often brings feelings of jealousy and envy—emotions that drain our energy and joy. We can choose a different path by practicing self-compassion and remembering that we are each unique, imperfect, and still growing—perfectly imperfect perpetual works in progress. When we stop trying to be someone else and focus on nurturing our own strengths, we give ourselves permission to bloom exactly where we are planted.
3 TOOLS TO AVOID COMPARE & DESPAIR THINKING:
Practice Gratitude Grounding: When we feel comparison thinking start to creep in, we can pause and identify three things—no matter how small—that we’re grateful for in our own caregiving journey. This shifts our focus from what others are doing to what’s meaningful and working in our lives. Gratitude helps rewire our brain away from envy and toward appreciation, building emotional resilience and balance.
Celebrate Micro-Wins: Instead of measuring ourselves against others, we can track and celebrate our own progress. Maybe it’s managing a difficult day with patience, or simply remembering to take a break. Writing down one daily success helps us see growth over time and reinforces that forward motion—no matter how small—is still progress.
Reframe the Narrative: When we catch ourselves thinking, “They’re doing it better than I am,” we can reframe it to: “Their journey is different, and that’s okay. I’m doing the best I can with what I have.” This compassionate reframing reduces shame and self-criticism while strengthening self-worth.
If I’m being honest, this week’s topic might be one of the hardest for me from our curriculum. I’m often comparing myself to others, especially those in my season of life. Thoughts of “I wish”, or “I didn’t see my life playing out like this”, or “I didn’t see myself right here right now”, or even “why ME” play out in my head all the time.
I should note that I have always been a very independent person. As part of that independence, I have been someone with a life plan. I have very clearly thought about, dreamed about, hoped for how I want my life to be. You may have heard the Yiddish proverb “Man plans, and God laughs.” Where I stand today was NOT (in most ways) a part of my life plan. Clearly, God’s gotten a good laugh. (I am a person of strong faith, and I believe in a fair and just Higher Power. I believe God is not laughing AT me but WITH me. I also don’t believe that God only gives you what you can handle—again, because my Higher Power is fair and just.)
Most of my friends have kids who are getting married and having babies. Some of them are caring for their parents. A few have kids with needs. I’m often (not always) the “outsider looking in”. I can’t meet their stories of joy with joy because most of my stories these days are ones of sadness. Watching those you love struggle, decline, make bad choices, or face the consequences of their life decisions is hard—more than hard most days. I know I can’t fix those pains. I can only stand with them in their pain—validate their challenges and offer my presence. I do this a lot.
Don’t get me wrong, I live for my friends and stories of joy. On some days, these stories help me get through another hard day. I never want people to hold things back because they look at me and worry about ME. I see friends pulling away sometimes because they don’t know what to say (or do). And I get it. I don’t like to see people in pain either.
But I’m the type of caregiver, and person, who absolutely does NOT want to be pitied—and perhaps you are, too. To best support me, you can just offer your presence. See me for where I am, acknowledge the challenges, hold my hand through the darkness—all while knowing there’s nothing you can do about it—which I acknowledge is hard. Stand with me until we rise again. Because we WILL rise again.