The Grief Thief

You’ve heard the quote, “Comparison is the thief of joy,” right? It’s the idea that comparing yourself (or your life, family, love, career, or anything else) to someone else will only serve to make you unhappy. The someone you choose to compare yourself to probably doesn’t actually have the perfect life, but no matter: You feel inadequate in comparison. So, you know, don’t do that.

Today I’d like to talk to you about something similar – what I’ve decided to call the Grief Thief. This is the idea that we can’t feel our own grief because someone else has it worse. You’ve heard people say this, and I guarantee you’ve said it yourself: “I shouldn’t complain, because [whoever] has it worse than me.”

You are allowed to feel like mud.
You are allowed to feel like mud.

Well, of course! There is always someone who has less, who suffers more. But why does that mean you aren’t allowed to feel your feels? It doesn’t, and yet we have this sense of… obligation, I guess?… to compare our woes to someone else’s, and find our woes lacking. I think we should stop doing that, too.

Think of it like this: Let’s say you sprain your ankle. Ouch! That’s a huge bummer for you. Now, what if you know someone who broke both their legs? They obviously have it worse than you, so you should probably just keep your trap shut about your pain and inconvenience, right? I say no. You can feel for that person, of course! But that doesn’t mean your own pain and suffering – or your wanting to talk about them, and get sympathy for them –  are invalid.

You are allowed to feel dry and cracked.
You are allowed to feel dry and cracked.

You can do more than one thing at a time. You can feel for yourself and for others. You can be sympathetic, and understanding, and caring, to yourself and to others. You can try to help someone who is suffering more than you, but you can – and I believe you should – allow yourself to feel and experience and share your own pain, your grief, without comparison.

I don’t think this is a selfish or self-centered thing to do. In fact, I think it’s a big part of caring for your own mental health. The more I do this thing I do, the more I realize that mental and emotional health is just as important – maybe even more so – as physical health. This is why we’re seeing more and more evidence (I like to file it under Duh) that the stigma of fat (the bullying and shaming) is often more detrimental to our health than our actual weight.

You are even allowed to feel like a tumbleweed stuck on a barbed-wire fence.
You are even allowed to feel like a tumbleweed stuck on a barbed-wire fence.

The next time something in your life goes awry and you feel one of those knee-jerk “I shouldn’t complain” moments coming on, take a breath. Acknowledge what you’re feeling. Express it. Take care of yourself and your needs in that moment. I promise you’ll still have room to feel for the rest of the world when you’re done.

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