Comparison is a fool’s game, but we love playing it

It's natural to compare yourself to others, but don't give too much weight to your conclusions.

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I am fortunate to be in a writing group with three other professional writers. I didn’t know them before joining the group, but about a year and a half ago, I was attempting to start work on a book proposal and desperately needed an accountability buddy who could help keep me on track. Putting out a call on a Listserv I was on was one of the best things I’ve ever done; I ended up in a weekly group with three smart, kind, talented writers whom I now consider close friends. We were all at various stages of the book proposal process.

Here’s the thing about these three lovely humans: They’re all further in the book publishing process than I am. (It’s incredibly rude.) Two have book deals and have moved on to writing their respective books; the third is thisclose to joining their ranks. I’m still working on a final draft of my proposal. I am behind, and I am anxious. I am worried that no publisher will want my book; I’m terrified that, of the four of us, there will be one big flop: Me. Adding insult to injury, I’m the oldest person in the group. So, while they’re all on tour for their bestselling books, I’m going to be in the hospital, dying of old age and flop-related humiliation.

I’m hardly the first to notice the psychological perils of comparing oneself to others. The quote “comparison is the thief of joy” has been attributed to everyone from Mark Twain to Teddy Roosevelt; it doesn’t matter who said it. What matters is that whoever said it was absolutely correct. But there’s a difference between knowing something will make you feel bad and being able to stop yourself from doing it.

Anyway, I was indulging in this book-related, self-absorbed anxiety spiral yesterday, gnawing on my cuticles like a cartoon rat, when I got a text. My buddy has a friend I’ll call Joe. My friend had been casually suggesting Joe try a 12-step meeting for months. This week, Joe did. After listening to the others at the meeting speak, he left more convinced than ever that he didn’t need to be there. Joe told my friend that everyone else was way worse off than he was. He couldn’t have a problem; the people at the meeting proved it by their extreme stories.

Joe may be right—I’ve never met him; I have no idea what he needs. But I know plenty of other people who’ve had similar experiences; they walked away from a 12-step meeting feeling sure they had a healthy relationship with substances because they’d never been arrested, never started drinking before happy hour, peed in the supply closet at work, or anything else they heard about at a meeting.

Comparison can be a master manipulator. Like a brilliant propagandist, comparison often uses cherry-picked data points to create a persuasive narrative. If I need to feel better about my chances of publishing a book, I can always recall the list of books I think are garbage and tell myself, “These people got their books published; yours can’t be worse than those book-shaped doorstops. If they can get book deals, so can you!” The truth is, neither the terrible books nor my friends’ excellent books will determine the outcome of my proposal.

Comparison is more dangerous than simply being a joy-stealer; it’s a reality-distorter. Someone who drinks a glass of wine in a room full of teetotalers doesn’t have alcohol use disorder just because they’ve had the most to drink of anyone in the room. A person who blacks out every night isn’t “fine” simply because they don’t start drinking in the morning. The consequences of other people’s substance use may feel like a useful way to measure your own, but it’s an illusion. What matters is how you feel.

When I was in rehab, there was one patient we were all kind of fascinated and baffled by. We’d have to go around the circle and share our horror stories, and hers would always be...pretty normal. She said she wasn’t a frequent drinker, but the few times she’d been drunk, she didn’t like the way she behaved, so she checked herself into rehab. When the rest of us had been dragged to rehab kicking and screaming after some alcohol-induced catastrophe, her story seemed utterly bizarre.

In retrospect, a lot of things could have been happening. Maybe she was downplaying her alcohol use or what happened when she drank; maybe she had a fear about addiction or a family history she was trying to avoid; there are countless reasons she could have checked herself into rehab, and hearing a few vague anecdotes probably didn’t tell the whole story. Whatever the deal was—she felt like she needed to stop drinking, and for her, that meant going to rehab.

I’m sure there are times when comparing oneself to others is useful, but figuring out if you have a substance use disorder is not one of them. It distracts you from what truly matters—determining whether your substance use is negatively impacting your life and, if so, what you want to do about it.

If the answer to those questions are yes, I strongly suggest finding some kind of peer support, be it through a 12-step meeting or other support group. Whether it’s quitting drinking or attempting to write a book, it helps be able to commiserate with people who know how hard it is, who understand all the fear and anxiety, and who kindly urge you to stop picturing yourself as a dying failure and just keep doing the work.

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I’m not a doctor or mental health professional, so my advice shouldn’t be construed as medical or therapeutic. You are free to take or leave it.