A Letter on Letting Go of Comparison
My Dearest Friend,
It happens in the smallest moments. You visit another spouse’s freshly decorated home and can’t help but think of the boxes still stacked in your own hallway. You scroll past a photo of another spouse whose children look picture-perfect while yours are still tugging on mismatched socks. You hear the promotion, the PCS to an exciting location, the news that their Beloved is home for the holidays—and you can feel your stomach drop, even while you’re genuinely happy for them.
I have been there too. Sometimes it creeps in quietly, a whisper that says, you should be doing more, being more, achieving more. Other times it crashes in like a wave, leaving you feeling small, inadequate, and suddenly very tired. Comparison is sneaky that way—it convinces us to measure our lives against someone else’s highlight reel, forgetting that we don’t see the mess behind their closed doors. It is, as they say, the thief of joy. And I have let it steal from me more times than I’d like to admit.
Like the morning I wrestled Bean into her car seat for library story time. She insisted on rainboots—on the wrong feet—though the sun was blazing and the heat was already pressing down. Another child walked in looking like they’d stepped out of a catalog, and for just a moment I wondered if I should’ve tried harder, fought that small battle over shoes. But then Bean plopped herself down front and center, listened with wide-eyed wonder, and giggled so loudly at the silly parts that her laughter spread down the row until even the parents were smiling. And in that moment, I remembered: joy mattered more than appearances. Her delight was the real treasure of the day.
Later that afternoon, when I finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting me all week, I thought again about how easily I had been pulled into comparison. No one saw the mismatched socks or the unfolded clothes. What they did see—what I saw—was a child brimming with joy, a home that held space for laughter, and a mother choosing peace over perfection. That is the “after” I want to hold on to: the reminder that joy still lives here, even when comparison tries to crowd it out.
The Lesson
The truth I’ve learned—slowly, sometimes painfully—is this: comparison steals joy, every single time. It tricks us into believing our lives should mirror someone else’s, when in truth they were never meant to be the same. The military spouse who has a thriving career is no more successful than the one who pours themselves into raising little ones at home. The family who always seems put-together is not more valuable than the one whose kids show up in rainboots in the sunshine. And the spouse who looks like they have it all together may, in fact, be quietly carrying heavy burdens.
The only life you are called to live is your own. The only path you are asked to walk is the one right in front of you, step by step. When you look at it that way, comparison begins to lose its power and joy has room to breathe again.
To the Spouse Who Feels “Less Than”
I see you, friend—the one who wonders if you’re measuring up. The one who feels like everyone else is juggling this life with more grace, more strength, or more joy than you can find in this moment. Please hear me: you are not behind, you are not less, and you are not failing.
Your journey is enough. Your story is enough. You are enough.
So the next time that whisper of comparison starts to stir, pause. Take a breath. Remember that your worth has never been tied to a rank, a perfect home, or a smiling holiday card. It is rooted in the quiet resilience of showing up, again and again, with love and courage. It is found in the laughter that fills your living room after a long day, in the relief of choosing rest, and in the small daily moments that make space for joy. And that is more than enough.
