how i discovered {and overcame} social media comparison

With the dawn of expanded social media networks came warnings from psychologists and sociologists and know-it-allogists and all kinds of -ologists that all said basically the same thing: beware of the comparison that social media can breed—it can be nasty, heartbreaking, and disillusioning. Or something like that. 

And to be honest, I never really bought it. I'd scan through my Facebook timeline one (or two or three...) too many times a day and never feel jealousy or envy at the fun pictures my friends uploaded or the witty banter in the comments section of a video somebody had shared. On Instagram I found myself double-tapping to show my approval, but never feeling bitter or disheartened. 

And then came the parade of blogs. 

Since I began blogging about four years ago, I've accrued a modest list of blogs I read regularly. At first, most were written by people I knew personally, but there was the occasional internet sensation blog peppered in among the musings of my family and friends.  But within the past year or so, I discovered blog after blog after blog that just won my heart and attention. And the list of blogs in my blog feed grew longer. 

And then before I knew it, the majority of the blogs I followed were written by people I'd never before met. And the blogstars behind the witty words and picturesque snapshots were slender and beautiful and fashionable. They had bodies and wardrobes to envy and  husbands who were nothing short of dashing. And the children—oh, the children. Bright-eyed, chubby-cheeked, and more fashionably dressed than I could ever hope to be, these kids stole my heart and made it melt. 

These bloggers wrote about how they fell in love with their husbands, and my hopelessly sentimental and romantic heart fluttered and leaped out of pure joy each time I read one of these accounts. They wrote about motherhood and wifehood and career womanhood and a whole lot of -hoods that I've yet to experience. Some wrote about their travels across the country and across the world to places remote and beautiful, bustling and historic. The few unwed bloggers I came across were also fashionable and interesting. They were well-traveled, well-read, well-dressed, and well-everythinged by my assessment, and they certainly didn't regularly spend their Friday nights with Netflix and a bowl of ice cream. 

It took me a while, but I slowly began to notice that by the time I navigated away from the webpages of each of these fabulous bloggers, I tended to feel a little worse about myself. My life felt sub par, my experiences boring, and my wardrobe helplessly pathetic. I was keenly aware of the fact that I don't have a husband or precious children to parade around my webpage and that I don't DIY anything or take spectacular photographs or have a healthy eating plan to share with the world. My hobbies are nothing out of the ordinary, I've left the country exactly once, and my inter-country travels are mostly limited to exotic locales like Boise, Idaho. 

Eventually I realized that I'd been sucked into a virtual world in which I was making real-life comparisons. I had been blind to the fact that most bloggers don't share the mundane, unappealing parts of life with the interweb, and so I was convinced that their lives were perfect. Their hair looked great in every picture, so they must never have a bad hair day. Their children looked docile and happy, so they obviously never threw tantrums in inappropriate locations or wore on their parents' patience. The charming tales of love and sacrifice and affection that they wrote about their marriage indicated that every moment of their married life was a picture perfect fairy tale. 

Like I said, I have never met most of these bloggers, but due to my knowledge and experience with real life, I can comfortably wager that none of their lives are as perfect as they seem. 

Now, don't think that this is a tale that ends with me saying "And then I decided to never read another blog ever again, because they suck the life out of you and transport you to a dark, twisty place full of comparison, unrealistic expectations, life dissatisfaction, and dead puppies." Because that's not how this story ends, and that would be really, really depressing. Especially the dead puppies part. I don't want that. 

How this story does end is like this: I still read my blogs. In fact, I just came across another one today that I absolutely love, and I added it to my blog feed. But I've learned to take what I read with a grain of salt and recognize that no matter how perfect they look, the bloggers whose websites I frequent aren't perfect and neither are their lives. And the fact their lives are full of different things than mine is no indication of whose life is better or worse. They're just different. And that's okay. There is no reason for me to feel down on myself because I can't tell you seven ways to Sunday to use hemp cord in toddler friendly craft projects or because I've never traveled to Japan or because I live a quiet, simple, unassuming life. 

Because when it's all said and done, I like my quiet, simple, unassuming life. And whether or not it's as "interesting" as the blogsations around the interwebs, I like blogging about it. 

So I'll just keep living and reading and blogging and being happy, and that's all there is to it.