When is the last time you felt inferior, and why? I’ll bet you can think of it right away, and I’ll bet it was recent, and it made you feel miserable, at least for a moment. For at least one moment, you wondered, “Why am I not as good as they are? Why am I not good enough at all?”
Maybe it’s because the whole eating disorder thing has totally messed up my self-esteem forever, or maybe I’m just sensitive, but just about anything can make me feel inferior. Someone makes an insightful comment in class that has nothing to do with me, I am suddenly the dumbest person in the room. My friend from home texts me on a Saturday night that she’s at a good party, I am suddenly the most boring college student in Boston. Someone brings up a stupid thing I did in sophomore year of high school, I am suddenly the worst person in the world.
Over time, I’ve realized that this constant feeling of “I’m not good enough” is not exclusive to me. This one-sided comparison against just about everyone is ubiquitous, and it makes everyone feel like crap (at least sometimes). Inferiority complexes know no bounds. No one, at least no one that I’ve ever spoken to, is immune. And society perpetuates it, too, in the most insidious of ways. Social media, in particular Facebook and Instagram, is possibly the worst thing for this collective feeling of inferiority, because as soon as you log on, you are instantly faced with people having more fun than you. And it doesn’t matter if you just got back from the best night of your entire life. There are always people having fun right now, and you are not, at this moment, one of them.
Last weekend, my sister and her best friend went to a concert. It was set to be the best weekend of their life, until they encountered a problem: she got scammed on Craigslist for tickets to the show. In a leap of faith, she direct messaged one of the people she was set to see on stage the next evening, and to her shock and surprise, he actually messaged her back.
I won’t name any names, because this particular world-famous pop star wants to remain anonymous. But I will tell you that the next night, when she arrived at the concert, there were two tickets with her name on it.
Now, I was absolutely nothing but happy for my sister. And I continue to be happy for her. She experienced something incredible, something extraordinarily rare, and it made her weekend even better than she’d originally planned. I was ecstatic when I found out, and promptly told everyone, because this is my sister, and I love her more than I love just about anyone in the world.
But later on that night, as I was in bed, I was thinking — that cyclical, black-and-white thinking that only comes after midnight in a dark, quiet room — would that ever happen to me? Would anything like that ever happen to someone like me, someone friendly and outgoing but a bit more timid than my beautiful, vivacious sister? Before I even realized it, my feelings of pride and happiness for my sister turned into loathing and hyper-evaluation of myself and of all the things I’m doing wrong. Maybe I should straighten my hair or share my thoughts in class. Maybe I should speak louder and more assuredly. Or maybe I should just not speak at all.
But after ruminating this for long enough, I realized: I am being really horrible.
It is said that comparison is the thief of joy. That’s something I learned a while ago, but never really realized how true it is until now. Could I really not be happy for my sister because I was too worried about myself? This is someone I love, and I was taking her success and her moment and making it about me.
Coming to this understanding made me feel like the worst person in the world until I further realized: I am human. I’m allowed to have feelings, and I am allowed to feel guilty for those feelings, and I am allowed to correct them. I’m good at a lot of things. I am a good writer, I am a good friend and I am lucky enough to go to BU, so I did something right along the way. And I am trying to be a better person. Which consists of being able to be happy for other people without feeling bad about myself.
(And to my sister: if you’re reading this, I’m sorry, and I love you.)
