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Hi.

When I became a mom, I searched for a blog that resonated with every part of me: the nerdy kid, the ansty teenage feminist, the wayward 20-something, the ambitious career woman, the writer, the traveler, the wife, and yes, the mother. I couldn’t find that blog, so I wrote it. Welcome.

Comparing and despairing

Comparing and despairing

I’m posting this picture because I think I look pretty. But I don’t feel pretty. On the inside, where it’s important. Inside I’m grumpy, whiny, mopey, and all the rest of the damn dwarves.

Why? Because I’m comparing. I’m looking at other people’s lives and thinking about everything they have that I want. Whether it’s a perfect abs, a wildly successful blog, or the full confidence that the number of children they have is the right one, I’m circling like an Instagram vulture, refreshing their feeds and sinking further into my own self pity.

The thing is, I know better. I know that comparing my insides to someone else’s outsides is like comparing apples to tequila. And let’s be honest, what we see on social media is mainly people’s outsides, shot with good lighting and full makeup. The reality is that everyone is fighting their own battle, and some of us wear more armor than others.


I know that comparing has never once served me. Never once has it helped me become more or better. The only thing it does is make me take for granted everything I do have--none of which has come easily, but that’s easy to forget once you have it all.


I also know what I would tell a friend if she came to me with this problem: Stay in your lane. Keep your eyes on your own paper. Do the next right thing, one thing at a time.

It works every time.

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