Comparison

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

That's what they say.

I sit in the light of our Christmas tree, amongst the soft pillows on my couch, wrapped in the cozy comforts of an old blanket and I look around.

I see photos of my loves, hear the laughter as they play downstairs, taste my hot coffee on my tongue, and smell the scent of Christmas beside me. Home surrounds me, in scent, taste, sounds, and sight.

I am so blessed.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet so often I feel like all this is not enough.

Like I am not enough.

I look past the carefully placed Christmas decorations that I lovingly and carefully put away each year. Many that I have made, some purchased new, some purchased secondhand. I see the scratches and dents on the walls that has come with 4 kids that are less than careful. Scratches that have come because of previous owners not painting over oil paint properly. I see furniture that we have had for years that has faded or has broken and been fixed several times. Clearly loved, but sometimes abused. I see a house that is not perfect. A house that may be lacking when compared to others, but still a home.

I realize that this almost sounds like a metaphor for my self. Both my body, and my spirit. Both broken and repaired, too many times to count. Both loved, both hated. Both compared to others and often deemed "not enough." Not skinny enough. Not strong enough. Not kind enough. Not gentle enough. Not creative enough. Not generous enough. Not enough.

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

The second these thoughts sneak into my brain, the scents and sounds of home disappear. I no longer see the marks on the wall as stories from my children, but as flaws of my home. The body that housed 4 children, that nourished them and many others, no longer seems strong but squishy and "too much" instead. The thoughts of not being enough sneak in yet again. Whispers of not having enough and not being enough start to get louder as I find myself comparing to my friends and loved ones and even strangers that I see on social media.

And then.

And then one little love crawls into my lap, reaches for my face, gives me a kiss, and snuggles her little head into my shoulder.

And I remember.

I have enough.

I am enough.

More than enough.

The lies that my brain tries to tell me are muted for the time being. And I just relish in the feeling of being enough.