Comparisons

“Comparisons are odious,” said George Herbert in the 16th century.

I wrote the below piece yesterday. I’m not completely comfortable with it. I suppose my influence is Buddhism. I’m not a Buddhist, but I like a lot of the philosophy and often find it comforting. See what you think and weigh in with your ideas:

Recently I’ve been reading a “Why Can’t the Past Just Die,” by thememoryartist. She writes beautifully and the reader gets a palpable sense of the horrors of her childhood. Her stories resonate profoundly with me, but unlike her I am no memory artist. I only have a couple vivid memories of the abuse I endured, the rest is just a vague sense of being constantly mind-fucked by my father. The clear memories are of moments of physical violence, though I know I don’t remember much of that either.

So for the most part I have a “felt sense” of what I went through, validated by my sister’s “artful” memory. I left a comment on one of thememoryartist’s painful posts. As I left it I doubted the validity of what I was saying–but have since thought some more about it. Part of the comment:

One of the reasons I never dealt with the trauma of my childhood other then the fact that it was numbed out of consciousness with drugs, was because I compared my trauma with the trauma of so many people I met as a social worker–so many people had it so much worse I believed.I’ve now learned that comparisons should not be made and the suffering of each person at the hands of abusers is a relative thing. And that everyone deals with trauma differently. My sister who suffered worse at the hands of my father became a hard-core over-achiever and in the eyes of the world a stunning success. She is unhappy though and perhaps more so than me–the barely functioning younger sibling.

Having given it more thought now I have additional ideas, though I still don’t know if they are all valid or fair. First of all I extend the idea to suffering of any kind, regardless of whether trauma or abuse was involved. I think suffering is a relative thing. Peoples own comprehension of their suffering is relative to what they’ve experienced at any given time. If I feel like I’m suffering more than I ever have that is legitimate. If at another time I suffer more than I have in the past, does that diminish my perception that my suffering in the past was the worst I’d ever suffered? That at the time it felt like it was the worst that I could feel–that I could tolerate no more? I don’t think so.

For us to be compassionate of others we must grant that any sufferer suffers like any other sufferer. This idea, though never developed, is what has allowed me to be a good friend to many who have suffered seemingly, in some ways, much less than me. If I could not appreciate the universal nature of suffering, regardless of cause or etiology, I would not be a good friend to anyone–I would lack compassion. Compassion is what allows us to not only stop comparing, but to view everyone’s suffering including our own with love.

My sister, years ago, when I was suffering from a debilitating, delusional depression got angry with me on the phone. I suppose I was rather whiny at the time, complaining of my pain–talking about how I couldn’t go on. She angrily told me I had it easy (I did not work.) She was the one who suffered most. Did I think she didn’t suffer from depression? Did I have any idea how much pain she dealt with on a regular basis? Did I have any idea how hard it was for her to continue functioning at the level she functioned?

At the time I was infuriated. How could she compare her pain with mine. I was clearly disabled and unable to function. God damn it–I was much worse off. She was a successful surgeon. I was lucky to get out of my bed in the morning. Granted what she said to me may not have been sensitive. She did have difficulty finding compassion for my debilitation–and in fact found me pathetic, I think. But I would argue now that I too could not find compassion for her legitimate pain either. Why we ended up so differently I don’t know. But we were both suffering. I don’t believe it’s my place to say I suffered more. I do not know what she feels. All I could see is that she functions incredibly well, remarkably well, by any standards–but does that necessarily imply she suffers any less?

I have no hard and fast conclusions to my ramblings here. I suppose I just want to close with another mention of compassion. If we can feel it for others, then we can apply it to ourselves. And if we can do that we can heal. If we imagine our suffering is oh so much greater then the next person’s then I think we slow down the healing process. Am I able to put this into practice? Not all together well, no. But I’d like to think I’m moving in that direction and that I might stop feeling sorry for myself. We’re all in this together after all. Us beings in the human race.

That’s the end of what I wrote yesterday. Today I feel uncomfortable with it. It’s fine as a theory and maybe it’s even a truism, but I have a hard time believing it completely. I have, indeed heard people’s stories, including thememoryartist’s that make me feel like yes, there have been people who have simply, in fact, suffered more. I think of the people in Darfur, women who have watched their husbands slaughtered only to afterwards be raped by the murderers. How can I suppose to think that all suffering is the same? I, too, see myself and wonder haven’t I suffered more than some people who have never had similar experiences.

I guess it all comes down to compassion again. Some people DO suffer more, but that does not mean that we aren’t still all in this together and that all suffering deserves compassion. Can we avoid comparing ourselves and still be different? Can each persons suffering be different but it still not be appropriate to compare? Maybe that is part of the key too.

Clearly this is a work in progress for me. Please share your thoughts on the subject.