Comparison is the Theif of Joy!

I’ve been saying this forever. In fact, there was a time I thought I should get it tattooed on my arm. I still might—except I’m trying to save money. Lol.

We’ve lived in the same house in a suburb of Baltimore for over 20 years now. We picked this house because at the time, my mom was moving in with us. Her husband—her third—had died suddenly. She had absolutely no money to continue living in her house. So we moved in with her for a couple of months.

It was a real disaster.

My husband, my two young children, and I moved across the country in less than a month to save her.

How We Ended Up Here

After a year of living in very tight quarters and looking at 100 houses, we finally settled on one that seemed to work. It was a split-foyer home built around 1970. From the get-go, it had problems. The basement bathroom overflowed almost immediately—turned out the septic system needed replacing.

Thankfully, we’d rented back since my mom’s house sold so quickly, so the current owner had to handle most of it. But believe me when I tell you—it was a real shit show. I think we followed through with the purchase out of pure desperation and a deep need to put down roots.

If you’ve ever bought a house, you know how hard it is to decide. Now throw in a third person, a trauma response from moving back in with your wounded mom, and your own kids in tow? It starts to smelling like bad decisions!

But we did it.We made this house into a home.

I Was Never Really Settled

We moved into an old development full of original owners who had time (and money) to renovate. I always longed for the next neighborhood over—the one with the McMansions and matching everything, perfect borders, and walk-in closets. I wanted a home with levels: an upstairs for bedrooms, a downstairs that wasn’t freezing. I wanted so much I didn’t have. And I felt stuck and ANGRY!

Eventually, things got a little easier financially. Neither my partner nor I has ever made much money. (Though again… much compared to who?) Let’s just say a lot of my nieces and nephews in their 30s make more than we do heading into our 60s.

And Then Something Beautiful Happened

This past weekend, we hosted a house concert here. It was the finale of a season of concerts we’ve been putting on—and it was spectacular.

What’s a house concert? We invite local musicians to play in our lower level. We fit about 40 people. There’s a potluck first, then the band plays two sets. And the vibe? The vibe is indescribable. Like your favorite place in nature with perfect weather—times a million.

And this weekend’s show? Best yet. The weather was ideal. Everyone was in a great mood. The food was unreal. The vibe of the party was amazing. And the band was not only talented but also deeply vulnerable. At one point, the lead singer had to pause after becoming emotional playing a new, personal song. It was that raw and real and beautiful and warm and accepting! It was a vibe!

So, Why Do People Keep Coming Back?

If I had a dollar for every person who came to my home—whether for house concerts, day retreats, or just to hang—and said something like “I feel so comfortable here,” I’d be very rich.

Not because the house is fancy.Not because it has great storage (oh God, don’t I wish).But because of the vibe we’ve created.

The vibe I’ve co-created with the family I’ve raised, with this partnership I’ve managed to keep going—with his help, of course.

It’s not Pinterest-perfect (I don't even HAVE Pinterest)!. It’s meaningful. It’s mine.

It Took Me a While to Believe That

Even in the early days—when I was still comparing everything and hating it here—people would walk in and say: “I feel so at home here.”

I knew in my heart and soul I should trust myself, but trauma can drag us around for a bit until we have the precision tools to untangle ourselves.

But the part of me that wanted more, that wanted what everyone else had, would still get activated. That part believed I was doing it wrong because I didn’t have what others had.

When My Mom Died, I Wanted to Bolt

There was no real reason to stay here. She helped us choose the house. She helped with the down payment. She got to die at home. And then I was ready to go. I had done my duty - I saved her until I couldn't!

I remember thinking in therapy: This feeling is intense. Don’t move while it’s driving the bus.Wait until I want to move—not just until I want to escape.

My mom’s been gone over a decade now. The kids have moved out. It’s just the dogs, my partner, and me.

And now?

Now we won’t move unless we have to.We even met with a financial planner recently who confirmed that not moving might be the smartest financial decision we’ve made. (Imagine that.)

These Days, I'm Making Peace

With the space I’ve created. With the decisions I’ve made. With the weird, wild life that has unfolded.

And for the most part—it’s working.

As much as I love exploring new places to hike, there really is no place like home. I want everyone to come visit. Because this space is cozy. It’s warm. It’s welcoming.

I love feeding people in my home. I love watching them sink into mismatched furniture. I love when they feel comfortable enough, after five minutes, to grab their own drink or snack.

I’m grateful that therapy, meditation, and a little woo have helped me sit through the parts of me that would’ve had me bolt.

Does Comparison Still Show Up?

Yep.

It’s still a part that gets activated and occasionally drives the emotional bus.

But I have tools. I have a stockpile of beautiful memories. And they remind me that the life I’ve made—while imperfect—isn’t half bad.

Even if it doesn’t measure up to the neighbors…Or the world travelers I hang with…Or the folks with second homes, boats, and early retirements...

It is what it is.

And honestly?

It’s not half bad.

🌿 Reflection

There will always be someone with more—more space, more money, more matching throw pillows. But there’s also something sacred about making peace with the life you’ve built, even if it doesn’t look like the dream you once imagined.

Sometimes the deepest comfort comes not from acquiring more, but from noticing what you’ve already created.

Our spaces—homes, relationships, even our bodies—hold the history of who we’ve been and the possibility of who we’re still becoming.

What if enoughness isn’t about settling… but about softening into what already holds you?

📝 Journal Prompt

Think of a space in your life—physical, emotional, or relational—that you’ve struggled to fully accept.

• What story have you told yourself about what it should be?

• What would it look like to make peace with it exactly as it is?

• What beauty or meaning have you overlooked because you were busy comparing?

Let yourself write without judgment.See what parts of you show up—and which ones might be ready to soften.