The Ache of Comparison

We live in a world that loves to measure, compete, and compare. Everywhere I turn, there’s another reminder of what someone else’s child is doing, what another mom is managing, or what I “should” be accomplishing.

With Myles, that heartache of comparison sometimes cuts especially deep. I see younger children talking, running, telling their parents stories—the very things I still pray Myles will one day do. I long to hear him tell me what’s on his mind, the way his brothers did at his age. Instead, I get his joyful babbles, his sparkling eyes, his excitement to share. Those moments are precious, yet they carry a tender ache—I wish I could understand his words.

The Weight of Sharing

It’s not always easy to share these feelings out loud. I know so many parents carry heavier loads—bigger mountains than mine—and part of me feels I shouldn’t “complain.” My mind whispers, “You should just be grateful. As a Christian, you should thank God in all circumstances.”

And yet my heart… my heart has a mind of its own. The harder I try to bury the sadness, the louder it becomes. The truth is, gratitude and grief often walk hand in hand. I can love Myles fiercely, celebrate his victories, and still feel the longing for what’s missing. Both can be true.

The heaviness shows up in certain seasons more than others. When the school year begins, I feel the weight of comparison all over again. Evaluations and progress reports measure where Myles is compared to his peers. I know this is how he receives the help he needs—extra support, therapies, interventions—but it doesn’t make the process easier.

The same ache comes at his well-child visits, when I’m handed the milestone questionnaire. More often than not, I check “no” to over half the boxes. Tears sting my eyes—not because I don’t understand the purpose, but because each checkmark is another reminder of the gap between where we are and where I once thought we’d be.

And yet… when I step back and simply focus on our family, on the incredible strides Myles has made, the sadness softens. Rooted in his smile, his determination, and our love for him, the ache grows quieter and gratitude grows louder.

Shifting the Lens

Comparison steals joy from all of us—not just parents of children with special needs. Depression, anxiety, and self-doubt often grow when we look sideways instead of looking up. When we focus on what’s missing, we lose sight of what’s already here.

But when I shift my perspective, I see the beauty of Myles’s journey:

• His determination in therapy, working harder than anyone I know.
• His smile when he achieves a tiny victory.
• His reminder that milestones aren’t about comparison—they’re about progress, however slow.
• In those moments, gratitude takes root again.

Finding Gratitude in the Small Things

Is it hard? Yes. Some days it breaks me wide open. But gratitude softens the edges. Gratitude whispers: Look how far he’s come, not how far he has to go.

The truth is, we’re all in danger of losing sight of our blessings when we measure ourselves against others—whether it’s children, careers, relationships, or even our own bodies. But joy doesn’t live in comparison. Joy lives in the present moment. It’s found in choosing to see the good, in thanking God for what’s right in front of us.

The Gift of Perspective

God chose me to be Myles’s mom—and for that, I will forever be grateful. Myles may not tell me his stories with words yet, but he speaks volumes with his perseverance, his laughter, and the light in his eyes.

And maybe that’s the true gift of this journey: learning not to count what’s missing, but to celebrate what’s here. Because in a world obsessed with comparison, gratitude is the real victory.