Ever since my Instagram algorithm first sensed my impending fatherhood and bombarded me with its baby propaganda, I had felt the compulsion to make sure that everything my child had — and would become — not only measured up, but exceeded expectations. Imaginings of a newborn baby genius that swayed in a motorized rocking chair in a nursery that featured handy organizational infrastructure were new to me, but I soon knew enough to want the best.
In an online world, comparison starts at conception — that is, the moment when “the best” is conceived by one’s social media feed. The feeling intensified after my son was born — at a healthy nine pounds, one ounce and with a full head of hair, no less.
In his earliest days, my need to compare surfaced most noticeably around his tendency to cry. A lot. Did normal babies cry this much? I had never heard the term “colic” before, but after several desperate 3 a.m. search results, my wife and I were convinced it had to be the reason for our sleepless nights. We bought “anti-colic bottles” before realizing that he didn’t have colic at all. Turns out, babies do, indeed, cry a lot.
As he approaches his first birthday, our panic about him not being a perfectly quiet baby seems laughable. But the same phenomenon continues to manifest in other ways. Like when I’m suddenly aware that he can’t talk yet (even though he’s only 10 months old as of this writing), or when we feed him certain foods, or when we take him out dressed in his PJs. Is he doing all the things he’s supposed to? Are we doing all the things we’re supposed to? These questions rely on some standard of comparison — against other kids, or other parents. It’s a phenomenon with deep biological roots, exacerbated by the digital age to a new extreme that can make it feel like parents are always doing too much, and also not enough. I know it’s a trap, but I keep falling in.
In part because, half-consciously, I’m not so sure it’s a bad thing.
A need to compare
A 2023 paper in the journal Cognitive, Affective and Behavioral Neuroscience used a meta-analysis to identify the parts of our brains that activate when we compare ourselves to others. When these areas are lit up, we experience “an adaptive and relatively efficient means for self-judgment under uncertainty” — which is a good thing. Comparison helps us make sense of situations that would otherwise leave us rudderless, offering examples to aspire toward. But this research also found that these same brain functions can be responsible for “bias and bad decision-making.”
In other words, our comparative instincts can be very useful in some ways — and potentially detrimental in others. The distinction rests in the thin line between comparison as a tool used to measure — or a weapon used to degrade.
From the moment each of us is born, comparison is everything. It’s how we learn about measuring up — literally.
From the moment each of us is born, comparison is everything. It’s how we understand how we measure up — literally. Length and weight measurements plotted on a graph against average length and weight measurements tell parents whether their kid is a normal size — or not. Then a questionnaire asks about developmental milestones. If your kid is hitting the milestones, he’s “developing normally.” If not, he isn’t, which might require intervention to get him back on track. None of this is wrong, exactly. In many ways, it’s helpful. But it can also set a troubling tone in the information age, when the means to compare are so readily available.
There’s “this inherent need to evaluate ourselves and understand where we fit in the social hierarchy and social domain,” says Alexander Jensen, a professor at BYU’s School of Family Life. He researches social comparison and has found that all comparison is rooted in similarity. When we see someone we share similarities with — whether it’s physically (being young, being old, being tall, being short), economically (a common manifestation of this is “keeping up with the Joneses”), or because of what we’re interested in or the stage of life we’re living (having kids, enjoying recreational basketball) — there’s something inside of us that demands we take note of how we differ, too.
When you break it down, pretty much all babies are similar. But since my son isn’t at the age where he can compare himself to others, it seems that I’ve taken up the mantle on that. They’re small, they don’t talk, they’re helpless, and they can’t tell you what’s wrong or how they feel. For all the things I don’t yet know about my son, I use comparison to fill in the gaps: Do I let him watch too much TV relative to my friends’ kids? Do I feed him healthy enough food? Does he seem put together enough for me to seem put together, too? Comparing my son was a helpful touchpoint for me to learn about having a kid, but it also spun out at times into a manifestation of my own insecurities as a dad.
Our comparative instincts can be very useful in some ways — and potentially detrimental in others.
Amy Webb, author of a blog called “The Thoughtful Parent,” experienced the very same urge when her first child was born. She joined local mom networks and quickly noticed her nagging need to compare. She noticed it in other parents, too. It felt natural, but she suspects modern concepts of parenting also have an influence. She cites developmental psychologist Alison Gopnik, who discovered that the verb “parenting” only emerged in the 1950s. “An act of spontaneous and loving care became, instead, a management plan,” Gopnik writes in her bestselling book, “The Gardener and the Carpenter.” In these pages, she encourages parents to be gardeners rather than carpenters. The metaphorical wisdom is to offer kids soil and sun for nurturing so they may grow on their own, rather than being shaped and sanded and screwed together. “The way our culture has come to define parenting leads to the tendency to compare our children with other children,” Webb adds. “If we see our children as products to be perfectly produced, then it’s natural to want to compare our ‘product’ with someone else’s.”
When it helps or hurts
Many parents who fall into the comparison trap tell themselves they do it because they want what’s best for their kids. This attitude was memorably celebrated in Yale professor Amy Chua’s polarizing memoir, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” which implies that it is, in fact, desirable to compare one’s children to other children — say, in how one’s own children better be at least two years ahead in math relative to their peers. Her philosophy isn’t based exclusively on comparison; more broadly, it promotes the belief that aiming high, working hard and internalizing rigorous discipline will serve children best in the long run. And if that means using comparison as a motivational tool, well, that’s fine. I’ve found, however, that to the extent I might try to shape my son in the way Chua describes — an extent, to be clear, far less than what she recommends — my desire to do so has very little to do with him.
I’ve found that to the extent I might try to shape my son, my desire to do so has very little to do with him.
Two things can be true at once: I want what’s best for my son, and I want to be perceived as a “good parent.”
In theory, these things can work in tandem. By pushing my son in particular directions and into particular structures, he can be the happiest version of himself as an adult, or so the thinking goes. But do I really have his best interests in mind if I choose that path? Am I really trying to help him when I wonder aloud why he can’t talk yet? Or if, later on, I criticize him for not speaking Spanish as well as his friends — as my own grandmother often did to me? These comparisons aren’t really about wanting something better for him; they’re about me. Do this enough, and emerging research suggests a range of potential negative outcomes — from relationship issues to worsening mental health — which are exacerbated in digital spaces.
A 2016 study led by BYU researcher Sarah Coyne found that moms who make comparisons while using social media are more likely to suffer from parental role overload and lower levels of parental competence; relationship issues with their partners; and an increased risk of maternal depression. If you’re online, there’s really no escaping. “Social comparison is almost inherently part of social media,” Webb adds. “Very rarely do you see real moments of struggle or disappointment. In this way, we tend to feel our parenting or our children are inferior to those we see on social media.”
I sometimes feel that way when I see my old college roommate, Joe, online. Although I’ve seen him house an entire order of Domino’s cheesy bread at 2 a.m. and smear his body with acrylic paint that refused to wash off — which, arguably, means I’ve seen him at his worst — roomie Joe is transcended by online Joe, who has three kids whom his wife regularly posts about on social media. They’re always doing something delightful, like playing outside or helping in the kitchen. The nice thing about Joe, though, is that because we’re close friends, he’s willing to pierce the illusion. He regales me with hard-knock tales of the fingernail that got chopped a little too far. The peeing on the floor. “I think it’s just being content and raising the child you have, not raising the child you want,” he told me. “I feel like our brains really understand this. It’s just hard in practice sometimes.”
I suspect the desire to be “the best” parent possible is the root of this practical difficulty, and it can be a hard tendency to let go of. But there are other ways to define successful parenting that don’t involve comparison. One is to worry less about being a “successful parent” in the first place and to let kids grow at their own pace, to return to the gardening metaphor. To appreciate their growth when it happens. To celebrate it. And to focus on them rather than ourselves, however difficult it may sometimes be to tell the difference.
Jensen, the BYU researcher, suggests the first step is simply paying attention. “Maybe just being aware is enough,” he says. “But I think with that awareness, people can work on avoiding it. And when you find yourself falling into or doing it, don’t ruminate on it.” Just take note, he says, and move on.
I’ve tried to practice that advice. Some days are better than others. But we’ve come a long way. My wife no longer compares daily bathroom schedules to friends with young kids, nor does she try to calibrate his sleep schedule down to the minute. I no longer beat myself up when I opt for a can of Gerber instead of freshly boiled and liquified carrots and broccoli. For the most part, it feels good to simply acknowledge that I have comparative thoughts. It leaves more brain space to appreciate my son for who he is rather than who he could be.
This story appears in the April 2025 issue of Deseret Magazine. Learn more about how to subscribe.