Or maybe you've found yourself picking apart why someone's success "isn't that impressive" when deep down, you know you're just feeling bitter about it? I've been there. More times than I'd like to admit. And after years of digging into the psychology behind human behavior and interviewing over 200 people about their professional journeys, I've discovered something fascinating: that resentment we feel toward others' success? It's rarely about them. It's almost always about the uncomfortable truths we're avoiding about ourselves.
The day after Christmas can be a letdown. After weeks of preparation, parties, and anticipation, the festivities end, and we are left facing the demands of a new year. Unlike the British, Americans don't celebrate Boxing Day, and most of us don't have 12th Night celebrations either. Instead, we clean up wrapping paper, put away the leftovers, and wonder what the new year will bring.
From the time we're young, we absorb unspoken expectations about when things should happen: graduate by ___, build a career by ___, marry by ___, peak professionally by ___, retire by ___. None of this is written anywhere, yet these "life scripts" quietly shape how we judge our progress and, more dangerously, what we allow ourselves to want. And in a culture fascinated with youth, we begin to equate timing with value.
In the days leading up to the event, we scramble to keep up with our daily obligations while preparing food, decorating, and traveling. The day itself often flies by, leaving us exhausted and hopefully content. But the day after the holiday can be a letdown. If we enjoyed the festivities, we have to wait another year to repeat the event. When things don't go well, we grapple with disappointment or other complex feelings.
As social animals, we humans are hard-wired to learn, thrive, and grow through our relationships - our engagement with and observations of others. Early in life, we rely on teachers and role models for guidance and support. Through engagement in formal and informal settings, in school, games, and other pursuits in our young lives, comparison begins to seep into our daily lives.
My husband is a great dad to our toddler. He's loving, patient, responsive, and fun. As our kid grows, he's more and more willing to be silly with her, too. Sometimes things are tough, of course-he had no experience with kids before we had our baby, while I'm a preschool teacher and have nannied and babysat my whole life. I'm also still breastfeeding our daughter, which gives me a distinct advantage when it comes to calming her down. I'm definitely the primary parent.
