Somebody's "It could be worse..."

Last night, before I went to bed, I got sucked into a Youtube link through facebook that was entitled, “The 46-year Pregnancy.” The video told two stories—one of a Moroccan woman who failed to deliver a full-term baby she had conceived 46 years prior due to the pregnancy being ectopic and the baby developing in her abdominal cavity—and one of an English woman who carried a set of triplets, one of whom was ectopic and was developing behind and within the loops and twists of her intestines. Both women survived life-threatening surgeries to address their medical conditions, and in the case of the English woman, so did all three triplets. I was fascinated. At the end of the video, the father of the triplets offered a take-home message to others about getting through stress and hardship. Part of his last piece of advice was, “For whatever reason in life you’ve been given this challenge. You just have to rise to it and do it. ‘Cause there’s always somebody worse off than yourself somewhere in the world, so there’s no good being down on yourself or negative with each other. You have to be positive, be strong, and just face it head on.”

It was a lovely quote to end the documentary.

But something didn’t resonate quite right with me. As I tried to put my finger on it, I realized it had to do with the “it could be worse” part of his message. After stewing a little longer, it began to occur to me that his message in and of itself wasn’t the problem; my sense of unease had more to do with how “it could be worse” has played out in my life, has tied to my motives, has altered my perceptions.

I never used to think much of the “it could be worse” thing—let alone think anything negative of it. I suppose I always figured it was, in most cases, a relatively healthy viewpoint, one that allowed me to realign my perspective and feel grateful for what I have instead of allowing myself to become swallowed and suffocated by self-pity.

And I’m still not saying there is no merit in considering the lives and struggles of others beyond my immediate bubble. Considering others’ situations, feeling grateful for my own blessings, being called to prayer and/or action all have value. But there are problems with “it could be worse” that I have seen play out in my life.

*As I hash out some of this here, I want to be perfectly clear that it is not my intention to cast a broad net of judgment. Although I know that the “it could be worse” mantra is a common one, I also know that I can’t pretend to know other people’s perspectives. (End disclaimer.)*

Perhaps most selfishly, I have come to the conclusion that I don’t want to be somebody else’s “it could be worse.” I mean, think about it. Does anyone want that title? There’s not much warmth or fuzziness that comes from knowing someone else may be seeking an emotional leg up, however innocent in theory, by viewing your life and thinking “at least my life doesn’t suck that bad.” (I squirm to think of times in my past when this has crossed my own mind about someone else.)

Some may argue that the “it could be worse” title would be easy for me to claim when my life as of late is superficially compared with lives of other people with healthier, more traditionally progressing pregnancies. I say “superficially” for a reason. Lives as a general rule aren’t easily comparable, even though I have tried to make them that way in the past. Sometimes what may appear to be insignificant bumps in the road hurt deeply. Playing the “it could be worse” card tends to rank life experiences under the guise of “aligning perspective” while simultaneously poo-pooing the fact that Jesus cares about little things, too. There are real heartaches in my pregnancy now, yes, but there are also real heartaches in “normal” pregnancies and in “normal” family lives. Hurting over something “small” doesn’t always equate to “wallowing in self-pity.” I think the trouble comes in thinking in absolutes.

My journey is my journey, and I need to settle into where it is taking me and how Jesus is carrying me along the way. Neither seeking comfort in analyzing someone else’s more medically complex pregnancy nor seeking entitlement for my feelings of stress by envying someone else’s typically progressing pregnancy does me any good spiritually or emotionally. Both of these things are easy to do, though. I think I’ve done some of both up until now, and I'm not naive enough to think that I won't ever find myself doing them again.

Then, there’s always the issue that arises if it were worse. What then? If my comfort is drawn from constantly imagining how much worse things could be, it seems as though my outlook would dim in a hurry or --at the very least--would convince me to draw from a false sense of strength. People do break. I break. And what I find is that Jesus—not my own willpower—is the one who scoops me up. He is the one who brings back light and hope. He is the one who redirects my focus to my blessings. I think of the verse that talks about how He is made perfect in our weakness. I am starting to get it now. And I am so, so grateful.

As I mentioned before, I don’t think that “it could be worse” is in and of itself a bad thing, but I am learning that, for me, it may not be the best thing.This is a new shift in thinking for me—one I’m sure I will stew on and further revise in days to come. I am glad God keeps refining me, teaching me.

The quote by Ann Lamott at the top of my blog page comes to mind again tonight as I write this:

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”

Enough philosophy for one night. Love to all.