Comparison is complicated. Sometimes it inspires us to do great things, sometimes it inhibits us from doing anything at all. It's not always easy to differentiate between its healthy and disabling forms. So this week, I'll be breaking them all down. Here are four ways comparison can pop up in our day-to-day:

They are greater than I, and therefore I am less than.

They are greater than I, and it inspires me.*

They are worse than I, and therefore I am less than.

They are worse than I, and it gives me perspective.*

At this point we have a 50% chance of using comparison in a healthy way vs a damaging way. Not the greatest odds, but it's a toss-up, right? Sadly, no. Thanks to a little something called negativity bias, we're more likely (about 60-70% more likely) to lean toward negative thoughts. When you look at it this way, the odds of comparison working in our favor are stacked against us. Most of us will skew toward the following:

They are greater than I, and therefore I am less than.

They are worse than I, and therefore I am less than.

In the words of Liz Lemon: "Comparison," as Teddy Roosevelt so aptly put it, "is the thief of joy." Today, let's focus on the trickiest version of comparison I've had to face. Have you ever thought to yourself, "there are people who have it worse, so I shouldn't complain"? Me too. And even though it's extremely well-meaning, this line of thinking is, I believe, the deadliest of all comparison methods.

"They are worse than I, and therefore I am less than."

I was brought up to believe that I was lucky—and I was. But whenever I hit a roadblock or experienced hurt, I came to believe that my hurt was only valid if it was comparatively larger than someone else's. Think about that for a second. I mean REALLY THINK ABOUT THAT. There is no end to the level of pain and suffering in the world, is there? There will ALWAYS be someone who is worse-off than you, whose pain is louder, whose wounds are harder to heal. If I broke both my legs and was stranded on a desert island, I'd be thinking about the person who lost ALL his limbs on an even smaller, more desolate island. See where I'm going with this? While there's validity in the perspective you gain when using the "there's someone worse off than I am" technique, it becomes dangerous when you refuse to acknowledge that you are hurting at all.

So how do you break this pattern?

Here's what works for me: Think of your emotional pain as though it were physical. I love this for two reasons:

It's been proven that emotional pain does CAUSE physical pain.
People don't ignore their physical wounds—it's 100% socially acceptable to tend to them. We are not used to healing emotional wounds—so this analogy 'normalizes' the necessity to care for our emotions.

Let's get our hands dirty for a second. (my favorite part!) Read the title of this post again: "Death by a Thousand Tiny Cuts is Still Death" — and imagine there are two people in a room, both about to die. (soon you'll come to appreciate my proclivity for morbid examples). One guy is suffering from a gunshot to the midsection. It happened moments earlier. He's bleeding out. No one can deny how painful this is for him. People rushed to his rescue immediately in an attempt to help him. Unfortunately, it was too late. The other guy is suffering from a thousand tiny cuts. They happened over time, and they didn't hurt much when he got them—tiny little stings. Nobody noticed that he was in any pain at all. But now he's collected so many cuts that he's bleeding out. He can't be helped. Which guy has it worse? DOES IT MATTER!? They are both about to suffer the same fate. Here's the thing: we all collect tiny paper-cut sized emotional wounds throughout our lives. It happens when you hear something hurtful, when you feel rejected (from a job, partner, opportunity), and even when you beat yourself up. (There's a reason we use the phrase 'beat yourself' in that expression—it's wounding.) Just because your cut is small, that doesn't mean it doesn't warrant attention and care.

If you don't tend to a paper-cut, the risk of infection still exists.

I'm not advocating that you wallow in the little things—you don't cry for days over a tiny cut, do you? But you ARE allowed to cry out in pain when it happens! Seriously, that shit hurts sometimes! And then you put some Neosporin on it and call it a day. So next time you find yourself feeling down and you start going to that place of, "but somebody has it worse, so I shouldn't complain"—stop yourself. Think about the emotional wound you've just received and visualize it as physical wound. How big does it feel TO YOU? Is it a broken arm, a gash, a bruise? Where does it fall on YOUR scale of discomfort? It's okay if it's small. It still needs your attention, your compassion, your care.

How do you tend to an emotional cut?

I'll dive into this later this week, but the first step is to acknowledge it. Address it quickly—the longer you let it sit, the more effort it takes to care for. Notice how you react to your pain. Look at yourself as a third-party observer. Just pay attention to it. Throw yourself some self-compassion. Try talking to yourself as you would to your best friend—if he/she was hurting in this way, how would you try to make them feel better? I find this is a great place to start. We'll dive deeper into this later in the week, so stay tuned.