The Theater of Life: Embracing Differences and Celebrating Unity

The Stage That Isn't Yours

I spent years watching other people's stages.

When I first came to the West, I wanted nothing to do with my Siberian roots, the shamanic traditions my grandmother had passed down, the old ways that felt so foreign in my new life. I looked at successful Western professionals and thought: That's the stage I need to be on. That's the performance that counts.

So I performed. I built the career, achieved the milestones, checked the boxes. And somewhere along the way, I lost myself entirely.

It took a profound unraveling before I understood: I had been rehearsing for someone else's play. The role I was auditioning for had never been written for me.

The Comparison Wound

In my hypnotherapy practice, I see this pattern constantly. A woman who has raised three kind, grounded children feels like a failure because she never built a business. A man who has built a successful company feels empty because he doesn't have the close family his brother has. A healer with profound gifts doubts herself because her practice doesn't look like the one she sees on Instagram.

We are all watching each other's highlight reels and wondering why our behind-the-scenes footage doesn't match.

Here's what I've come to understand, both through my grandmother's wisdom and through years of clinical work: comparison is a form of self-abandonment. Every moment spent measuring your life against someone else's is a moment you've stepped off your own stage.

And when you abandon your stage, who tends the performance that only you can give?

Your Script Was Written for You

My grandmother never compared her life to anyone else's. She was a healer in her village — not famous, not wealthy by any external measure, but absolutely rooted in who she was and what she was here to do. People came to her from miles around, not because she had the most impressive credentials, but because she was fully herself.

She used to tell me that each person comes into this world with their own song to sing. "You can admire another's melody," she'd say, "but if you spend your life trying to sing their song, yours goes unsung. And the world needs your song."

This isn't just poetic wisdom — it's psychological truth. When we live in chronic comparison, we activate a stress response that keeps us perpetually inadequate, always reaching for a moving target. The nervous system never settles, because there's always someone doing it better, having more, being further along.

But when we return to our own path, our own values, our own definition of a life well-lived, something profound shifts. The nervous system can finally rest. We can finally be here, where we actually are.

The Stages We're Meant to Share

This doesn't mean we isolate ourselves from others. Connection is essential. But there's a difference between connection and comparison.

Connection says: Your journey is beautiful. So is mine. Let's walk together for a while.

Comparison says: Your journey makes mine look small. I need to change everything about how I'm walking.

The most healing relationships I've witnessed — in my own life and in my practice — are the ones where two people can genuinely celebrate each other without diminishing themselves. Where differences become interesting rather than threatening. Where someone else's success doesn't trigger your shame.

This is the real work: to look at another person's life with appreciation, not envy. To witness their gifts without forgetting your own.

Coming Home to Your Own Stage

If you've spent years comparing yourself to others, the path back to yourself begins with a simple but radical act: turning your attention inward.

What do you actually value? Not what you've been told to value. Not what looks impressive. What genuinely matters to your own heart?

What kind of life would feel meaningful to you, if no one else were watching and no one else's opinion counted?

These questions can be confronting. Many of my clients discover they've been living according to scripts they never consciously chose — inherited expectations, cultural pressures, old survival strategies that no longer serve them.

The beautiful thing about this work is that it's never too late to rewrite. Your stage is still there, waiting. Your song is still in you, waiting to be sung.

The Freedom of Being Yourself

My grandmother lived her whole life in a small village, and she was one of the most free people I've ever known. Meanwhile, I've worked with clients who have everything society says should make them happy — and they feel trapped.

The difference isn't circumstance. It's authenticity.

When you stop performing for an audience that exists only in your mind, when you stop measuring your behind-the-scenes against everyone else's highlight reel, when you finally give yourself permission to live your life — something unlocks.

You become available for joy. You become capable of genuine connection. You become free to offer your real gifts to the world, instead of a carefully curated imitation of someone else's.

This is the invitation. Not to ignore others, but to stop abandoning yourself for them. Not to isolate, but to connect from a place of wholeness rather than lack.

Your stage is waiting. Your song needs singing. And I promise you — the world needs exactly what you came here to give.