I don’t know who needs to hear this, but not everyone in the family is meant to be a track star, singer or scholar —and that’s okay.
From young, many of us in Anguilla were raised under the watchful eye of comparison. Aunties, teachers, neighbours, even well-meaning family friends—everybody always had something to say. And it was rarely about who you were. It was who you were in relation to someone else.
I remember being asked constantly, “Your sister does run, do you run too?” I’d say no, and you could almost see the disappointment forming before the person’s lips turned down. “But your cousin sings! You should be singing too!” As if our skills and passions were family heirlooms to be passed around like fine china.
At the time, it felt like innocent questions. But as I grew older, I realised just how deeply they stick. These off-hand comparisons carve out a mental scoreboard some people never signed up for. Every exam result, job, relationship, or missed milestone becomes another tally in the game of who reach further.
And the worst part? You start playing it, even when no one’s watching.
Comparison culture in Anguilla isn’t always mean-spirited. Sometimes, it’s rooted in pride. Other times, it’s just cultural habit. But good intentions don’t always lead to good outcomes.
When people constantly asked, “What your friend get on her CXCs ?” or “How come you didn’t pass more subjects than her?”, I didn’t just feel pressure—I felt like I was falling short. Even if I was doing well by any normal standard, it didn’t matter if I wasn’t doing better than someone else.
That kind of mindset stays with you. I still catch myself—even now—comparing my life to friends and peers. She’s married. He’s building a house. She just had her second child. And meanwhile, I’m wondering if I remembered to take the chicken out the freezer.
Comparison doesn’t just kill joy—it breeds doubt. It makes you question your timing, your purpose, even your worth.
We often hear about comparison culture in the context of social media: the endless scrolling through curated lives, filtered faces, and five-year plans executed in two. But in Anguilla, it starts long before the first post is uploaded.
It’s baked into our culture. We whisper behind people’s backs if they haven’t “settled down” by a certain age. We raise eyebrows when someone switches careers or doesn’t go back to school. We praise children only when they “win,” not when they try. And we treat hobbies like auditions for a career they never asked for.
Sure, the world online is noisy. But sometimes, the whispers at the office cut deeper.
To be fair, Anguillians do have the capacity to celebrate one another. When Zharnel Hughes breaks a record or Shara Proctor shines on the world stage, we beam with pride. Their success feels like our success. And that sense of community, of collective triumph, is a beautiful thing that makes our island nation feel even more like a collective family.
It’s not that we’re incapable of joy for others—it’s that somewhere along the way, we learned to attach our value to how we stack up. And in a small place like Anguilla, where everyone knows everyone, it’s easy to fall into the trap of constant comparison.
But imagine if we channelled that same Olympic-level pride into the people around us. Imagine if we understood that someone else’s blessing doesn’t cancel out our own.
At the heart of it, comparison culture strips us of our individuality. It tells us we’re only valuable if we fit a certain mould or exceed someone else’s path. But life isn’t a one-size-fits-all template. We have different strengths, different timelines, and—newsflash—not everyone wants the same things.
So let the runner run. Let the singer sing. And let the person who just wants a quiet life enjoy it without feeling less than.
There’s no shame in wanting more for yourself. But when that desire turns into constant comparison, you’ll always feel like you’re losing—even when you’re doing just fine.
So, to the person still figuring it out… the one who didn’t get all the subjects, who isn’t married yet, who’s changing careers at 40, or who simply enjoys something without needing to monetise it—you’re doing just fine.
The next time someone says, “Why you cyan be like ya cousin?”—just smile and say, “Because I’m busy being me.”
