On Comparison, Art, and Healing in Community

In my early twenties, navigating mental health issues while struggling to finish my undergrad, I found myself in a counselling session one day when my therapist suggested I try art therapy. I hadn’t really thought of the idea before, and honestly, I didn’t know much about it. I loved making art though, so she didn’t have to try too hard to convince me. I decided to drop into the clinics next session.

I glanced around the room at my new peers, a diverse and interesting group. I couldn’t help but wonder what had brought them here—and what made them return each week.

Then, the art therapist arrived. She was petite, with snow-white hair, and her energy filled the otherwise dull room. As she wheeled in a cart overflowing with supplies, brightly colored papers cascaded onto the table.

She introduced our directive for the day: Emotion Wheels. Basically, pie charts that illustrate how much space each of our emotions occupies in our minds. I traced a circle and began blocking off sections for joy, calm, anger, sadness, jealousy, and more. Seemed simple, whatever.

Then, an idea sparked.

What if I used flowers instead of basic sections? Flowers held positive associations for me—maybe I could attach that same positivity to even the most difficult emotions. I started drawing: daffodils for joy, sunflowers for sadness, tulips for jealousy. Soon, my wheel was filled with vibrant, intricate flowers.

I became completely absorbed, shading and texturing each petal with care. When I finally looked up, I noticed the others’ work for the first time.

And that’s when I caught myself.

I was comparing. I wanted mine to be the best. I had spent years in art school learning to outdo others, and that competitive instinct and desire to be "the best" kicked in.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Each piece was so unique that comparison became impossible. One person used bold, simple colours. Another created a collage. One man didn't even make visual art—he wrote a poem!

I felt surprised. Humbled. Maybe even a little embarrassed. But mostly, I felt inspired.

As the session wrapped up, we shared our experiences. When it was my turn, I hesitated, but then I spoke honestly.

“I realized I was trying to make my work the most beautiful, the best in the room. I kept looking around, making sure mine was better.”

The woman next to me smiled and said something I will never forget- words that ultimately led me to pursue a career in art therapy:

“We only look at other people’s work to admire, not to compare.”