As of the past month, give or take a few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a very foreign feeling emotion, one I don’t think I’ve struggled with since high school. A particular knot in the stomach, clench in the jaw, grit in the teeth. Drum roll please; the emotion I’ve been grappling with is none other than a dear old friend of mine named jealousy. She’s bitter and often angry. If you invalidate her feelings, you will most definitely feel her hostile, cowardly wrath. And if you display any sense of superiority to her in skill, you run the risk of making her feel rather inferior and inadequate. I wouldn’t cross that line if I were you.
Since I’ve dipped my toes into my twenties, I’ve experienced a bit of a cognitive shift, meaning that I’ve grown very rational in opposition to the overly impulsive nature I used to embody in my early teens. My mindset has surely emerged into a more mature one. Instead of maintaining the ridiculous idea that if someone else has something, it just further emphasizes the reality that I do not have what they have, my beliefs have transitioned. For about the past three years, I’ve viewed jealousy as a guide, an inner compass even. I’ve adapted to the notion that if someone else has something, I am capable of obtaining it as well because the opportunity itself exists in the universe. If they have it, so can I!
Over the past little while however, I have been consumed by an utter wave of shame. Shame is even worse of a feeling than jealousy or envy. In my personal experience, shame is the underlying tone of jealousy. I am jealous of others, because they have what I want. Not only that, but they have actually tried to achieve their goals in life. Where we seem to differ so vastly is not in our motivations or dreams; we contrast in terms of discipline. I’ve caught myself on numerous occasions dwelling over how disappointed I am in my own behaviour, specifically for lacking discipline.
Call this self-sabotage, if you will. As a Psychology major, I can confidently state that my desire to keep myself safe has manifested as the resistance to take action towards what I want. This stagnancy has now developed into a stingy jealousness. Whatever. I’m not here to psychoanalyze myself. You get the point.
While writing this piece, I have a collection of feisty Olivia Rodrigo songs playing on repeat. Four of them to be exact: brutal, jealousy, jealousy, all-american bitch, and obsessed. It’s ironic really, because I love Olivia Rodrigo’s music yet she is literally the perfect example of someone I experience jealousy towards. We’re only a year apart in age, but she seems to have it all. Beauty, success, financial freedom, and a boyfriend. Listening to these songs however, make it very apparent that on the inside, we may not be that different. Even the people at the ‘top’ experience jealousy. Having it ‘all’, constantly bathing in a state of bliss…it seems to be nothing short of an allusion.
So my question now, is how do I relieve myself of these feelings of incompetence? Of not feeling good enough? Not being grateful for my fortunate life because I feel the need to compare it to the lives of others? Well, I’ve been scrolling on social media a lot lately, pining over boys that I find attractive, wondering about the hot girls they’re probably dating. I sit in my room and sulk, longing for an attractive boyfriend that loves me unconditionally and makes me feel pretty. I probably wouldn’t have fallen into this stupid habit if I wasn’t so afraid of men in real life. I go on to observe the sexy bombshells on my screen with symmetrical faces, fit bodies, and freshly styled hair. I ponder how much they spent to look like that, and then I feel guilty for being anti plastic surgery, because that rules out the possibility that I’ll ever get to look that amazing. But the thing is, I am not here to be picture perfect. That isn’t the reason I exist. My purpose is being me. Loudly and proudly, unapologetically.
When I feel that my self-esteem has drooped down to an irrevocably low level, I try to jot down qualities that I enjoy about myself. I have shiny thick hair, sparkly eyes, I’m great with words, and I have a big heart. A really big one. You may have to scratch beneath the surface and peel off a few dozen protective layers, but it’s there. Underneath my tough shell, I am pure mush.
Maybe the lesson I need to take from these feelings of jealousy is to be more gentle with myself. If I’m being totally blunt, I have no fucking idea what the main takeaway of this piece is, or what it should be. All I know is that I feel a hell of a lot better after channeling my feelings onto the page. They are no longer a source of misery. They have now been formed into a lovely little personal essay. I just had to get it off my chest, you know?
Thank you for reading until the end. I hope you can relate.
Xoxo,
Cristina <3