Just Admit You're Jealous

on the different types of jealousy and why the distinction matters

We’re raised to think of jealousy as an inherently negative emotion. The refrains of “She’s just jealous,” or “Don’t be jealous,” are used to label and scorn people as pathetic. Children’s stories paint envy as an ultimate sin. The Queen in “Snow White”is corrupted and made evil through her envy of Snow White. We hate Cinderella’s step-sisters for how they bully and belittle Cinderella out of envy for her beauty. In Macbeth, Lady Macbeth and Macbeth coveting the King’s throne leads them on a murderous descent to the depths of betrayal and depravity. In Shrek 2, we despise Prince Charming for his jealousy of Shrek and his envy-motivated attempts to steal Fiona. In both Mean Girls and the Heathers (and countless other movies) jealousy fuels spite, toxic friendships, and sometimes even murder. Jealousy is always bad, a damning character flaw. But who among us has not felt jealousy? To me, it feels less like a fatal flaw than a natural human reflex—no different than a knee jerking when a doctor strikes it with a rubber mallet.

Many years ago, I had a conversation with a friend. She had recently gotten a new boyfriend, and I felt neglected and lonely as she cancelled more and more plans with me to make more space in her life for him.

I made the extremely responsible choice to bring this concern up after we were several bottles deep into a wine night.

“I feel like you’re being jealous,” she slurred, glugging more wine into her glass.

And, guard uncharacteristically lowered by the many fluid ounces of alcohol sloshing around my stomach, I admitted something I never had before. “Of course I am,” I said.

It disarmed her completely, and she sat, stunned, not sure how to respond. I was in a long-distance relationship at the time, one that was unfulfilling, chugging down the conveyor belt towards inevitable break-up. I was jealous of her happy relationship, of how much time she was able to spend with her boyfriend. She had what I wanted, and seeing the comparative happiness of her relationship reflected the own disfunction of mine back like a mirror.

I was happy for her. She had wanted a boyfriend for so long, and her current partner was a genuinely good guy. I didn’t begrudge her a boyfriend or want her relationship to fail. I just wanted what she had too. As I explained this all to her, we both had a nice little drunk cry, and she promised she would make more time for me. And she did, inviting me along with her and her boyfriend more often and making sure our dates didn’t fall off the calendar.

She didn’t criticize or judge me for my jealousy. She understood. Because, I’m sure, like all of us, she too had experienced jealousy. It’s the most natural emotion when you see someone achieving or experiencing something you desire but don’t yet have.

But I worry, because we’ve been trained to view jealousy as inherently negative, we rarely share this emotion when we experience it. And I think it’s when natural, reflexive jealousy is stamped down inside us that it hardens and festers into something more unnatural and dangerous.

The Cambridge English dictionary defines jealous as, “unhappy and angry because someone has something that you want.” But, no offense to the Cambridge English dictionary, I feel “jealous” should be classified in two phases. Because I think it’s one thing to experience a twinge of unhappiness for yourself when someone achieves something you desire but have yet to achieve. I think it’s another thing to allow yourself to progress further down that path to anger and resentment at someone for having something you want. I think if we can admit our experience of this first phase of jealousy we might be better able to avoid a descent down the path into toxic jealousy. What if, instead of viewing jealousy as something to be stamped out, we viewed it as a normal—and healthy—indicator of our deepest desires?

Just a few weeks ago, I had a conversation with one of my closest friends. We are both writers, and we’re even partners on a project, co-editing an anthology together. Essentially, our relationship is rife for jealousy. We’re at the same life phase in our relationships. We’re both trying to make it as writers at the same time. We attend the same university.

When we queried our anthology, we both submitted our proposal to agents. She received an offer of representation from the querying process, and I, unfortunately, did not. Now our anthology is represented by her agent, and I remain unagented. Getting an agent is one of the biggest (and most difficult) milestones in a writer’s career. And when she got one, I was so genuinely happy for her. She is an incredible person, an extremely talented writer, and one of the hardest working people I have ever met who is so deserving of every professional success she achieves. But, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy when I heard the news, a wish that I could have received an offer of representation too.

This, I think, is the difference between desire and jealousy. I have wanted a literary agent for years. It’s always been a desire of mine. But I was sharply reminded of that desire, and of its as-yet-unfulfilled status, when my close friend achieved the very thing I wanted. Jealousy is the sharp, sometimes painful, reminder of our unmet desires when someone gets them before we do. It might make us briefly unhappy, and that can be hard to avoid. But I don’t think it has to make us angry, resentful, or cruel.

When my friend got her agent, we went out to our favorite restaurant—the one where we have a tradition of getting dinner at the start and end of each semester—to celebrate. I toasted her success, beaming. This was the start of what I was sure would be a very long and successful literary career. As the dinner wore on, and we broached increasingly deep topics, I admitted that I did feel a little bit jealous of her achievement, that I wanted an agent so badly and couldn’t wait for the moment when I got to celebrate the same milestone. She smiled and admitted she had felt jealous of my publication in a certain literary journal that she herself had submitted to several times without acceptance. We ended up making a bit of a game of it, going back and forth admitting the professional achievements of the other that we wished would happen for ourselves too. It was cathartic, and, I think, an essential conversation to have as two friends trying to “make it” in the same, very difficult, creative field.

As writers and lovers of words, the two of us drew a distinction between jealousy and envy that night. We decided that jealousy was a natural feeling, but envy was the toxic side of the same coin. Envy, we said, was what happened when you let jealousy run amok, when you resented someone for what they had and didn’t just want it too, but wanted it instead of them, wished they didn’t have it, or wanted to take it from them.

In writing this essay, I looked up the definition of both jealousy and envy, and I realized we weren’t exactly correct about the distinction between the two. But I think, there is something important and true in our attempt to classify these feelings as two separate things. One, we acknowledged as inevitable and human. The other, as toxic.

I think it’s worth noting that the happier I’ve become in my own life, the better able I am to feel and experience jealousy in a way that is healthy and not resentful or covetous. In high school, when I was not happy with my life, my jealousy definitely veered into toxicity. There was one girl, in particular, I remember being so jealous of. She was beautiful, kind, smart, and everybody liked her.

I remember my mom saying, “Well, Caroline you can’t just be jealous of one part of someone’s life, remember you have to take the whole package.” And at that point, I was so unhappy in my life, and hers seemed so idyllic, that I remember thinking, “Sure, no problem, I’d be happy to have the whole package of her life. Where do I sign?”

But now, I love my life, and so my mom’s advice is more useful to me. Now, if I ever feel natural, healthy jealousy twisting into something more sinister, I remind myself “Would you want their whole life?” The answer is always no, because there’s so much I love in my own life. The envy impulse, then, seems best solved by focusing less on the object of your envy and more on yourself and how you can build towards what you desire.

I don’t think one can ever truly escape jealousy. I know I can’t. But I’ve found solace in acknowledging its presence and letting it motivate and inspire external action rather than spiral into internal bitterness. Envy’s corrupting influence has only ever served to stymie my progress towards what I desire. Whereas healthy jealousy illuminates a way forward, showing me what I should work towards, reminding me that success is possible because others have achieved it—and I’m genuinely happy for them, because there is enough space for all of us to have the life we want.

My fiancé likes to say, “There’s many paths to the top of the mountain,” and, to me, there’s no point in resenting someone who reaches the metaphorical peak before you. Rather, let their footsteps guide you. Let their whoops of joy as they surmount the mountain drive you onward towards the goal you share. And when, eventually, you reach the peak too, how much more beautiful will it be because you are not there alone.

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If you enjoyed this piece and want to read more, read my latest essay on Substack: