Everyone has a story about jealousy. Sometimes we envy something, and sometimes others envy something of ours. Sometimes, when we tell a friend we love—who works at the same place—about a promotion we’ve received, their face falls, and they start looking for a new job.
But whenever we sense a situation of jealousy—whether stemming from us or someone else—we find ourselves gripped by a strange unease. The other day, I thought for a moment, “Why is this feeling so unsettling?” Let’s say someone has landed a better position than us. Let’s assume they have less experience than us, and let’s also assume we know we’re better than them in certain areas. Why can’t that small but persistent voice inside us stop saying, “Why isn’t it me?”
People don’t want to share these feelings with anyone. They don’t even want to admit them to themselves. Because jealousy is such an emotion that the moment you voice it, it makes you feel small, petty, and inadequate.
This train of thought showed me that denying this emotion doesn’t make it go away. It just makes it invisible.
It’s relatively easy to share anger. So is sadness. We can even admit to fear most of the time. But jealousy seems different from all of them. Expressing it feels like declaring a shortcoming.
That’s why we often transform it into something else. We criticize the person we envy. “Actually, they’re not that successful.” “They just got lucky.” Or we pretend to be indifferent. “It’s none of my business anyway.” Yet the same thing always lies beneath it all.
Spinoza defines jealousy in an interesting way in his *Ethics*: a kind of sorrow felt at another’s good fortune. (1*) If you notice, this definition isn’t about us—it’s about comparison. Envy is suffering not because of something that didn’t happen to us, but because of something that happened to someone else.
It’s also important to note that envy isn’t always the same thing. In fact, it has two distinct forms.
One is the kind that motivates us. We see someone’s success, feel a twinge inside, but this twinge directs us toward our own efforts. We say, “If they can do it, so can I.”
The other is the destructive kind. We want to dismiss, belittle, or even take away the other person’s success. In this type, the goal isn’t to elevate ourselves, but to bring the other person down.
Contemporary philosopher Sara Protasi clearly distinguishes between these two in her book *The Philosophy of Envy*. (2*) According to her, the difference lies in how we perceive the object of our envy: as a well-deserved success, or as an undeserved advantage?
Let’s say we envy something and have even admitted it to ourselves—can’t we transform this into a driving force that propels us to a better place, rather than letting it make us feel bad?
In her book *Envy and Gratitude*, psychoanalyst Melanie Klein makes an interesting claim: envy is an emotion that stems from the earliest stages of our lives—infancy. (3*) According to Klein, it’s impossible to completely eradicate an emotion that’s so deeply rooted and emerges so early. But recognizing it is far healthier than repressing it.
Reading this made me think: perhaps the reason we find jealousy so shameful is that we forget how ancient and how human it is. Everyone feels jealousy. It’s just that most of us don’t admit it.
Here’s what’s really interesting: jealousy actually works like a map.
Looking at who we’re jealous of is like seeing the things we want but haven’t yet admitted to ourselves. We don’t feel jealousy at random. We feel jealous when we see someone else ahead of us in something that’s valuable to us.
I don’t envy anyone—for example, someone who’s a great swimmer—because swimming isn’t that important to me. But there have been times when I’ve felt jealous (or let’s say, envious) regarding professional recognition, because that’s a valuable area for me.
So jealousy is a strange compass that shows us what we value. When we ignore it, we lose that compass as well.
There’s another side to the coin. Some people see jealousy not in themselves, but always in others.
When criticism comes our way, when a negative comment is made—or even a valid warning—the first reflex is: “They’re just jealous of me.” We’ve all heard this phrase, and perhaps we’ve even said it ourselves at times.
Here’s the interesting part: those who use this phrase the most aren’t usually the ones who feel the most secure. On the contrary, it’s those with a fragile sense of self who use it as a defense mechanism.
In psychology, this is called “self-serving bias.” A 1975 study by Miller and Ross demonstrates people’s tendency to attribute negative outcomes to external causes. (4*) Attributing failure to luck, criticism to jealousy, and negative feedback to the other person’s ill will shields us from truly confronting that criticism.
But this comes at a cost. If we assume every criticism stems from jealousy, we miss out on genuine feedback. We deprive ourselves of the friction necessary for growth.
So there’s an interesting symmetry here: being unable to admit that you’re jealous is a defense mechanism. Thinking that everyone is jealous of you is also a defense mechanism. Both stem from the same place—an inability to honestly confront jealousy.
Once again, I’d like to share these exercises I’ve prepared for myself with you:
Think of someone you’re jealous of. Without denying this feeling, simply name it: “I’m feeling jealous right now.”
Ask yourself, “What does that person have that I don’t?” Pay close attention to where the answer takes you.
Recall a moment when you turned jealousy into criticism. What was really underlying that criticism?
If your first reflex when receiving criticism is “this is just jealousy,” pause for a moment. Is that really the case, or is this just an escape?
Formulate a sincere statement of admiration—even if only in your heart—for the person you envy.
Take a small, concrete step toward what your jealousy is pointing to.
My own self-awareness has led me to this realization: jealousy doesn’t actually make us small—if we’re aware of it and can use it as a tool that doesn’t hurt others and transforms us into a better version of ourselves. What makes us small is hiding that emotion from ourselves and, without realizing it, falling into its orbit and allowing it to drag both ourselves and others down. I believe that the moment we accept it, that same energy can begin to guide us as well.
I’d like to ask you: Who was the last person you envied? And what might that envy be telling you?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay in love.
(1*) Baruch Spinoza, Ethics (1677)
(2*) Sara Protasi, The Philosophy of Envy (2021)
(3*) Melanie Klein, Envy and Gratitude (1957)
(4*) Dale T. Miller & Michael Ross, "Self-Serving Biases in the Attribution of Causality" (1975)
