on jealousy

I kept going back and forth in my head about if I should put this out or not. Last week, I woke up one day and just was like—I want to write about jealousy. This came from talking to one of my friends about jealousy and some instances where jealousy was severely impacting friendships. So, I woke up and just wrote this essay, and felt good about it and then started to second guess it and get in my head about it.

I think in part it was because jealousy is incredibly complicated and I’m not an expert in feelings. But, as a bish who practices polyamory, jealousy is something I’ve had to confront a lot. I’m still learning to really listen to my feelings, to make space for them, to let them know that they can express to me what they want to. And to also know that those feelings aren’t fact, but they do deserve to be held, to be honored, and listened to.

In her book The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron talks about jealousy as a map. How we can use the emotion to show us where we want to be, what we want in our lives. When I’ve been able to really name jealousy openly it’s been an exercise in stripping down my ego. It’s pointed to the fact that I’m not all I want to be. It’s also, always, shown me something I want, or a hurt I am holding.

We’re human. We compare ourselves to others even when we know that comparison isn’t useful. We have needs that aren’t always met which make us feel inadequate. There are certain kinds of jealousies that have felt so big to me and that I have to be patient with myself around. Most of these are deeply systemic, racial, gender-based, sexuality-based, or otherwise othering, or based in really deep trauma. For example—the jealousy I felt towards white kids as having their people’s history so openly taught and considered the norm in public high school. Or, as an orphan, the jealousy I felt when I was younger at people who had parents. Or after 9/11, the jealousy I felt at other kids who didn’t have to prove that they weren’t a terrorist to make friends. The list can go on and on. But the point being jealousy is vast, complicated, and can point to so many things. 

And sometimes, jealousy can point to a more immediate solvable need. For example—I’m jealous that my loved one isn’t spending as much time with me as I need, and yet they always seem to be spending time with others. Can I ask them to spend more time with me? Can I ask for more care?

(a photo of Dark Noise taken by Jassieuo)

I’m part of a poetry collective called Dark Noise that I FUCKING ADORE, and who I consider to very much be a family of mine. Dark Noise is a poetry collective, but it is, at its heart, a project in loving. My beloveds are Danez Smith, Aaron Samuels, Franny Choi, Jamila Woods and Nate Marshall. These motherfuckers have really been instrumental in teaching me how to love. And how to love well. And continue to be an active exercise in the verb of loving. In our groupchat the other day, Danez said “our love is hard earned.” And it is. And I feel so grateful for it, and how beautiful robust it is and continues to be.

Love is so fucking humbling.

One night at a Dark Noise retreat pre-pandemic and what feels like a lifetime ago (in 2016), the topic of jealousy came up. Not in a charged, attacking way. But just naturally. It honestly felt very neutral. One of us—I can’t remember who now—suggested that we just talk openly about it. That we go around and name the moments that we’d been feeling jealous of each other, that we stack up all the jealousies we had, big and small. And so we did. I’m jealous that you won this grant that I’ve been applying to for years. I’m jealous that you can write a poem in ten minutes and it’s so good and it takes me weeks to write a draft of a poem. I’m jealous that when you talk everyone listens and I can’t get anyone to listen to me. 

Some of these jealousies pointed to underlying experiences in our lives that we had internalized and were hard—ie, I don’t feel heard enough. I don’t feel my work is good enough. I feel I work and work and nothing comes from it. Yes, these feelings are true. And they need to be validated. But they aren’t the totality of our experiences.  And once named and acknowledge, we can begin to see that, to hold space for when they are true and the accompanying pain of that, and also honor when they are not the only story. 

Under the superficial envies were really beautiful admirations of each other—when you walk into a room, you’re captivating. You love so endlessly you make everyone want to believe in love. You always seem to know what the next step is, even when everything feels so uncertain. Your morals compass your life. Your stillness and gentleness make others feel safe. You teach me what integrity means. Even in your success, you make space for others. You never take yourself too seriously. You never seem caught up in bullshit. You’re so diligent and attentive with your work, and careful. You hone and hone until everything is intentional. You give your work so freely and vulnerably, even your rough drafts with your cute ass typos.

Seeing the reflection of how I was in the eyes of my loved ones, and being able to give that reflection to them—what I saw when I saw them—was a huge gift. A huge humbling. It taught me so much of myself. Many of us don’t walk around being told how we impact each other, how our lives help shape each other’s. We don’t see our own worth, our own light.

Jealousy is incredibly normal. Everyone has felt it at some point. It’s not even inherently bad or all-consuming like how people make it sound. But because how it’s not an ‘accepted’ emotion, we push it away when it comes up. Sometimes jealousy comes from scarcity—the belief that if someone else has something, we can’t have it as well. Scarcity of love, scarcity of resources, scarcity of opportunity.  This is very much fueled by the capitalist and scarcity mindset that white supremacist patriarchy has created, that is the default norm our society operates in. Sometimes it comes from hurt—oh this person hurt me, and now I see them doing this thing, and I’m reminded of the hurt. But jealousy when expressed openly, can also be a pathway for admiration and inspiration. It can bring us closer rather than farther apart. We can cut through petty bullshit and remember what’s really there. And in this collective naming together, we can transmute these jealousies, these small shames, into inspiration, into support of each other, and ultimately into a greater and more connected love.

One day I was on a walk with my friend. We stopped by a bunch of rocks and looked out towards the water and clouds and talked about jealousy. We named some jealousies that we had been feeling in that moment. Mine were around resources—around feeling like I didn’t have enough material resources to create the kind of art that I wanted to create, especially in film. Hers were around connection—when she was pinged by jealousy and would follow its trail, she found that it was often around admiring connection or intimacy.

To me, jealousy often feels like frustrated love. Frustrated desire.

Unnamed and unprocessed jealousy can calcify into a huge wound. A lifetime of feeling unworthy. Named and processed jealousy can transmute to inspiration. To us claiming what we want, and moving to try and include more of that in our life.

I don’t have the resources yet to make the films I want to make, the art I want to create. That particular desire is not healed. It might never be. But I feel it less, and more of an acceptance that I am on my own path, which is not comparable to others. And when I do feel that ping of jealousy come up I know what it’s pointing to. It’s asking me to not give up on myself, to keep trying to find the avenues to be able to do that, in the ways that feel right and best to me. It’s a reminder to keep trying, to keep showing up, to be there, to try. To move with it, instead of against it. To ask it to keep showing me want I want, and to listen to it. And to deeply trust that what is mine is meant for me, and will never pass me by. Sometimes I do forget this. Sometimes I need to grieve this fully and wallow. And sometimes I just need to be reminded.

In order to name jealousy and any other hard emotion, to be able to be that vulnerable, we have to cultivate a safe and sturdy love. With ourselves and with each other. That is such a countering to what our society deems of as possible, because it so often value isolation, shame and scarcity that keep us complacent in comparison-based capitalist systems. And again, the antidote to so much of the disconnection that comes from this is, in fact, love. How do we know that the love is safe enough to do that? We don’t until we try. We take a risk. And what’s possible on the other side of that risk is connection. Is the healing of the narratives we’ve told ourselves about ourselves. And is the realization that we all really deeply need each other, always.

Vulnerability is so difficult. There’s been many times in my life where I’ve tried to be vulnerable with a friend or lover and been met with defensiveness, resistance, and ego. I know there have been moments in my life when people have tried to meet me with vulnerability in a moment and have been met with my own defensiveness, resistance and ego. It’s incredibly hurtful. There is such a deep pain in being vulnerable with someone and being met with ego. It’s shattering. But we’ve all been on both the receiving and the giving ends of that. It doesn’t make us bad people. It makes us incredibly human. It just means the set-up of our containers aren’t safe enough for that (possibly yet, possibly ever) or that we can’t have the capacity or don’t have enough resources to engage. Or we aren’t in a place where we can be vulnerable. Or we’re holding onto an ego that protects us. Or we’re unwilling to admit something about ourselves. Or our boundaries are flaring up, telling us something.

But if we respond that way, it also means people might leave our lives. That we might dead a connection that could have been beautiful. And that is something we have to live with.

Vulnerability is a practice. It requires safety. It’s earned. And it’s on us to actively practice it, to build safety slowly with each other, to move past scarcity and instead towards the kinds of relationships we dream of.

We can look at these moments of disconnect as a call to deepen in vulnerability, to deepen towards connection with each other. To try and see what comes from the trying. Or, we can look at these moments as time to disengage, time to protect ourselves, time to try out new connections.  Given the right context, both are very appropriate responses. And it ultimately comes down to our choice, and a co-created willingness. Can we meet each other in this space? And when we do, what greater possibilities are birthed?

xo

Fati