Journal Mental Health/Wellness

I Ate a Bowl Of Jealousy For Breakfast

I Ate a Bowl Of Jealousy For Breakfast
Written by Jodie Utter

I did it AGAIN. I gave in and had a double helping of jealousy with some envy sprinkled over-generously on top for bad measure. Within minutes, I felt sick. And I know better. I know exactly how rotten my insides will feel just moments after I reach for jealousy to gulp it down. And I always gulp it down, because there is no savoring jealousy. I inhale it urgently, giving myself no chance to change my mind. After I’ve had my fill of jealousy and envy, my energy and concentration wane in the wake of the nausea they induce. Any joy I had is completely masked by the extreme discomfort that ensues and it takes me most of the day to get right again.

Today, I focused for too long on some writers I admire and the success they’re having. Success that I measure via the lives they’re touching and the inspiration they’re providing. I focused on how well they’re doing for so long that it warped my vision of my own life. My own skills and gifts went all wavy and miragey in the distance and all but disappeared when only seconds prior, they been right in front of me, tangible and real. And I came away feeling lacking and like giving up a little. And by a little, I mean a lot.

I know exactly why I sometimes still choose jealousy over the satisfaction sitting right next to it. Over contentment or confidence as well, both of which are also available. Because of fear. Bad ol’ untrustworthy fear. Powerful and dominating fear.

Mostly, I am an appreciator. I appreciate talent and wisdom, giftedness and goodness. I soak them up like a desert-dwelling sponge. When I encounter any of the above I’m better for it. These things, all of God, enhance my existence on this planet, in my home, in my workplace, in my relationships, in my body, in my brain. Unless they don’t. Unless I let fear worm its way into the mix and then all of a sudden, I’m shriveling in the shadow of the amazing things other people are doing instead of feeling appreciative of them. And when I’m fearful I feel small and inadequate and needy. In that state, I become rash and reach for things like jealousy and resentment even though I know they are poison.

A fear trigger for me is when I notice people nailing the very same actions my heartsong aligns with. When I read a delicious story or an honest to the bones and inspirational piece of writing, I can get a little scared. When I see a mom rockin’ her relationship with her child, I can become kind of anxious. When I notice a special friendship or a rock-solid marriage, I can begin to worry. These fears are all fueled by the same thing, the premise of scarcity. The thought that success and achievement and joy are all in limited supply, a supply not nearly abundant enough for all.

Scarcity convinces me that she sparkles as a mom and so I pale in comparison. Those two are great friends so they won’t like me as much. Their marriage is steel-wall strong so mine is third world scaffolding. Scarcity pushes us into a corner and demands we stay there until it says we can move. It commands us not to participate, accomplish, or think well of ourselves. And if we listen to what scarcity says, we’ll sit in that corner forever because it’s NEVER going to say we can move. 

Scarcity is a sociopath and a dictator that rides roughshod over the range of our souls so that it won’t lose its grip on us. It needs us to believe in its doctrine so that it can sap us of every bit of hard-won confidence and self-esteem we’ve ever fought for. It will tower over us and bellow, like an oft-passed over for promotion drill sergeant, that others are already out there doing the work of our heartsongs and doing it so very well. Scarcity will make sure to rub our noses in how people we admire are making meaningful impacts and creating gloriously important masterpieces and lasting legacies. Scarcity will bully and shriek, “You measly little things? Puh-lease. Don’t even bother. Quit!”

Succumbing to the fears that encourage a belief in scarcity is what sends me on a bender towards a bellyful of jealousy and envy. There’s an antidote though, an alkaline solution to the dangerous acidity of jealousy. It’s the belief that just because someone else’s light is shining brightly does not mean our own lights must dim. The ability to shine belongs to everyone. And light is in infinite supply. 

Talent and wisdom, giftedness and goodness don’t behave like see-saws. They don’t hoist her up and so then thrust us down. They behave like the flame of a candle. When we admire someone for their craft, their skill, their gift or their successes therein, the inspiration and hope they provide can work to light our own flames, without diminishing any of their own wattage. And in turn, our flames can do the same for others.

Miraculously, when we effort alongside one another and in appreciation of each other to make the world a better place by using our gifts the way God intended each of us to, when we’re able to stay focused on His purpose for our lives, more and more flames are lit and the world becomes brighter, livelier, more delightful. Believing we are all potential flames that can share in and wield the same infinite supply of light is the countermeasure to fear, scarcity, resentment, and jealousy. That’s what I’m going to reach for and fill up on from now on. It just tastes so much better.

 

 

About the author

Jodie Utter

Jodie Utter is a freelance writer & creator of the blog, Utter Imperfection. Her work has been featured regularly here on Her View From Home and also on Perfection Pending, That’s Inappropriate, Scary Mommy, Blunt Moms, Sammiches & Psych Meds, Grown & Flown and more.

She calls the Pacific Northwest home and ambles about its captivating forests and breath-taking (quite literally, because brrrrrrr) bodies of water with her husband and two kids.

Jodie is a Jill-of-all-trades by day, her favorite of which is writing. By night she’s a voracious reader, film connoisseur, seeker of laughter, dancer (as long as no one is watching, you should be picturing Elaine on Seinfeld here) and board game player.

Give her a heart-wrenching, tear-tugging story to connect with others in via either the reading or the writing of; especially the true kind, and you’ll give her the world. Jodie works to connect pain to pain and struggle to struggle so we’ll all feel less alone inside our stories and more at home in our hearts, minds, and relationships. You can connect with her on her blog, Utter Imperfection, and on FacebookInstagram, or Twitter.