The Shameful Part Called Jealousy

For me, "jealousy" was a shameful part of myself that I never wanted anyone to know about.

My parents divorced when I was an infant, and growing up with a single parent, I felt incomplete from birth. Most people in the world have both a father and a mother.

It was much later that I realized the part of me that was missing was the father figure. To be precise, I had sensed it all along but refused to acknowledge it. I felt that acknowledging it would be humiliating.

I didn't have a father. It was obvious that having one would be better. But to admit that meant enduring a sense of humiliation. The humiliation of not having what others had. To the me of those days, it meant that I was inferior.

So, I pretended to be fine. Even if I was scared, I was fine; I wasn't scared at all. Even if I was sad, I was fine; I wasn't sad at all. Even if I was in pain, I was fine; I wasn't in pain at all.

By deceiving those around me in that way, I ended up deceiving myself as well. In my childhood, I never said "I'm jealous" to anyone. Even if the feeling of "I'm jealous" welled up, I never admitted it. I wasn't strong enough to admit it. So, I wore a suit of armor made of "I'm fine," and I walked around with a clanking sound.

I won't lose to anyone. I won't let anyone call me pitiful. I am not pitiful.

Being called pitiful was a humiliation. Even if they didn't say it out loud, I hated the thought of them thinking it. Even though I didn't know what others were thinking. It wasn't that others were thinking it; it was that I was convinced they were. I realized as an adult that others weren't actually that interested in me.

Anyway, in my childhood, I protected myself by wearing that suit of armor made of "I'm fine." I didn't know any other way to protect myself.

Even when the armor rubbed against my skin and hurt, I spent my days laughing, "Ahaha." To ensure no one noticed those wounds, I pretended I wasn't envious of anyone and that I was fine.

Father's Day. Let's draw a portrait of your father.

I'm fine. I'll just draw a picture of my beloved grandfather.

When I was home alone, lightning struck and it was pitch black outside.

I'm fine. I'll just curl up in my futon like this.

During high school entrance exams. Those going to college go to college-prep schools.

I'm fine. I'll work after I graduate. That's why I intentionally chose a commercial high school.

When I returned from my school trip in high school, many mothers came by car to pick up their children.

I'm fine. I asked a friend's mother to drive me home myself.

In truth, I was jealous of others. Of those who had a father they could draw, of those who had a mother at home so they didn't have to stay home alone, of those who could go to college-prep schools without worrying about money, of those who had mothers who came to pick them up by car. Beyond envy, I felt a hateful resentment toward those people. But I couldn't admit that. So I hid it desperately. I am not jealous at all.

The armor came off after I got married. I was blessed with a husband who, though not very attentive, was kind, and a lovely son. With this, I had finally obtained the ordinary family I had envied back then. The sense of security that I was no longer pitiful led me to be able to simply and honestly feel envious. The refreshing feeling of being able to say, "I'm jealous."

You no longer need to wear armor. The armor will no longer touch your skin and make you bleed. If you feel envious, it is okay to think "I wish I had that" and say it out loud.

The feeling of envy, saying "I wish I had that," no longer develops into jealousy. I felt like I had become free once again.

Seeing Leon-san's post, I decided to take on the challenge and write something myself. It is closer to envy than jealousy, but since it was a more murky feeling than simple envy, I wrote it as jealousy—what do you think? (Just an excuse)

The deadline is the 31st, but if you write #FeedbackRequested, you can even hear opinions from professionals, so why not give it a try?