Every time the green-eyed monster starts scrabbling my insides, I get a pang of fear (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)
Is it me, or have the klaxons been out in full force recently?
The ‘personal news announcements’ with red, flashing emojis are absolutely littering my timeline.
Book deals, Glastonbury tickets, dream jobs, engagements, soft launches of new boyfriends, houses, babies, marathons, and fitness goals – my best female friends have been celebrating their wins.
And while I am *extremely* happy for them – I am, by far, their biggest cheerleader – I get jealous.
Every time I read another post on social media, I get that same sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Similar to the sudden wave of nausea you get when you have a strong black coffee on an empty stomach, first thing in the morning.
Every time the green-eyed monster starts scrabbling my insides, I get a pang of fear: Does this envy make me a bad friend? A terrible feminist?
Last week, as I read of a friend’s new ParkRun PB and grit my teeth to type out a message of congratulations, I caught my reflection on my laptop screen. As much as I hated reading of her success, I hated myself as I freely compared myself to her.
My roots were wider than my forearm, with three-day unwashed hair piled up worse than a rogue pineapple. I was wearing an oversized jumper that I bought at 16, which was way too tight for me now, over the top of old Snoopy Christmas pyjamas – adorned in crumbs from my lunchtime vegan sausage roll. My face was spotty and struggling under the weight of my luggage-sized-eyebags.
And for a second, I resented my friend. I envied her athleticism and spiralled as I compared the two of us.
When was the last time I ran? Or did… anything of note, in fact? I couldn’t even finish a book. Or reply to my nan on WhatsApp, and my freezer was full of black bananas I couldn’t finish for that banana bread I’ll never make.
Truthfully, jealousy has stalked every single female friendship I’ve ever known (Picture: Emmie Harrison-West)
The only successes I thought worth celebrating were that my hair was long enough to cover my nipples (with a bra on) and that I could touch my nose with my tongue.
I was so distraught, I had to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling (of course, BeReal decided to notify me, didn’t it?).
What was wrong with me? I was a feminist, wasn’t I? A champion of women; a beacon of pride for women who were successful – women who were paving the way in a world ruled by a patriarchy. Right?
I even had a bag that said ‘f**k the patriarchy’, why couldn’t I even be 100% happy for my own mates? I felt stupid and insecure, like a bratty child.
Then I felt disgusted – at both myself, and my troll-like behaviour.
Truthfully, jealousy has stalked every single female friendship I’ve ever known – for good, and for bad. I lost my best friend at university when I got a job that she wanted, and it broke me – it was a negative emotion I wanted to stay well clear of.
But, it’s impossible. I’ve now come to accept that being jealous of my mates doesn’t make me a bad friend, as long as I keep it to myself and it never impacts our relationships.
As such, I’m always first to wish ‘congrats’, send a bunch of flowers or plonk a pint down in front of them – gushing with excitement, happiness and well wishes. It’s what friends do.
Women have compared themselves to other women for years – generations in fact. We exist in a society ruled by men that analyse and criticise us for everything we do. A patriarchy that compares us to other women based on our ‘worth’ as lovers, partners, childbearers and colleagues. So we’re put up against each other in – cheered on to tear each other down.
But, now, instead of being bitter, I’ve decided to use my feelings to my advantage. I’m going to let it spur me into action – to do something meaningful, talk about my insecurities with my friends, and it’ll eventually mean that we can celebrate self-growth together.
If anything, being jealous reinforces my sheer passion and admiration for my dearest friends. I use my pals as role models now – and I know I’d want them to celebrate me if I made my own personal announcements, too.
Being envious of your mates is normal, and it can be healthy; help you take stock of your own life, and how to better it. Knowing what you want in life is a powerful weapon.
I want to make sure I stand alongside my friends – not take their place.
(I still got Glastonbury tickets, though.)
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Every time I read another ‘personal news announcement’ post on social media, I get that same sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
