There was a distinct moment when I stopped being a happy-go-lucky little girl, one who could play for hours alone at the bathroom sink with a set of colorful plastic nesting cups, and became someone who felt left behind and unseen.
I was six. I woke up early one Saturday morning in 1975 to silence, which meant my parents were still asleep in their makeshift bedroom — what was once the dining room. They had given me the sole bedroom in our small apartment in Evanston, Illinois. To get to them or any food in the kitchen, I had to cross the living room.
But something was different.
Our living room was full of baby things. There were pastel-colored items everywhere. Stuffed animal toys, baby blankets, clothes, bottles, diapers, pacifiers, a crib, bathtub, shampoos, soaps, and lotion.
From the stack of cards on our small dining room table at the other end of the living room, I pieced together that my mother’s friends had thrown her a baby shower. I recalled that she had left to go somewhere the night before. I remembered thinking how strange it was that she was going somewhere at all; she never went out, let alone after a long day of work and the “L” ride back from downtown Chicago.
I began to search through the new items. I kept looking, even though deep down, I had a hunch I wouldn’t find what I was looking for. There were no gifts for me. So many toys for the baby. None for me.
I had known the baby was coming.
Adults asked, “Are you excited to be a big sister?”
“Yes!” I answered.
“You’re going to make a good big sister!” they said.
And I would glow in such praise.
But standing in that small living room, I assessed that my unborn sibling had received more possessions in one evening than I had in my entire life. Becoming a big sister was not the main event. The birth of this baby might just change my life.
This was my earliest memory of a charged negative emotion. I was full of envy.
While we all feel envy, we don’t talk about it. Not only is it unpleasant, but it’s also socially unacceptable. Many consider it a “deadly sin,” and even if you’re not Catholic or Protestant, nearly all religions and cultures see envy as a bad thing. So it’s not surprising that we may want to dismiss it or deny it.
Another reason it’s hard to discuss envy is that there is confusion about what it is. We English speakers don’t have a common understanding of it and will use it interchangeably with a similar but different emotion, jealousy. Even experts who study the emotion argue over its definition. Who can blame them? Envy is hard to study because people can’t or won’t talk about it. Sometimes, we’re not fully conscious of it.
I use a simple definition: Envy is the negative emotional experience of wanting something that someone else has. You don’t have what you desire, so you feel insufficient; you sense a lack. Seeing it in the possession of the target of your envy, you also feel inferior. It is the combination of lack and less that pains you.
Jealousy, on the other hand, requires a third party. It’s the fear of losing an important relationship to a “rival”; you fear the attention or love you have from someone (that you believe is rightfully yours) will go to someone else. Jealousy is a type of envy because what you desire is another person’s affection that a target may possess instead of you. In my story, I envied the toys my unborn brother received at the baby shower. I was also jealous that he received the attention and generosity from relatives and friends that I, as the big sister, did not.
Envy is a universal and complex emotion.
We all know what it feels like to see someone else have what we want. It can happen whether your colleague gets credit for a win or the big promotion you thought you deserved. But it can also occur throughout the day, like when the drawer pull in your kitchen falls off, again, and you recall your neighbor’s new sleek cabinetry in her kitchen. (To be honest, I’m describing what just happened to me.)
Even children, as demonstrated in my story, can experience the ache of deficit and the sting of lowliness. This is why we can find themes of envy in fairy tales, too. Snow White’s beauty ignites the Evil Queen’s wrath upon hearing the mirror tell her she is no longer the “fairest of them all.”
We can’t help but envy.
All envy begins with a comparison, and we’re wired to compare ourselves to others. It is how humans learned to fit into groups in order to survive. Infants watch adults to pick up on social cues. As social beings, we all look to others to know ourselves and what to desire.
Social comparisons also teach us how to advance within organizations, both formal and informal groups that matter to us. This, too, is instinctive, as gaining group status meant better protection and more resources. And so our brains were trained to pay attention to those above us versus those below us on the social ladder. We learn to want what others want. We are drawn to those who have what we desire. It is what anyone with any hint of ambition will do.
All envy begins with a comparison, and we’re wired to compare ourselves to others. It is how humans learned to fit into groups in order to survive.
Most people think that envy is only about coveting others’ wealth, power, or beauty. There’s a negative connotation suggesting something sinister. This isn’t surprising given how these specific types of envy are shared in Greek tragedies and movie plots.
We often neglect, however, that envy can also encompass admiring what others have. We forget the infinite number of other kinds of social ladders that exist. When scientists, athletes, or artists compete, they might feel envy of intellect, skill, or creativity. Even virtues, like spiritual awareness or environmental consciousness, can inspire humans to compare, compete, and hence feel envy. Look at any parenting, health, political, or fitness trend, and you’ll find groups whose members will measure who among them performs their ideals better, is purer, or exemplifies more devotion.
We instinctively focus on when we fall short in areas that are important to us. To protect ourselves from harm, our brains have evolved to have what scientists call a “negative bias.” We pay more attention to what’s missing, how we’re behind, and what’s wrong. We take for granted what we have, how well we’re doing, and what’s going right.
Despite being natural, it can still be embarrassing to feel inferior or shameful to feel some ill will. Because admitting envy is (currently) unacceptable, we will conceal it or censor ourselves. We may suppress these emotions from percolating to avoid experiencing pain. We learn to do this so fast, we are often not aware of it and therefore can deny feeling it.
Other times we may try to quell it by telling ourselves, “Don’t compare yourself with others.” “Run your own race.” “Be thankful for what you have.” Or we may attempt to convince ourselves that having such recognition, wealth, or beauty comes with other heavy burdens. (Sour grapes, anyone?) We will take comfort that we are better in some other way.
But I’ve learned something: When we quash, deny, or dismiss our envy, when we don’t discuss or examine it, we miss out on the opportunity to harness it for good.
This article The surprising upside of envy, the emotion we’re taught to hide is featured on Big Think.