I rarely experience envy, and it’s not because I don’t know anyone deserving of it. The individuals in my life are nothing less than brilliant. My friends and relatives are talented authors whose books and periodicals I proudly display on my shelves. The work of these brilliant psychologists, designers, artists, and poets profoundly affects me. It is simple to celebrate their recent achievements, to which I respond, “mashallah.”
Due to my upbringing as a Muslim, mashallah is an Arabic expression I use frequently, if not daily. Most commonly written as mashallah or mashaAllah, the most accurate transliteration of the phrase is mashaAllah, which means “God’s will has been carried out.” In several cultures, it is believed that saying mashallah protects one from the evil eye. In another sense, it shifts the emphasis from potential envy to admiration, gratitude, and respect.
“Language and emotion are intrinsically linked,” explains Dr. Emma Hepburn, a psychologist. There is evidence that having more nuanced words to describe our emotions is advantageous for us. The verbal and written language we use to ourselves and others can influence how we feel. While kind words can calm and regulate us, harsh words can provoke a threat response.
Possibly, by uttering a phrase that actively seeks to protect the recipient from the threat of envy, I have inadvertently prevented envy from gaining the upper hand.
In the winter of my eighth year, I vividly recall feeling intensely envious of someone for the first time. My best friend wore the most incredible cardigan I have ever seen to school. It was bulky and adorned with appliqué sheep and cows, wool spun into green tufts for trees, and cream-colored quilted clouds at the shoulders. Meanwhile, I was wearing the same thing I did every day: a thin black acrylic sweater that no longer reached my wrist knuckles. I imagined how magnificent I’d feel wrapped in something as magnificent as a cardigan from a farm. I also imagined how it would feel if my best friend spilled the powder paints we were mixing that day on it by accident. I imagined myself accidentally purpose splattering paint on the cardigan, and for a moment, that thought made me feel good. Then I recalled how, after weeks of circling the perimeter of the playground by myself, she was the only person who bothered to make friends with me. As I stirred my paint, my cheeks turned crimson because that is the color of shame – the color of blood.
The color green represents envy. The green-eyed beast Always, the grass is greener. Jealousy is considered a negative emotion. Not as seductive as anger, melancholy and sadness can be manipulated to imply a complex personality. However, envy is something we must conceal within our shadows. I am reminded of the internet meme of Kermit the Frog standing next to his cloaked, hooded double. We are presented with the dichotomous forces of good versus evil with the understanding that shadow Kermit represents all of our darkest thoughts and impulses, serving as a mirror to the positive aspect of regular Kermit. The fact that the dialogue within these memes is antagonistic emphasizes this asymmetry. The text above regular Kermit in my meme would read, “But she is my best friend.” The text above Shadow Kermit would read, “Spill the paint, eff friendship.” And Kermit, like my envy at the time, is the most vibrant shade of green. I would have felt personally responsible if anything had happened to the cardigan that day.
In the pre-digital world of my childhood and adolescence, navigating envious feelings was considerably easier. At the age of 24, when I became a mother, my peers were building careers and seizing life by the horns, all of which prompted me to leave Facebook almost as soon as I joined it. It was simply easier to ignore the plethora of nights out, promotions, and holidays I missed while I was at home changing diapers. I knew, through the lens of my sleep-deprived, new-mother hormonal perspective, that it would have been too much for me to bear to see things that I desired but could not have at the time; it would have been too difficult not to feel a type of envy had I stayed online and viewed all of it.
The eye icon on my Instagram stories counts the number of views whenever I post, reminding me that social media has added a real-time dimension to our hyperaware culture. We are keener than ever before on seeing and being seen. Our eyes are drawn to announcements, vacation photos, and achievements like magpies to shiny objects, so not only are we witnesses to the lives of those we physically interact with, but we can also cast a figurative eye upon the lives of those we have never met.
When I left Facebook as a new mother, I explained that I am a private individual. I am excessively introverted. With the baby and everything, I simply lack time. I could not say that logging on made me feel nauseous with envy. Gail Collins-Webb, a Jungian analyst, tells me, “Envy is one of the most difficult emotions to discuss within analysis because it is closely related to the emotion of shame, and shame is at the heart of human suffering.” “Define what you are envious of. It is communicating something. For instance, an introverted person may be extremely envious of an extrovert’s ability to have a large number of friends and create a network. When you are envious of someone, you are projecting onto that person the belief that they possess a desirable quality. And is it not worth questioning?”
Recently, a close friend accomplished one of my objectives. She is talented and diligent, and she deserves her success. This makes it easy for me to be happy for her without envy. When she told me her good news, I exclaimed, “Mashallah, I am so happy for you,” knowing that I, too, would like to accomplish something similar one day. In the past, however, a different friend accomplished something I hadn’t yet accomplished and hadn’t even considered, and while I congratulated them, something about it bothered me. I had to admit that within the symphony of emotions I was experiencing, envy was the base note. I’ve never been envious of this friend’s accomplishments before, but this particular accomplishment provoked envy. Collins-Webb tells me, “If you can follow your envy, it can tell you what you desire and what your shadow is since you project it outward.”
She is referring to the darker aspects of our personalities, which Carl Jung termed “shadow selves,” when she uses the term “shadow.” In his 1951 book Aion, he explains, “To become conscious of [the shadow] entails acknowledging the dark aspects of one’s personality as present and real. This is the essential prerequisite for any form of self-awareness.” Thus, “shadow work” entails recognizing and gaining insight from the unconscious and the darker aspects of ourselves that we typically ignore and repress. Sitting with these emotions may teach us something about what we want or what we want to alter in our own lives.
I was able to trace my envy back to desire and a sense of injustice after interrogating it. I realized that this friend’s opportunity was the result of privilege and nepotism, so my feelings of envy began to subside. I also discovered that I desired something similar to what a friend had, not because they had it, but because I truly desired it. Following my envy led me to a desire I was unaware I had, and as a result, I began working towards achieving my goals.
Dr. Sabinah Janally, a clinical psychologist, asserts, “Words have the power to destroy or transform one’s sense of self and perception of reality.” I realize that a significant portion of the rarity of my envy stems from my refusal to avoid it. To me, saying “mashallah” does not negate envy; rather, it acknowledges that envy may be present alongside praise and admiration, and if I find envy sitting next to my praise and admiration, I encourage my gaze to turn inward to see what it may be trying to teach me.
