It is a new year, and I thought it would be fitting to start us off with a “feel-good” blog. You might ask “feel good? Judging from the title, I don’t think so!”
Jealousy is one of those unsavory emotions, that feel awful from either direction. It is miserable to feel jealous, and often the feeling itself is a source of shame and humiliation heightened inferiority, even worse when we are jealous of someone we love. And it is not much better to be the object of jealousy – feeling that the other resents me for what I have or have earned can be painful. Again, especially if we are envied by, or the jealous other is someone we love. We might feel as if we must withhold or hide our accomplishments or good news, and that can be painful, or make one feel cagey or dishonest.
Many survivors of neglect are plagued by envy and jealousy, accompanied by shame. When someone suffers from jealousy, the first place I am inclined to look is in the sibling relationship(s). In some cases, the neglect, or the remembered part of the neglect, began with the birth of a sibling, or being the youngest in a great crowd of others, so there was never enough of anything to go around: attention, time, touch, and in many cases money and even food. All the necessary resources of surviving, thriving, and a sense of self and value.
I find the following story, (I heard it on the BBC podcast Outlook) heart-warming, because it is a story not only of jealousy, but of rupture and repair, and it is also normalizing, even universalizing of the experience of jealousy. Certainly, for me, being a jealous middle sister.
My younger sister was born when I was two and a half. My older sister, three years older than me, started talking when she was about 10 months old, and the story goes that she charmed shoppers, having whole conversations with them, as she sat in the front of grocery cart, while our mom shopped. She was lively and vivacious, and commanded a lot of attention.
My little sister was simply beautiful. She looked like our dad, who was classically handsome, which delighted him. And she had gorgeous big eyes. Passers-by would peer into the baby carriage, and she seemed to command endless admiration. I looked like my mom who was plain and rather nondescript. And by the time the “baby” came along, our mother seemed more at ease with being a mother, at least to me, so the little one was less of a challenge and less of a burden or strain, than I was or had been. Neglect being all about deficits, I was acutely aware from early on, of all that I was not. And the habit of looking around to see what others had, and what others got, began early for me.
Transitions
So now for our story, the story of Julia and Arturo. Julia was born in the US but when she was 8, her family moved to Guatemala where her father completed his graduate work in anthropology. An only child, it was a big transition for her, and her dad did not want her to be lonely, and brought home a yellow-naped Amazon parrot. Julia was instantly in love with the bird, whom she named Arturo. They became inseparable friends. Arturo spent much of his time on Julia’s shoulder, and was also “free-flying.” When not with Julia, he was free to fly outside at will and he always came home. He had perches around the house and only had a cage for sleeping which they covered, so he could sleep in darkness, which he preferred.
When it came time to return to the States, Arturo went in the car, with the rest of the family, and they embarked on the long drive north. Arriving at the Guatemala-Mexico border crossing the border agents asked Julia’s father for everyone’s papers, including Arturo. The man had no papers for the bird, having no idea that they would be required. And after a fruitless argument with the border guard, they were forced to let Arturo go. Julia was heartbroken. Until some time later as they continued driving, they saw that amazingly Arturo had followed the car, and alternated flying with sitting on the roof of the car or perching on the passenger side where he enjoyed looking at himself in the rear-view.
Some miles later, when they reached the US border, Julia’s father, preferring to take no chances, let Arturo go again, figuring they would wait for him to re-join them. Apparently, there was no “red tape” for entry into the US. This time, however, they waited over half a day for Arturo to catch up. Julia again was devastated, thinking her friend was gone. Just when she had given up hope, Arturo landed on the car. They arrived together in their new home in the rural state of Iowa. Everything was fine until Arturo ate something poisonous and tragically died. By now, Julia was 11 years old. Julia’s father was able to find another parrot of the same species, and brought him home. Julia named him Arturo, after his predecessor, and they similarly became fast friends. Julia learned to play the guitar, and Arturo would sit on the neck of the guitar, while she strummed and sang.
Fast forward and Julia is in college, now 20. There she met her husband to be, a Swedish man named Max. Max had grown up on a farm, and readily took to Arturo. The young couple married, and as he had always planned, returned to his home after graduation. So, the three packed up and moved to a little house on the farm, next door to Max’s parents. There was no problem bringing Arturo into Sweden.
Life in Sweden was idyllic, at least at first. Julia travelled on buses with Arturo on her shoulder, practiced her guitar, shared her meals with Arturo on her shoulder. Arturo also became fast friends and family with the in-laws next door, and continued his free-flying life, often visiting them as well. Everyone was happy and harmonious, and Julia became pregnant with her first child. As the family anticipated its new member, Julia talked to Arturo about it, as she did about everything.
When the couple arrived home with the new baby, everything abruptly changed. They walked in the door, and Arturo flew at Julia shrieking, and bit her. Shocked, Julia sheltered the baby. After 10 years of being best friends, she never imagined that the bird would be jealous. But it did not abate, and the couple soon saw, that they could not keep Arturo in the house and keep the baby safe. What were they going to do? Friends assumed they would simply “get rid of him.” Julia was adamant, “you don’t get rid of a family member, you certainly don’t put him down.” They ultimately opted to have him move next door to the in-laws. He continued to be free flying with their house as home base, and only Max and his father could get close to Arturo or pet him as they had all been accustomed to in the past. He did not warm up to Julia, who was broken-hearted even as she rejoiced with her new baby. Years passed, with Arturo continuing to be angry, hurt and distant. The couple had three more children and Arturo continued to live next door.
Repair
Years and decades passed. The couple’s four children had grown and moved on to start their own families. Max’s parents had passed away, and Arturo, now caged, came back to live with Julia and Max. Julia went through a time of immense grief. Her beloved mother with whom she had always been extremely close, was dying. Julia was making periodic journeys to the States to see her in her final year and days, and her father was failing as well. When they passed and Julia, now nearly 60, was orphaned and bereft, she withdrew into a deep grief depression and felt hopelessly mired there.
One bleak day, Max had the sudden idea to let Arturo out of his cage. When he emerged, they were at dinner, and the bird gingerly, gently approached Julia, and stole a few bites of pasta from her plate, before hopping up onto her shoulder. After 43 years of jealous rage, Arturo was back. Julia felt as if this were a message from her mother. And she steadily emerged from her grief into the light of repaired attachment rupture.
Arturo was now in his sixties as well. When they inquired, the veterinarian said that apart from a bit of arthritis, the bird was in excellent health and had another good twenty years in him. So that is my New Years’ story. It’s true! Jealousy is apparently quite natural, and not only for us.
Angela Davis, the now 82-year-old Black Power activist, said we can’t have change without hope. Hope is imperative. And we cannot be looking for hope and trying to “find it.” Davis adamantly proclaimed we have to generate hope.
Happy New Year!
Hope and health, and peace in 2026!
