I was jealous of her for over twenty years. A full twenty years after that, and as recently as a few months ago, I’d traded jealousy for envy.
Many years ago my husband left me for her.
She couldn’t have been more my opposite. I’m 5’2″, and she was close to six feet tall. I was too thin at the time, but I’ve always had hips and ass. I’ve never had shoulders. She was built like a runway model. Shoulders, thin, boyish build, long legs, and all. She could have walked out of a fashion show and into our lives. She had dark hair and eyes to my blonde and blue. She had a firm jawline, almost masculine, but it made her more beautiful. I bought my chin implant years later.
While I considered us both sexy, she had the low sultry voice. She was quiet and elegant. I could be loud and silly, although I eventually mastered elegance.
I was devastated when he left. It was the end of life as I knew it. We had married when I was nineteen and he was twenty-four. We divorced when I was twenty-six and he was thirty-one. I thought of myself as damaged goods, and, of all things, at that tender age, as over the hill. I thought I had failed.
Years of therapy changed those views of myself. Therapy also taught me to direct my anger at him, not at her. This was after I confessed to having a fleeting thought of running her over with my car. I wouldn’t have done it, of course, but it made me see the level of my anger.
My therapist pointed out that he would do the same thing to her. That she would suffer like I did when he left her for someone else. And he did. But not for twenty more years.
So, I moved on. Dated. Married again. But every time I saw them together, I felt as if he and I should still be married. I heard they were often unhappy, but I still felt jealousy of a sort. To this day, those feelings are hard to describe, or even own up to.
He did eventually leave her for someone else. Not for me, even though I was single again at the time. I saw her once after that, across the street from me during a Gallery Walk. We were both alone. I waved to her, and she nodded. I felt a connection to her then, and a release of my jealousy and anger. To the credit of my therapist, I did not feel vindicated. I felt sad for her. I don’t know what she was feeling.
I went on to find a man to father my child. She went on to marry a wealthy man.
That’s all I knew, as that is all my first husband told me about her. I didn’t ask any more questions.
But my jealousy then changed to envy. My subsequent relationships and marriage hadn’t lasted. My second husband and I would have become financially well-off had we stayed married. As it was, we had a fairly luxurious lifestyle for a time. I gave that up to be free to live life my way, and to have a child. I have no regrets about that.
However, it hurt sometimes that she landed on her feet, when I seem destined to work hard just to survive or be comfortable, and to take care of my son. I’m not proud of the envy, and it’s hard to admit, but there it is. She was as beautiful as a model, she stole my husband, and then she married a wealthy man after their relationship ended.
Life isn’t fair. It isn’t supposed to be. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I believe we have to make our own meaning, whenever we can. We have to learn our own lessons about life’s events.
I’ve learned mine. I was jealous and then envious of another woman for way too long. It was unwarranted and wasted time and energy.
Her name is Donna, and she died in March, after a long illness, from complications of Parkinson’s disease. I didn’t know, and I’m so sorry she suffered. She didn’t deserve it.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love and is republished here with permission from the author.
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