When Envy Wears a Friendly Face

Among all the croissants in the world, be an egg tart

I found a hidden gem this morning.

I’m kidding. I absolutely hate that saying. Influencers really do ruin everything.

But seriously, the place was surprisingly pleasant. I got seated next to a group of three. The other table next to me was a guy who pretended to be busy with a book when in fact he was mostly doomscrolling his phone.

As soon as I sat down, the woman beside me told her friend, “I don’t know why he does that.” In Indonesian. And listen, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but when your table is two centimeters away from the next, it’s impossible not to overhear.

To summarize: her husband isn’t very happy with her newfound fame and success she’s had since launching her business. “He just doesn’t want me going to events,” she said. No reason, just discomfort. I felt bad for her. She sounded like a good partner, someone who genuinely cared about what her spouse felt.

But me? I stirred my matcha and thought, I know that voice.

Because I’ve lived that story. And I’ve stayed silent in it too.

Let’s clear something up real quick: not all envy is malicious. There’s benign envy, the kind that inspires you and then there’s the venomous kind that pretends to clap for you while quietly hoping you fall flat on your face.

Guess which one shows up in romantic relationships and fake friendships?

I read somewhere that it is called self-evaluation maintenance theory when someone close to you outshines you in an area you secretly value, it’s not admiration anymore. It’s a threat. The closer they are, the deeper the wound. And when their identity is fragile? Congratulations: you’re now sleeping with the enemy.

I’ve had friends who "forgot" to invite me to gatherings, not because they didn’t like me, but because they didn’t want their other friends to meet me. How do I know? Because he admitted it at the end of the friendship, said he felt jealous “sharing” me.

I had an ex who looked like she swallowed a lemon every time I had good news. We worked at the same office, and I could feel her mood drop every time I got praised. She never said it, and honestly, she didn’t need to.

Another one practically built a moat around me and the world.

Of course, I was hardly innocent, but that's another story to tell.

Here’s the part most people never write: I’ve played small. I’ve self-sabotaged. Not because someone forced me, but because keeping the peace seemed easier than challenging the pattern.

I’ve hidden good news, I’ve downplayed wins and I’ve made myself digestible.

I’ve even caught myself envying someone I cared about, laughing at their success like it was a punchline, not a mirror. It’s not pretty, but it’s true.

If you’re wondering whether it’s happening to you, here’s my unlicensed but field-tested checklist:

• They get quiet or weirdly dismissive when you share good news.

• They act confused when others compliment you as if they didn’t hear it.

• They advise you not to go places you should be at, claiming it's "for your own good."

• You catch yourself shrinking, adjusting, apologizing without knowing why.

• Their support is conveniently timed: there for your breakdowns, absent for your breakthroughs.

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I don’t care what psychology calls it, I just know it erodes you slowly, like rust on confidence.

So why do people do this?

My theory is that because your glow reminds them of what they buried in themselves. Especially if they’ve built their worth on being the smartest, the prettiest, the savior, or the only one in the spotlight.

The question should be, why do we let it happen?

For me because I felt conflict was exhausting and because staying loved often feels safer than being fully seen.

I finally reached a point in life, where I sat myself down, made a list, and started crossing names out. No big announcements. Just a quiet restructuring of my life, like I was in debt.

Then I stopped apologizing for the wins, big or small. This doesn’t mean you need to become obnoxious or flaunt every crumb of success. It means you get to feel proud. For me, the sweet spot was this: keep small wins sacred, and only share when you the big wins are obvious.

The hard part? Finding people who don’t just tolerate your wins but water them.

This is especially tough when you’re a middle-aged man where friendship isn’t a priority. Your energy is rationed and vulnerability feels expensive.

But trust me: the right people exist, the ones who don’t squint when you shine.

What You Need To Do:

First thing you need to do: Stop playing the victim. The world isn’t against you, it’s just not bending over backwards to accommodate your wounds. In fact, it’s more generous than you think. Start by being grateful for the small wins, this would change your life.

Then, cut ties with the people who anchor you down. That doesn’t make them bad, it just means your paths don’t align anymore. Or as the Gen-Zs say, you’re just “not vibing.”

Don’t spiral about leaving the group. That’s tomorrow’s anxiety. And if they decide to label you the villain or the creep? Great. Own it. Be the sharpest, most successful villain they’ve ever underestimated. Insults only work if you believe them.

And finally, evaluate yourself. There’s a real chance you were the problem, too. If so? Change. Not for applause, not to prove a point, but because you owe it to yourself to evolve. Read books. Reflect. Reroute. Sleep better. Exercise.

You don’t need to post your redemption arc, just live it.

Let your results speak louder than your Instagram story ever could.

So stop posting those ridiculous quotes on Instagram.

As I finished my cup of matcha, I glanced at the woman beside me. I know that face, the look of someone carrying guilt for their own glow, as if her success has become a burden.

I didn’t say anything to her. That would’ve been weird. But if I could’ve, I would’ve said this:

Choose yourself.

Go to the events.

Wear something that makes you feel untouchable.

Smile when people admire you.

Let him squint.

And if he can’t handle your light? Leave him in the dark.