‘Inggit!’

By Mary Lou Cunanan

Envy has been an uninvited guest in my life for years, whispering unkind comparisons when I least expect it. It’s that little voice that looks at my life and sneers, “This is all you’ve got?” And on bad days, I believe it.

I know I’m not alone. Envy has this way of creeping into our minds, making us feel like our lives are small and insignificant compared to the dazzling highlight reels we see online. Social media amplifies it—every scroll is a reminder of someone’s perfect vacation, dream job, flawless hair, or seemingly effortless happiness. And there I am, staring at my life, wondering if anyone could possibly envy me.

But then, the world surprises me.

A few years ago, someone from my past reached out after years of silence. I thought it would be a warm reunion, but instead, they showered me with unsolicited advice on how to “improve” my life, peppered with boasts about their own. It stung. Why the need to point out what they thought I lacked? At first, I was confused. Later, I realized it might’ve been their envy talking, though it still felt like a strange role reversal—I couldn’t fathom why anyone would envy my life.

But maybe that’s the thing about envy. It’s universal, and it doesn’t always make sense. Just like I’ve envied others—friends, strangers, even acquaintances I haven’t seen in years—there are people who look at my life and see something they feel they’re missing.

The problem is, envy rarely motivates us in healthy ways. Instead, it chips away at our sense of self, feeding feelings of rejection, inadequacy, and even shame. It’s exhausting to hold yourself up to the world’s best moments and come up short. Over time, that constant comparing wears you down, pulling at your mental health like a heavy anchor. Envy isolates you in your head, convincing you that your normal, messy, beautiful life is something to hide.

‘Inggit’ is a very strong emotion. It drives chismis and other destructive forces. It makes us tear other people apart even if they are not doing anything to us. 

I’m learning, slowly, to let go of those comparisons. I remind myself that no one’s life is perfect—not even the ones that look like they are. We all have something behind the curtain, and we all secretly wonder if we’re enough. I try to meet envy with compassion instead of self-criticism, reminding myself that the people I envy are just human, too, navigating their own hidden struggles.

So here I am, just me—flawed, messy, sometimes envious, but learning to be at peace with my own life. And when envy tries to pull up a chair, I remind myself to sit with it kindly, thank it for what it’s trying to teach me, and then let it go. My life may not be envy-worthy to the world, but it’s mine. And for now, that’s enough.