Insecurity breeds suspicion, the deadliest of mental meandering. Left unguarded it has the power to destroy because it drives people into activities that kill relationships. I have a friend. Her ex secretly tapped into her email account for two years before she wrote something that infuriated him so much he was forced to admit his spying.
That’s an extreme example but we’ve all played relationship investigator at one time or another. There’s that moment when you suspect something is going on. You fish for clues, ask leading questions. Your eyes are pealed, hunting for hidden traces that confirm the presence of another; an extra glass, strange hair clip, lost jewellery or discarded underwear. To the suspicious mind everything is incriminating. Worst still, suspicion breeds jealousy.
Jealousy never really affected me in my twenties. Guys cheated on me (I once lived with a guy only to discover too late that he was engaged to someone else) and each time I moved on. That’s the logical response. I am not so strong in my thirties. I find myself feeling wounded and dare I say it, sceptical, resentful and jealous. All the classic ingredients required to turn me into a cottage dwelling breeder of cats.
Needless to say this mind set puts me at somewhat of a disadvantage. I am now much more likely to enter a relationship with the idea that this guy is likely to cheat. I sit around waiting for it, not actively provoking but expecting it, not making outright comments but rather probing questions that suggest it. It’s all very Nancy Drew.
But there’s another side effect of this suspicion and jealousy that is even more worrying and that has to do with how I view women. It’s easy to be jealous of a girlfriend, her success, her beauty, her body, her style, her passion or her talent. Sometimes when I am feeling insecure I look around me at all the beautiful women and wonder how I could ever even get a place in the race. This is the delicate balance of admiration and envy.