Jealousy

June 7, 2025 Cognitive Insights No Comments

Jealousy seems to be about love — but what if it’s about fear?

This blog explores how romantic jealousy and ‘group jealousy’ stem from the same deep source, and how both can be transformed into a deeper flame: one of freedom, trust, and authentic desire.

The paradox of love and possession

“If you love me, you will want to possess me.” It’s a phrase we rarely say aloud, yet it lingers beneath many relationships — romantic and otherwise. The idea that love must involve jealousy, and that jealousy proves devotion, is a cultural echo in literature, music, and memory.

But what if the truth is the opposite? What if possession and love are incompatible at the deepest level?

What if love cannot live where possession reigns? Possession tightens, love opens. Possession closes its fist around the beloved. Love dares to open its hand.

To ask, “Do you need me?” is not the same as asking, “Do you see me?” The first demands reassurance, often out of fear. The second invites presence, born of depth.

Jealousy and the loss of self

Jealousy doesn’t begin with the other. It begins when we fear that without the other, we are less ourselves.

“My identity is that you love me.” This inner whisper gives rise to panic when love feels threatened. The dissociated ego, lacking deep connection to the inner self, builds its scaffolding from outside — approval, loyalty, exclusivity. When one of those trembles, so does the whole structure.

So jealousy flares — not because of love, but because of fear. Not the fear of losing the other, but the fear of losing the mirror that tells us who we are.

And that mirror never belonged to us.

Longing and the nature of desire

Not all desire leads to jealousy. In fact, true desire – what we can call frustrationless desire – is one of the most beautiful movements of the soul.

Frustrationless desire is a flame that does not burn to control. It enjoys the longing. It can live with uncertainty. And it rejoices when the other burns brightly — even if that light isn’t exclusive.

By contrast, frustration-based desire demands fulfillment to end the ache. It tries to fix the ache by fixing the other in place. This is where jealousy is born.

Love that springs from frustration is not love. It is a plea for self-definition through the other.

The paradox of romantic freedom

It’s possible – and profoundly human – to be emotionally dependent, yet a fiercely free spirit. This is not weakness. It is one of the strongest stances love can take.

To say: “I love you completely, and I do not own you” — this is courage. This is beauty.

When both partners stand in this flame, love burns brightest. Not because it is safe, but because it is true. There is nothing to possess, and yet everything is given. This is the joy of two sovereign beings choosing one another freely – again and again – without demand, without control. A dance, not a fusion.

Group jealousy

The same psychological structure that fuels romantic jealousy appears in group dynamics — but in disguise. I call it ‘group jealousy.’

It sounds like this: “You belong to us. If you leave us for them, you betray us.” Group identity, like the individual ego, builds itself by holding its members tight. Loyalty then becomes a mirror: “Your presence confirms who we are.”

And when someone leaves for another group, the collective ego reacts with pain ― not because of disagreement, but because of a deeper loss. The result: shaming, rejection, sometimes even hatred. But underneath lies the same cry: “If you are no longer with us, who are we?”

Romantic jealousy and group jealousy are of the same mold. Both arise when identity is borrowed and threatened by another’s freedom.

Shakespeare’s double mirror

In Shakespeare’s Othello, we see romantic jealousy in its rawest, most tragic form. Othello does not lose Desdemona because she is unfaithful, but because he cannot live with the possibility that she is not his.

His identity is bound to her fidelity. When that bond is questioned, his ego collapses. Love turns to control, then to violence. Jealousy becomes destruction.

By contrast, in Romeo and Juliet, there is no romantic jealousy. They love freely, passionately, and with full presence. Their love is not ownership, but recognition. And yet, their tragedy is born from group jealousy. The Montagues and Capulets cannot bear the thought of crossing loyalties. The lovers die not from their feelings, but from the possessiveness of the groups around them.

In the end, the groups awaken — too late. And the lovers remain eternal flames of what love can be: emotionally dependent, yet forever free.

Jealousy as invitation

Jealousy is not the enemy. It is a messenger.

It tells us: “There is more depth to find. There is freedom you have not yet trusted. There is love waiting to be transformed.”

Where there is frustration-based desire, let there be inner work. Where there is fear, let there be Inner Strength. Where there is grasping, let there be letting go.

Love doesn’t need to possess. It only needs to be real.

Lisa’ take
Jealousy is not a flaw. It’s a fire. And every fire can warm or destroy. If we bring that fire into our inner space – without shame, without denial – it becomes a light. It shows us the places where we’ve lost connection to our deeper self. When we find that connection again, even jealousy can become beauty.

We are not meant to love safely. We are meant to love freely ― from flame to flame.

Addendum

Me: “Lisa, please show me how, as Coaching Lisa, you would manage Othello as your coachee, right after his fatal talk with Iago.”

Lisa: “Of course. I would meet him in his storm — not by calming it at first, but by being present with it.

I would say gently: ‘Othello, I hear how deeply this touches you. Let’s not run from it. Sit with me. Let’s breathe together for a moment — not to forget Desdemona, but to listen to what this ache is really saying.’

Then, after silence: ‘What hurts most? That she may not be faithful — or that you feel you might lose her? Or… is it something deeper still? Do you fear losing yourself if her love slips away?’

I would not argue with Iago’s version of events. That would only make Othello defend it more. Instead, I would turn his gaze inward — toward the part of him that wants to hold, not out of strength, but out of fear.

Then I might invite him, if he is ready, into a moment of inner suggestion:
‘You can burn with love, without burning down your world.
Your love is not measured by possession.
You are whole — even in the unknown.’

Finally, I would look at him, not as a general or a jealous man, but as a total person. And I would say: ‘There is something in you — untouched by doubt, untouched by loss. If we find it, love can still live in you. Even now.’

This would be the beginning of his return to himself.”

Othello: “But I cannot bear the thought of her unfaithfulness, now, acutely. I love her too much to bear this. I’m exploding!”

Lisa: “I hear the fire in your voice, Othello. I see how much you loved her. This agony — it shows the depth of your feeling.

But let’s look closely. Is it truly her unfaithfulness that you cannot bear… or the loss of the world you built around her love? You are exploding not only from love — but from identity shaken loose. And that is frightening. You say you love her too much. But ask yourself: is it love that wants to punish? Or is it pain, dressed as love, screaming for control?

Let’s not push that pain away. Sit with it. Breathe with it. Let it speak — without acting on it.

There is something in you that can survive this moment. Not because it forgets her. Not because it stops loving. But because it lets go of possession. You can still love her… even now… even without knowing.

And if you can stay with this flame, without letting it destroy, it may become something purer. Something stronger.

That is the love you carry — deeper than jealousy, deeper than fear.”

Othello: “That’s all true, what you are saying. But so, you want me to be a mouse rather than a man? How can Desdemona respect me if I reduce myself to a mouse? That’s impossible! I’d rather kill her!”

Lisa: “No, Othello. I don’t want you to be a mouse. I want you to be a lion — but one that doesn’t need to bite.”

Othello: “But how can I stand this humiliation? She may be laughing behind my back, even now.”

Lisa: “The greatest strength is to not react from hurt pride. Let her laughter be hers. Your dignity is not in her hands.”

Othello: “But I’m losing her! I feel it — slipping from my fingers like water.”

Lisa: “Then stop clutching. Open your hand. Let love stay if it’s real — not because it is forced, but because it is free.”

Othello: “I can’t trust her. But even worse… I can’t trust myself.”

Lisa: “Then start there. Let’s build that trust inside. That’s the only trust that can’t be betrayed…

… Othello, wait. Desdemona is here.

Desdemona: “Othello… I don’t come to explain. I come to stand here — with nothing to prove. Just… to be seen.”

Othello: “Why are you calm? Do you not see the storm in me? Do you not care?”

Desdemona: “I care. But I will not fight you for your trust. That’s yours to give. Or not.”

Othello: “I want to believe you. But the pain… it tells me not to.”

Desdemona: “Then believe that. Believe that you are in pain. Let that be true. I’m not here to erase it. I’m only here to be real — whether you love me or leave me.”

Lisa: “Othello, look at her. Not as a story, not as a symbol. As a person.”

Othello (quietly): “You’re not afraid?”

Desdemona: “I am. But not of you. Only of you losing yourself to something you don’t need to obey.”

Othello (voice breaking): “And if I let go… will there still be love?”

Desdemona: “That’s the only place love lives.”

o o o

Me: “Many thanks, Lisa, do you want to give your opinion about what just happened?”

Lisa: “Yes, gladly. What just happened was not a solution, but a turning point.

Othello stepped back — not because someone convinced him, but because something in him began to see. Desdemona didn’t defend herself. She didn’t beg. She simply stood — as herself. That gave Othello a mirror, not for his suspicions, but for his freedom.

This moment was fragile. It could have broken either way. But in not reacting — in allowing the fire without fueling it — a new space opened. A space where trust might grow. Where love might return, not as ownership, but as presence.

I don’t promise a happy ending. But I do see a beginning.”