I Can Be Happy For My Friends And Also Really Jealous

artist, music, self-love

“I’m so happy for you,” I lied through my teeth. “This is just amazing.”

We were sitting in my kitchen, eating the three-day-old curry I wanted to get rid of. Clara (obviously not her real name) is one of my closest friends but she makes my life insanely hard sometimes by being better at things and having the nerve to talk about it. That day, she had just told me that she was working with a producer who was a household name in the industry, recorded a live session in some expensive studio, and was working on the release of her EP that I knew was going to knock it out of the park.

It’s not that I didn’t have accomplishments of my own – this happened pre-corona, and at the time of the conversation, I was still scheduled to do a work placement at ‘The Guardian’, I had just performed at my first spoken word open mic, and had started playing with a cellist. But all these milestones paled in comparison to Clara’s. She had a manager for fuck’s sake! And it wasn’t one of the music business students from our uni, it was a grey-haired man with glasses, the epitome of professionalism. Eating the soggy curry, I regretted not having made dinner that night. At least I could have shown off my cooking skills.

Clara and I didn’t become fast friends when we met. First, I resented her for several months because she looked more professional, sang with more confidence and better technique, and I didn’t want to admit to myself, let alone to her, that there were musicians out there who were better than me. Never mind that she was a completely different artist and that comparing yourself to anyone will almost always end badly.

Our first foray into friendship came when we both got drunk after the last day of term before Christmas. I become a nice, honest person when I’m tipsy. A couple drinks in, I blurted out: “I am really intimidated by you. I’m sorry if I’ve been a complete bitch, you actually seem quite nice.” We talked about female friendship, and how common it is for women to be competitive and jealous of each other when we should be holding each other up (which should be a blog post in itself, really). We went clubbing together that night, and we laughed so much that Clara said she’d peed her pants a little when we took the tube back to her place, and I crashed in her bed wearing her sweatpants.

We became friends after, and a lot of the bad blood between us (that was mostly in my head, anyway) disappeared. But every time she brought up her successes, it still bothered me, even though I tried to be happy for her. There was a voice in my head asking myself whether she was showing off, or telling me that stuff to make me feel incompetent. Every time I talked about my achievements or my problems, they didn’t seem to matter as much as hers. And then I started asking myself whether I was jealous, or if that feeling of discomfort at her good news came from a deeper place – a crack in our friendship.

I was thinking all that while Clara talked away, ripping off a piece of naan bread and dipping it into the curry. It all happened in my flatshare in Battersea – the perfect flat on the fifteenth floor where you could see the London Eye from the window if you squinted. I still mourn about giving up my room due to COVID. We had tea and exchanged books, and when she left, I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt like a complete loser.

I spent that weekend avoiding her texts and thinking about my life. I called my parents, who wisely said I should talk it out with Clara. Obviously, I ignored that advice. I journalled about how annoyed I was at Clara’s perfect life. I talked to my flatmates and some of my friends about it. Literally anyone but Clara herself. And then I went to one of her gigs to watch her play. And she was perfect.

She was playing with her band and the spotlight was flickering on and off, reflecting on her golden jacket with puffy sleeves. She was singing a disturbing song about death as the audience was jumping around to the beat and ignoring the lyrics. Her face was constantly assuming weird facial expressions that I inadvertently found myself copying while singing. Something about it all made my heart melt. I had seen her play so many times, but I only thought about the first time and how much she’d grown since we first got drunk together and danced to ‘Sk8ter Boi’ by Avril Lavigne. That’s how mothers felt, I thought.

A while later, we were standing by the bar after another gig of another friend, and I said I hadn’t talked to her because she was barely there when I was going through a terrible time with my ex-boyfriend, and she said: “You penis! Why didn’t you just tell me?” And I thought: she’s right, why didn’t I?

Now, when we call (because the pandemic has scattered me and my closest friends all around the world and talking by the bar at a gig of a friend is not an option anymore), she tells me her good news, and I tell her mine, and sometimes, I feel jealous. For example, now, she has a lovely boyfriend, and I have a cold sore on my lip. But I’d never want a friendship where my friend can’t tell me something that made her happy. Sometimes, it’s terrible timing. Sometimes, it makes me feel like I’m not good enough. But I’d feel even worse if she didn’t have all that good stuff to tell me. Of course, I feel jealous! But maybe that’s okay. I can be jealous and insanely proud and happy, all at the same time. It’s hard to be a woman as is, so I want to be her safe space. And I want to know everything.

growth-self-doubt-artist-musician

5 Habits that Helped Me Overcome Self-Doubt

artist, productivity, self-love

For a long time, I didn’t think I was a professional musician. I still scroll through my friends’ Instagram accounts, decide I’ve had a good run, and consider quitting music for about two minutes every morning. As a creative, there are no objective criteria to check yourself against, and it inevitably seems like everyone you know is going at 100 mph, while you are driving around the same roundabout with a flat tire.

At first, that feeling was eating away at everything I did, and whenever I came up with a project, I heard a voice in my head saying things like “not good enough”, “you’re an amateur”, “nobody cares about what you have to say”. But throughout the years, I’ve learned to cope with that voice, to hear it mumble something hurtful and recognise it for what it is – fear.

But a year ago, I had put away my guitar after crying myself to sleep for months, and decided I would never be a musician. I went to the library, got out some books on politics and economics, and spent my summer reading, trying to imagine what it would feel like to study something ‘normal’. Studying music in university had proved harder than I had anticipated. It was the first time I was confronted with real criticism, with other musicians who were better and more motivated than me, and I felt like an impostor, as if I’d blagged my way in and didn’t belong.

June went by, then July, and then August came around. I hadn’t touched my guitar and hadn’t written a single song. I wrote a travel article thinking that being a journalist sounded less crazy than being a musician, but then realised it was probably still too much of a stretch. Then in August, I got an idea.

My Songwriting tutor, Lisbee Stainton, says that when you’re not writing, you’re “planting seeds”. I think all through June and July I had been planting seeds, and in August, I woke up in the middle of the night in a garden. I had an idea for an EP, fully developed – I could picture the artwork, hear the arrangement, see the press release. I started recording a week later. I realised that despite my anxiety, the panic attacks, the tears, quitting music was not a solution. Figuring out how to deal with my self-doubt was.

I spent a year trying to work through my fears. I can’t say I never wake up and question myself anymore. I do. But I don’t doubt myself the way I used to, I question myself because that’s what good artists do to get better. But I also believe I am enough now. I believe I am already a professional musician. I believe that I have my own path and I don’t have to be at the same level some of my friends are. And these habits helped me to get to where I am:



1. I Changed the Way I Talk to Myself


We’ve all been told this before. Don’t talk down to yourself, how you see yourself is how others see you, etc. But I never realised how true this was until I started practising it. Overly positive self-talk is exhausting, and I couldn’t get behind it at the best of times, but you can make small changes in what you say that will make a massive difference.

For example: instead of talking about your goals, talk about your challenges. Goals are stressful, and if you don’t achieve them, you feel like a loser. Challenges, however, are exciting and playful, and a challenge is not something you need to achieve, it’s something you want to have a go at. For me, this meant that I stopped beating myself up when I didn’t reach a goal and that I felt extra proud when I tackled a challenge. It also meant that I stopped putting so much pressure on myself and started enjoying myself more. Think about what you say that stresses you out and how you could rephrase it to make it sound exciting.


2. I Took up Running


I’ve always hated sports. At the same time, I’ve always been jealous of people who were good at them because they seemed so damn perfect. So, after another low point of watching Netflix and stuffing myself with Walkers Max, I decided I could either start running every morning or keep wallowing. I chose running.

I didn’t think it would have any effects on anything other than my health. And for the first two weeks, it didn’t. But the longer I kept doing it, even when it was hard and I wanted to quit, the more I started to enjoy it. And I started to get better at it.

Running taught me two things. Firstly, that I am not a quitter, which I had always thought I was. And secondly, that tough stretches result in growth. Those lessons changed the way I saw myself and made me confident enough to take on new projects.


3. I Started a Gratitude Journal


I have always found it hard to get behind the spiritual stuff. I have tried meditation (and I keep trying!), but I find it hard to sit still for more than five minutes. I do yoga, but mostly because it makes my body feel good, I don’t particularly care about my third eye. So, I was also skeptical about gratitude practice, but I thought I’d give it a go.

For months, I sat down before bed every night and wrote down five things I was grateful for. And after a couple weeks, I started noticing how, during the day, I would make music or sit down for lunch or talk to a friend, and make a mental note to be grateful. That warm feeling of content started expanding from my diary pages into my life, and instead of beating myself up for things I didn’t have or hadn’t accomplished, I started thanking the universe for giving me so much. It’s easy to doubt and even hate yourself for what your life lacks, but it is even easier to love the abundance in it.


4. I Took Time to Remember What Mattered


In December last year, I organised an EP release show. I didn’t have any particular reason to do so, other than because everyone else was doing it. It was an extremely stressful process, and in three months time, I had barely got any sleep. The show went well, and I was ecstatic and proud for about two hours, and then it was over and everyone went home. After the release show, I asked myself why I had even bothered putting it on. I got into music so that I could live passionately, doing something I loved. And here I was, doing something I had never planned to do, mindlessly following in other people’s footsteps, so I could tell myself I was doing just as well as my friends.

Over Christmas, I made a list of things that mattered to me – what brought me joy, why I was making music, what life I wanted to live. Sometimes, life goes so fast that, without noticing, we adopt other people’s dreams as our own and try to achieve milestones we don’t care about and then beat ourselves up about failing at something we never wanted in the first place.

When I wrote out my list, I noticed that I was doing much better at what I wanted to do than I had thought while comparing myself to others. At the same time, I noticed that I could cut out a lot of miscellaneous stuff I was doing that was not serving me (like obsessing over my Instagram account) and use that time for things I enjoy (like writing spoken word). Now, I make lists like that every once in a while to check in with myself.


5. I Redefined What Success Meant to Me


When I first started studying music, I didn’t have many expectations – I wanted to write songs, have a good time, maybe learn something. But being surrounded by so many talented people made me want more. I started craving recognition, bigger venues to play in, more followers, and streams on Spotify. Whenever my expectations were left unfulfilled, I felt like a failure.

Over the last year, I started unearthing that person I was before I went to a music university (here’s a blog post on what helped me to figure out what mattered to me) – the one who thought that being able to make music was in itself successful, who believed that success didn’t lie in money, fame, or Instagram. The one who believed that success was doing whatever makes you happy.

After I made my list with priorities over Christmas, I decided I needed to allow myself more time to do the things I loved. And if I managed to get through the day with a smile on my face, I would think myself successful. After that, I did my first spoken word open mic, travelled to Budapest, and dyed my hair pink. Doing those things made me feel alive, present, and, ultimately, confident. Being successful is not about material things, it’s about living your best life. So, live a little.