Envy- is it really a deadly sin?

​I’m not going to lie.

I’m kind of envious.

I know… me? Envious?

I have the kids.
The house.
The career.

From the outside, it looks like I have everything I’m supposed to have.

But I don’t have someone to share it with.

And before anyone asks—
yes, I did.

I had someone I thought was everything.

And I think that was the problem.

Because while I was building a life around him,
I was just a chapter in his.

A placeholder.

So now, here I am…
in this space where I know exactly what I want—

but I also know exactly what I will never accept again.

I want the kind of love where someone chooses me every single day.
Not sometimes.
Not when it’s easy.
Not when it’s convenient.

Every day.

But I don’t ever want to go through that again.

Learning someone from scratch.
Their favorite color.
Their favorite food.
The way their lips feel.
How they sleep.
Whether they snore.

The quiet intimacy of knowing someone’s hands—
how their fingers move your hair out of your face without thinking.

To build all of that…
and then lose it?

That’s a different kind of grief.

I’ve had two big loves in my life.

And for the first time ever,
I have absolutely no one.

No side attention.
No “just talking.”
No crush waiting in the background.

Just me.

And honestly?

There’s a peace in that I didn’t know I needed.

I come home, and it’s mine.
Mine and my kids’.

We’re loud.
We’re chaotic.
We’re fully ourselves without worrying if we’re too much for someone else.

I can work all night.
Or fall asleep early.
Or sit on the couch with a show playing and not answer to anyone.

I don’t question if I’m wanted.
I don’t shrink myself to fit someone else’s comfort.
I don’t wonder if I’m being compared to someone else.

There is a freedom here that I fought hard for.

And still…

There is a part of me that grieves.

Not because I want my past back—
I don’t.

But because life didn’t turn out the way I once believed it would.

I had plans.
Two different versions of forever.
Two different lives I thought I was building.

And letting go of those futures…
that’s its own kind of heartbreak.

I grieve the slow mornings.
The ones where you’re pulled back into bed.
Kissed without asking.
Chosen without question.

I grieve having someone there to catch me
on the days I don’t feel strong.

I grieve the thought that if something happened to me—
there wouldn’t be someone sitting in a hospital waiting room,
anxiously asking how I’m doing.

So yes…

I’m envious.

I’m envious of people who have that kind of love.
I’m envious of those who seem to move on so easily.
Who find someone new without carrying the weight of what they’ve lost.

And for a long time, I didn’t want to admit that.

Because envy is labeled as a deadly sin.

But here’s the truth no one really talks about—

Envy isn’t always ugly.

Sometimes…
it’s just a mirror.

It doesn’t mean you want what someone else has.
It means you recognize something your soul still desires.

It’s not about taking.
It’s about longing.

And longing?

Longing means your heart is still open.
Still willing.
Still capable of loving deeply again.

That doesn’t sound like something dead to me.

That sounds like something very much alive.

So yes… I’m envious.

And I’m also healing.
And growing.
And learning how to hold both peace and grief in the same breath.

Because this season?
It’s not empty.

It’s sacred.

It’s the space where I become the version of me
who will never again settle for being almost chosen.

And maybe one day,
someone will meet me here—

not to complete me,
not to fix anything—

but to stand beside me,
fully, clearly, and without hesitation.

Until then,

I’ll sit in my truth.
I’ll honor what I feel.
I’ll let myself be human.

Because for the love of chaos…

we’re allowed to feel it all.