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I grew up with a sister, who is less than two years younger than me, it could have been very easy to view her as my competition. But my parents went out of their way to let us know that we were to support each other; because, at the end of the day, we were all each other had. With my mother, grandmother, aunts, and playing team sports with other girls, I quickly understood that a similar sistership was meant to be extended to all women.
But not every girl turned woman received this same message.
We all have a friend or two who seems to be in secret (not so secret), unspoken competition with us. They’re the type of girl or woman who tries (and often fails) to hide her disdain any time you tell them something good happened in your life but hangs on every syllable as you’re detailing your misfortune. She’ll go out of her way to tell you how many men find her attractive and always seems to find a way to one-up you.
Unfortunately and unnecessarily, competition among women is bred in us from childhood. We’re taught to be attractive and appealing to get the attention of men. And while that type of messaging is problematic on its own, it becomes particularly troublesome when you realize you’re not the only woman vying for the attention of the few men in your social circle.
I noticed this behavior started early on in my friendships, my sister’s and mother’s friendships etc. Every woman I know has a similar story. In the past few days alone, the theme of competition and jealousy has come up quite a few times. In an attempt to address the problem, I’m going to highlight a few of these instances from the experiences of myself, friends and associates and ask you if you’ve experienced something similar; and which of these real life scenarios would cause you to end the friendship.
—
Our elementary school was a bit experimental for the time. It was a year-round school that focused on innovative teaching methods and didn’t issue letter grades. Instead, there were categories. The academic skills for that particular grade were listed on the left-hand side and five categories were listed on the right. There was Emergent, Developing, Exceptional, Proficient and Fluent. Now, it should be noted that no one I ever knew received fluent marks. To receive fluent, as the name suggests, means that you have mastered the skill, nearly to the point of complete understanding. Fluent, in every category would have likely meant that you were ready to be promoted to the next grade, that very day. So, in fifth grade, when we got our report cards, I called my best friend Patrice to tell her the news and ask if she’d received hers as well. I told her that I had mostly proficients and a few exceptionals. I will never forget her response.
“Girl, when I saw my report card, I cried.”
Assuming the worst, I asked, “Why was it bad?”
“No girl, it was so good! I got all Fluents.”
I knew immediately that she was lying and after giving her a second or two to tell me that she was joking, I simply said,
“Congratulations.”
—-
Funny thing though, when it was my turn to be celebrated for my academic achievements, she didn’t offer the same support. In seventh grade, we had an academic awards ceremony to recognize the students who had excelled throughout the school year. In front of the entire school, my name was called at least five times with awards for attendance, citizenship, honor roll and high honor roll. Truth be told, I was proud of myself but also a bit embarrassed to be standing up in front of the entire school. Even though it was awkward, I knew that the people who knew me would appreciate and celebrate my accomplishments.
But that wasn’t the case.
At the end of the day, a friend came up to me and told me that every time my name was called, Patrice never clapped for me, not once.
—-
I was disappointed to hear that Patrice wasn’t riding for me like I felt she should have been. Still, we had been friends for so long, I just figured that she was too distracted to clap…all five times.
That was still my girl. We were always seen together. In between classes, we’d walk together, chatting about which teacher had gotten on our nerves. We ate lunch together, catching up on the latest gossip and talking about who liked who. We were inseparable. People often said our names like they were one. “PatriceandVeronica.” And while I thought we both liked it that way, Patrice eventually let me know that she didn’t care for the association. One day, at lunch, she was unusually quiet and aloof.
I asked her what was wrong and she suddenly blurted,
“You know I just don’t understand the reason why when we’re walking down the hallways together, people always speak to you first.”
Honestly, it wasn’t something I’d noticed.
“Well, what does it matter if they both speak to us?”
“I just don’t like feeling like your sidekick.”
I shrugged, not exactly sure how I was supposed to change the behavior of other people.
“Ok, girl.”
For reasons I still don’t understand today, she and I didn’t hang out with each other for the rest of the week.
Later that very same week, I noticed that my picture on a school bulletin board had been marked out, vandalized. Though I didn’t want to admit it to myself then, there was a part of me that knew it was Patrice.
—-
But it wasn’t just the grades and social status that Patrice seemed to envy. If I received any attention from men, she wasn’t too happy about that either. During our sophomore year of high school, a very popular, senior basketball player started telling people that he liked me. I didn’t know him well enough to return the sentiment, but I was naturally flattered. By this time, Patrice and I weren’t as close as we were in elementary of middle school, for various reasons. Where we were once both focused on school and learning, she was now onto clothes and boys. I liked clothes and boys just as much as the next girl, just not as much as my books. And certainly not enough to let those interests get me in trouble.
Anyway, since we weren’t hanging out as much as we used to, when news spread that this senior liked me, Patrice sent one of her new friends to deliver a message.
Ashton met me at my locker to chat a bit.
“So, I heard that Matthew likes you…”
“Yeah, I heard the same thing. I really don’t know him though.”
“Well, you know if I were you I wouldn’t take it too seriously. He was just trying to talk to Patrice last week.”
Confused, I frowned before saying, “Oh, ok.”
“Yeah…”
Then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, Ashton flitted off down the hallway.
—-
After high school, I went to college and Patrice started working. The summer after I graduated from college, I came back to my hometown for one last turn up before I had to start making my own way in the real world. Not being able to properly turn up in my parents’ house, me and a group of girls rented a large house. There were four of us, including myself. I was close to two of the girls and one of them was close to Patrice. Since the lease on her apartment, just so happened to be up that summer, she asked if she could live with us. I had feelings about Patrice being shady but I figured not only had we all grown up since middle and high school, having a fourth person in the house would decrease my portion of the rent. Plus, perhaps we’d be able to rekindle our old friendship. I decided to make the best of it.
Turns out, not that much had changed.
That summer, one of the other girls’ brother, Jason, spent quite a bit of time at the Turn Up house. And as it usually goes, it wasn’t long before he and I developed a type of flirtship. Nothing had a officially been established, but it was very clear to see that we were into each other.
I had just done a big chop and Jason was one of the first men to tell me that he loved my natural hair. Not too sure about this whole natural journey, it was much appreciated. It just so happened that Patrice happened to be in the room when he said it. Interestingly enough, from that day forward she stopped getting her ritual relaxer and went through great pains manipulating her hair to make it appear more curly and afro-like.
If I hadn’t traveled a similar path with Patrice, I would have chalked it up to a simple style change. But I was old enough to know better now. And then if that weren’t enough of a clue, she made sure to be present in the room whenever Jason and I were talking. And she didn’t sit and listen quietly in the corner, she would literally interrupt our conversations by jumping on his back, mid-sentence, asking for a piggy back ride, like she was five-years-old.
The poor girl had no chill.
A month later, I moved out, taking a job in L.A. Jason and my flirtship never progressed to anything serious. Still, I had to shake my head when his sister called my just two weeks after I’d been in L.A. to tell me that Patrice and Jason had slept together.
I wish I could say I was surprised. But she had been showing me exactly who she was since we were eleven years old. Hopefully, Jason satisfied her in bed because she clearly was searching for something outside of herself.
—-
Annnnd scene. Again, these are several different stories collected from several different women about their so-called friends. I just, for better readability, took the time to combine them into one narrative. Do you have a similar story about a past or present girlfriend? How did you handle the situation? Were you able to maintain the friendship? And lastly, if you were “me” in any of these situations, which one of them would have been an indicator that you needed to be done with your girl?
