The Jealousy of Women Is Insane

From time to time, old girlfriends of mine would flip through my photo album. This was back when photos were printed on paper and kept in books, not stored on phones. Without fail, they would interrogate every single picture that included a female. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t even in the photo. The fact that another woman existed in the frame was enough to trigger suspicion.

Back in those days, photography was my hobby. I had hundreds of pictures. But I started noticing certain ones missing, always pictures of women. They didn’t ask. They didn’t admit. They simply took the photos, destroyed them, and then denied everything. One girlfriend stared at a photo of my first cousin, who had competed in a beauty pageant. She watched my face like a hawk as she asked who it was, fishing for a reaction, waiting to catch me in a lie. A few days later, those photos disappeared. Probably while I was asleep. That was the day I realized just how deranged a woman’s jealousy can be.

Their jealousy is pathological. They cannot stand the idea that another woman even exists in your past, in your present, or in your thoughts. Your life must be purged of all female presence in Her Majesty’s Holy domain. Pictures. Memories. Names. Erased.

And don’t think it ended with the old days. Today, it’s the same behavior in digital form. She’ll sneak glances while you type in your phone password. Or she’ll play the battery-dead trick and ask to use your phone, just so she can snoop through your photo gallery under the excuse of “needing it.” It’s not curiosity. It’s surveillance.

GOD forbid you work in an office with another woman. Even if she plays it cool on the outside, inside she’s seething. She’ll suggest you quit. She’ll question why that woman talks to you. She’ll stalk your social media. And if you refuse to change jobs or obey her unspoken rules, she’ll start planning her exit. But not before punishing you first. She’ll lash out. Maybe break something you care about. Maybe trash your stuff. But rest assured, you will pay for daring to be near another woman.

The hypocrisy is stunning. These same women who can’t handle a photo of your ex will shove their kids in your face, the living, breathing DNA of the man they slept with. They expect you to accept those kids without question, to raise them, to love them, and to deal with seeing their real father’s face in them. And when he shows up every other weekend for visitation, you’re expected to smile and play nice.

But if you ever speak to your ex? You’re a cheater. A traitor. An emotional abuser. She can text her baby daddy, but you can’t even keep a photo of someone you once knew.

That’s the twisted double standard men are expected to live under. You are not allowed a past. You are not allowed privacy. You are not allowed peace. You exist to serve, obey, and never question the queen’s jealousy.