“You always apply for those small projects — they’re much easier.”
The euphoria of my research grant had lasted exactly one walk to the coffee corner. I’d rushed out to share the news, and before the first congratulations faded, a colleague offered his verdict. The message was clear: your achievement is not really an achievement.
In those moments, the joy of achievement is quickly replaced by self-doubt. You start to wonder: Did I really deserve this? Should I have worked harder? Was it just luck?
Later, when the practical consequence was discussed — a modest teaching reduction, as is customary — the apparent cheerfulness turned to open irritation. Two colleagues were annoyed. Why didn’t they get teaching relief to make time to write a proposal? Wasn’t that unfair?
The implication was unmistakable: I must have had so few other responsibilities that I had ample time to work on a proposal. The months of sacrificed weekends were irrelevant. My investment was invisible; only the outcome was seen, and promptly labelled undeserved.
A few years later, the same mechanism resurfaced. After being offered a chair elsewhere, I negotiated to stay with a salary increase and an extra sabbatical.
A colleague commented: “It’s a strange system If you’re loyal and don’t look elsewhere, you get nothing.”
Again, the success itself wasn’t criticised – only its legitimacy.
This is how professional jealousy often operates: not by confronting the achievements, but by casting moral doubt on them. What makes it so effective is that it forces you on the defensive. You start accounting for your hours, explaining your strategy, justifying your sacrifices. In doing so, you play the very game jealousy sets up. The focus shifts entirely from what you achieved to whether you deserved it.
The only way out is not to play the game.
The lesson I learned is this: celebrate your success, but don’t expect unanimous applause. Invest your energy in colleagues who genuinely share your joy. And when the disguised criticism comes, resist the urge to explain your entire work ethic. A simple, neutral “It was hard work, and I’m glad it paid off” is often more powerful than any defence.
Because jealousy rarely targets success itself. It targets its legitimacy – the right to it. It shifts attention from what was achieved to whether it was earned. That move is its entire strength: a mechanism designed to pull success back toward the comfortable average.
The art, then, is not to explain why you stand apart,
but to quietly refuse to justify it at all.
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