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I’ve met her in many costumes.
Sometimes, she’s my mother, my sister.
Sometimes, she’s a new friend in the yoga studio.
She arrives soft, sugar-wrapped, eyes wide with “connection,” voice warm with praise.
She offers to help, to collaborate, to “support” me.
But underneath, I can feel the tether: Now you owe me.
The Wounded Child Cloaked in Bestie Vibes
She first came into my world after one of my yoga classes. Sweet, a little sad around the edges. She told me, “You’re such a beautiful teacher. I do sound healing. I’d love to work together.”
The next week, she came with a handwritten card and a small gift—a bar of soap, fragrant as her words: “Your classes have changed me. Let’s collaborate sometime.”
Months later, I invited her to a workshop. The gift turned heavy fast. She didn’t have a car, so I was driving her, hauling in her 12 bags of bowls, doing all the marketing. By the third event, my body said no. I told her I couldn’t carry her gear anymore, and asked her to share in promoting the workshop.
That’s when the unhealed inner child in her ripped through the bohemian yoga garb and wailed.
Her energy cooled. She shrank away. On the day of our event, she came with her mother and boyfriend to help set up—and still looked at me like I was lazy for “relaxing” while she worked. Her mother cornered me, accusing me of being “mean” for not hauling bowls.
During the workshop, she moved her station across the room, claiming it was “bad energy” to be near me—a little dart disguised as honesty. At the end, while I was bringing the group out of savasana, she passed a notebook around for her own email list, blotting out my words.
It was textbook weaponized feminine: the sweet mask used as a passkey to enter, the “kindness” that comes with an unspoken price tag.
Why This Matters for Healing the Divine Feminine
The weaponized feminine is the distortion of the divine feminine.
It’s trauma dressed as truth.
It’s fear dressed as friendship.
It’s competition hiding inside “I’m just trying to help.”
It keeps women from holding one another without secretly measuring, competing, or angling for the bigger slice.
The divine feminine doesn’t flinch when another woman shines.
She lets the light touch her, warm her, grow her.
Where My Yes Ends and My Truth Begins
This is my sacred perimeter—and maybe yours too.
I tend my life like a garden now.
Some gates stay open—for the women who walk in truth, whose joy isn’t tangled with hooks.
Other gates close without apology—to anyone who needs me to wilt so they can feel tall.
If you can only love me when I am useful to you, the garden stays locked.
If my glow makes you itch, that’s your invitation to tend your own soil, not my cue to dim the sun.
Because the real abundance, the real sisterhood, the real us—it grows where the light is allowed to shine without apology or reprimand.
And for me, it blooms brightest in my own heart.
If I have space for that light within me, then no doubt I’m gonna attract my sisterhood seed by seed.
~
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