There’s a shadow side to feminine energy that no one warned us about.
They told us sisterhood would be soft, that women would hold each other, lift each other, speak light into each other’s wounds. But they didn’t tell us what happens when a woman feels threatened by your growth.
Some betrayals happen with broken glass and screaming matches. Others come dressed in politeness, shared memories, and years of loyalty that made you believe they’d never leave.
This is the second kind.
She was a part of my life for a very long time. Long enough to know the names of people who hurt me. Long enough to see my kids grow and long enough to say “I love you” and mean it — or so I thought.
There was a moment I’ll never forget, and I’ve replayed it too many times.
We were sitting at my kitchen table, drinking tea like we always did. I told her something that meant a lot to me. Something I was proud of. She smiled while holding her phone. But it didn’t reach her eyes. And then she changed the subject.
It was so small I almost missed it. But that was the moment something felt "done". Not obviously. But I felt it. The warmth was gone. The sisterhood was gone. But her body stayed in the room.
If you’re reading this and thinking I’m here to drag someone or air out personal drama — not today.
This story isn’t about revenge or bitterness. It’s about the women who’ve felt this exact thing and never had the words for it. It’s for those who are still wondering if they imagined the shift in their own lives.
It’s for the younger version of me who would’ve read this and finally said, “So I’m not crazy.”
Because here’s what I’ve learned: when feminine energy is not rooted in the soul, it defaults to ego, and ego is loud, even in silence.
The ego doesn’t say, “I feel insecure next to her.”
It says, “She thinks she’s better than me now.”
It doesn’t say, “I’m afraid I’m being left behind.”
It says, “She’s not who she used to be.”
And maybe I did change. Maybe I did grow. I started speaking more freely, loving myself more boldly, choosing things some couldn’t yet choose for themselves.
I’ll own that.
Maybe that did trigger something in her. Not because she’s cruel. But because sometimes, when we’re not connected to our sacred worth, someone else’s light feels like an attack.
I wish I could say the unravelling ended with silence...
With two women drifting apart for reasons no one could quite name. With unanswered texts and growing distance and nothing more. But that’s not how it ended.
The truth is, the signs had been there long before I finally stopped denying their existence. Fleeting comments that didn’t sit right. Lingering glances that lasted a beat too long. Stories that changed slightly the second time they were told.
At first, I convinced myself I was being sensitive. Maybe I was just protective. That surely, she — the one who had cried with me over broken hearts and held my hand through some of the hardest moments of my life — would never cross that kind of line. Not with the men she knew had mattered to me.
But memory has a funny way of ripening in hindsight. You start noticing what you brushed off the first time. The way she asked about them with a little too much interest. The way she shifted the subject when I spoke about my pain. The way she went quiet whenever they came up in conversation — not out of discomfort, but as if something unspoken passed through her mind, and she chose not to say it.
And still, she came to my home. Sat at my kitchen table. Held my child in her arms. And looked me in the eye with all the ease of someone who had nothing to hide. But something had changed. Even then, I felt it. A subtle pulling away beneath the surface of her smile. A flicker in her tone I couldn’t name, but couldn’t un-hear.
It took time. Too much time, maybe. But eventually, the confirmation came from Above. Not through confrontation, but through the quiet, brutal math of timelines that no longer aligned. A story that slipped. A gut feeling that finally grew too loud to ignore. She had kissed them.
The men I had once wept over in front of her. The ones I’d spoken about in whispered, shaking detail. The ones who, love them or not, held pieces of my story. My body. My becoming. She knew they mattered for that moment. She knew what it meant. That was the part that hurt most.
Not the kiss itself. But the knowing — and doing it anyway.
So what do you do when it happens to you?
When the one who held your secrets becomes the one who slips out the back door with your trust still in her hands?
You don’t need to scream. You don’t need to confront her in a text at 2 am. You don’t even need to make her admit it. You just need to stop gaslighting yourself.
Stop telling yourself it was nothing.
Stop shrinking your intuition into something “insecure.”
Stop making excuses for someone who knew exactly what they were doing and did it anyway.
If something in your body tightened, if your heart sank without explanation, if their energy changed the moment you started rising — that was not your imagination. That was your knowing.
And this is what I want you to do:
-
Name it.
Even if only to yourself.
Write it down. Say it out loud. Admit what you saw. What you felt. What you kept trying to ignore. -
Bless it — and release it.
Not because she deserves your forgiveness, but because you deserve your peace. You don’t need to keep carrying her silence like it’s your burden to understand. -
Redefine what loyalty means to you.
It’s not just who’s there when you’re broken. It’s who claps when you rise. Who keeps your name clean in rooms you’re not in? Who respects your past as sacred, even if they no longer play a role in your future.
This post isn’t just about betrayal.
It’s about what happens to a woman’s spirit when she stops trusting her own knowing. When she silences her intuition in the name of being polite. When she feels the shift in a friend’s energy, and talks herself out of it. When she knows a line has been crossed, and still pretends everything’s fine.
That’s not just emotional.
It’s spiritual.
It’s energetic.
It’s a fracture in your connection to the Sacred Feminine. The Sacred Feminine energy is not just soft. It’s discerning and it knows when something’s off, but it doesn’t need external validation to name it. It feels the tension before it’s spoken. It senses the betrayal before the facts appear. It recognizes when a woman is no longer sitting beside you in sisterhood — she’s sitting in quiet competition.
And when we ignore that knowing? When we override our truth to stay likable or avoid discomfort, we abandon ourselves. We dull our edge.
We dim the very thing that makes our feminine energy so powerful: its ability to see through the unseen.
This isn’t about punishing another woman.
It’s about reclaiming the parts of you that stayed silent when your soul was already screaming.
Here’s the truth: your Sacred Feminine was never meant to be blind.
She was never meant to nod politely while something sacred was being crossed behind your back. She sees, she feels, and she knows. And every time you pretend not to, you chip away at her. You dull the blade you were born with. You abandon your altar.
Now, say it with me, my friend.
“I saw it.
I felt it.
And that’s enough.”
That’s where your Sacred Feminine begins.