Beyond the Sister Wound: A Practice of Remembrance

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately - on collaboration with other women, on the beauty and possibility of working together, and also on the moments where it feels harder than we expect. These reflections haven’t come from theory alone, but from lived experience - in my work, my relationships, and the communities I’m part of.

They’ve brought me back to something many of us carry, often without realising it: what’s sometimes called the sister wound.

I don’t experience this as something to blame ourselves or each other for. It feels older than that - inherited, learned, shaped by history and by systems that taught women to compare, to compete, and to stay small in order to survive.

There was a time when women gathered more naturally - around fires, in kitchens, beneath trees - and knew how to hold one another. We shared the work of living, the raising of children, the tending of land and community. Somewhere along the way, through separation, scarcity and fear, we forgot some of that wisdom.

And yet, the remembering is still available to us.

Why I choose to share openly

Some people may wonder why I share so openly - especially when what I’m reflecting on is painful, complex or still unfolding.

The truth is, I don’t share from a place of malice or blame. I share because it’s how I process and learn from my experiences, however uncomfortable they may be. Writing and reflecting feels cathartic - not because it resolves everything, but because it allows me to sit with what’s true and make sense of it.

And when I share, conversations open up. Other women say, me too. I’m reminded that I’m not alone - and neither are they.

I also believe that naming things gently, without blame, brings awareness. And awareness is where change begins. Not just personal change, but cultural change. The kind many of us are quietly longing for.

Choosing a different way

Learning not to be competitive has been a conscious and ongoing practice for me. Not because I don’t care, and not because I’m immune to insecurity - but because competition simply doesn’t align with the world I want to help create.

Especially in the wellbeing space.

If this work is genuinely about supporting people - helping them reconnect to themselves, to nature, to their bodies and to community - then it makes sense that there will be many paths in. Many teachers. Many spaces. Many ways of belonging.

People don’t need to choose one place, one person or one approach. They’re allowed to explore. To move between spaces. To take what nourishes them and leave what doesn’t.

I actually see it as a positive that more people are offering nature-based experiences, community gatherings and wellbeing spaces. It means more access, more choice, more support reaching more people.

No one owns this work.

And there is room.

Where this has shown up for me

This reflection hasn’t come from nowhere. It’s been shaped by real experiences - particularly around collaboration, boundaries, and how easily women can end up positioned as threats to one another.

In my work, I’ve experienced moments where collaboration with another woman slowly shifted into something more guarded - where overlap was interpreted as competition, and I was seen as a conflict of interest rather than a collaborator. There was no malice in it, but it revealed how quickly fear and scarcity can creep in, even when values appear aligned.

That experience taught me something important: collaboration only really works when there’s enough internal safety on both sides to allow overlap, difference and shared ground - without it becoming personal.

I’ve also felt this in my personal life, in situations where another woman crossed boundaries in ways that felt deeply unsettling. Not because of drama or detail, and not because relationships aren’t complex - but because they lacked what I believe should exist between women: an unwritten code of care, respect and integrity.

A sense that we don’t engage with another woman’s family, home or emotional landscape without awareness and responsibility. That we remember there is a real human being on the other side - a woman, a mother, someone holding a lot - even when it might be easier not to.

I’ve felt something similar in my role as a stepmother, where instead of being recognised as another woman caring for the same children, I’ve sometimes been treated as competition. In both situations, what’s been most painful hasn’t been conflict itself, but the feeling of being dehumanised - of being spoken about or acted around, rather than spoken to.

When communication becomes indirect or avoidant, it becomes much easier to forget the humanity involved. Responsibility softens. Integrity slips. Empathy gets lost.

The world is hard enough as it is - and I don’t believe it serves any of us to make it harder by turning against one another.

Awareness before action

What’s helped me most isn’t trying to fix anyone else, but taking responsibility for how I show up.

Pausing when something feels uncomfortable.

Noticing when comparison or defensiveness arises.

Choosing curiosity instead of assumption.

Awareness doesn’t mean analysing everything or getting it “right”. It simply means noticing.

Noticing the tightening in the chest.

The urge to compare.

The quiet story that says there isn’t room for me.

Those responses didn’t come from nowhere. They have roots shaped by history, conditioning and lived experience. When we meet them with presence rather than judgement, they loosen their grip.

That pause creates choice. And choice is where change begins.

Healing through connection, not competition

The sister wound doesn’t heal in isolation, and it doesn’t heal through comparison.

It softens through connection - through spaces where trust is built slowly, vulnerability is welcomed, and women are allowed to be seen in their wholeness. Not just their confidence or success, but their uncertainty too.

When connection is present, competition loses its charge. Another woman’s success stops feeling like a threat and starts feeling like an invitation.

Celebration as a form of healing

One of the ways I think we actively change this is by learning to celebrate one another - genuinely, out loud, without minimising.

I remember a moment clearly from my yoga teacher training when I shared that I’d managed to do a headstand on my paddleboard. For me, that wasn’t about showing off - I was genuinely proud. My body had learned something new, and I’d worked hard for it.

The response I received wasn’t celebration. It was dismissal - as though my pride needed to be corrected or contained.

What stayed with me wasn’t anger, but confusion. Because what if someone had simply said: well done?

I’ve experienced something very different in other spaces - particularly women-only environments where celebrating one another’s progress is the norm. Not competitively, but personally. Everyone’s goals are their own, and each step forward is acknowledged.

That kind of celebration builds confidence rather than hierarchy. It says: your progress doesn’t take anything away from me - it adds to the room.

The spaces I choose to hold

This is why I care so deeply about the spaces I create.

They’re not about fixing yourself, proving anything, or being the best at something. You don’t need to arrive confident, capable or “together”.

You just need to show up.

You’re allowed to be new.

You’re allowed to wobble.

You’re allowed to take up space exactly as you are.

What matters to me is how it feels to be in the space together - whether people feel safe enough not to compare, not to judge themselves or others, and not to shrink in order to belong.

Because being yourself never requires making someone else smaller.

The values I practise, not just speak about

In the rewilding retreats and spaces I lead, we always begin by naming shared intentions. Not rules, and not expectations - but ways of being together.

We remind ourselves that we don’t need to fix one another. That presence, listening and kindness are often enough. That it’s okay to ask for what we need, and equally okay to take space. That everyone belongs - exactly as they are.

We move through the land with care and reverence, remembering that it isn’t something to consume, but something we’re in relationship with. Kindness matters - especially towards ourselves. Curiosity is valued over competence. Nothing is about being good at something or getting it right.

Every activity is an invitation, not an expectation. However someone feels - tears, laughter, awkwardness, stillness - all of it is welcome. And above all, we’re encouraged to trust our own instincts, our inner yes and our gentle no.

Those values don’t stay contained within retreat spaces for me. They shape how I try to live, lead, collaborate, parent, and repair when things feel difficult. They’re not about perfection - they’re about returning, again and again, to humanity, responsibility and care.

Lightness, not hierarchy

Another value I return to again and again is lightness - not in a trivial sense, but in a human one.

Fun. Ease. Warmth. The feeling of being welcome and seen.

Some of the healthiest spaces I’m part of are those where there’s no sense of superiority - just encouragement, mutual respect and shared humanity. Those spaces remind me that the sister wound isn’t inevitable. It softens when the conditions are right.

This isn’t about blame - it’s about choice

I want to be clear: this isn’t about blame. It’s about awareness - and deciding what we want to do with it.

For me, that feels especially important as a mother. I have two daughters, and I’m very aware that many of the things I’m still learning to navigate — as a woman, as a mother, as a human being - are things they’re watching me move through in real time.

I don’t expect to get it right. But I do feel a responsibility to notice, to reflect, and to try to shift what I can.

If we can change how we relate to one another now - how we celebrate, support and make space for each other - then we’re not just doing this for ourselves. We’re shaping the emotional landscape our children will grow up in. Especially our daughters.

That feels less like pressure, and more like purpose.

Remembrance

I don’t think this work is about fixing ourselves or each other. I think it’s about remembrance.

Remembering that we were never meant to compete for belonging.

Remembering that connection isn’t scarce.

Remembering who we are when we stop comparing and start trusting.

This doesn’t feel like progress to me.

It feels like coming home.

A gentle invitation

If something here has resonated, perhaps pause for a moment and notice what feels alive for you.

Where might curiosity soften comparison?

Where might connection replace competition?

Where might celebration feel possible?

I hope - deeply - that we can make this different for our daughters. That they grow up knowing they don’t need to compete with other girls to belong, to be chosen, or to be worthy. That another woman’s strength doesn’t threaten their own.

If the spaces we create now can model trust, generosity and encouragement, then maybe they won’t have to unlearn quite so much.

Maybe they’ll simply remember.