Yearning for Sisterhood

Written after listening to ABBA on repeat, crying without fully knowing why.

Consider this a sequel to my last post...

Somewhere between the verses of Chiquitita, I caught myself scribbling down my thoughts and composing this poem:

---

Photo by Sam McNamara on Unsplash

I have always longed for connection;

the kind that feels like exhaling rather than holding your breath.

Safe, unfiltered, where I can rest my full self on the table

and not have it rearranged to fit someone else’s comfort.

Especially with women.

I’ve always yearned for their love—

that sacred kind of nurturing

that only women seem to know how to give.

The gentle, wordless understanding.

The way they tend to your wounds without needing the story.

The warmth of being seen, held, and softened

in a world that so often demands you be hard.

I’ve craved that sisterhood,

the unspoken bond we’re meant to share—

where support isn’t earned, it’s offered.

To hold me in the softness we’re all born knowing

but often forget how to give.

I’ve reached for sisterhood like offerings,

with open palms and honest eyes.

And too many times,

I’ve been met with quiet rivalry,

masked as playfulness.

Veiled advice laced with envy.

Support that disappeared when my joy got too loud.

Smiles that shifted when the light landed on me for a little too long.

Why can’t we hold each other without weighing the exchange?

Why can’t we shine beside one another, instead of feeling shaded?

Why does it always feel like the love comes with conditions?

Like connection only feels real

when it’s convenient for someone else?

I get the “hey sister!” voices—

high-pitched, sugary and sweet,

but they always come with a favor attached.

Rarely a genuine check-in.

Rarely an I miss you.

Rarely a how are you, really?

I’m not a hotline for favors, healing, or guidance

when my own heart’s been quietly bleeding

because you deemed it too much to deal with.

Some of this ache began in the place where

sister wasn’t just a word, but a wound.

Where I imagined closeness, and instead met critique.

Where I hoped to be looked up to, but became something to battle against.

I set boundaries,

and I’m met with silence.

I speak truth,

only to watch it ricochet off denial.

The distance became survival.

But still…

I wonder if the echo of my absence is even heard—or felt.

If only they knew how loudly the silence rings on my end.

Sometimes I question if I’m the one pulling away too hard.

Then I remember why I reclaimed my so freely given energy in the first place.

Because it was never truly reciprocated,

never truly appreciated,

beyond how useful it made me to others.

Who truly meets me where I ache to be met?

Where I’ve asked, gently, again and again?

I can’t be the only one trying to build stronger bridges

where the old ones barely held space for us both.

It’s not just one relationship.

It’s a pattern—

one I’ve seen ripple through so many spaces

where I entered with open hands

and left with calloused ones.

Where I became palatable pieces

instead of a whole person.

Where I had to trade truth for belonging

and pretend not to see what I saw

so others could keep their masks intact.

But I see too clearly now—

I respect myself enough to stop pretending.

And I’ve learned that clarity can threaten

those still hiding behind the performance.

People call it paranoia

when I name the undercurrents,

but I’ve learned to trust the ripple

before the wave comes crashing.

Still, I want to believe in sisterhood.

In friendship without the underbelly of comparison.

In women who don’t compete, but collaborate.

Who witness each other’s power

without insecurity, without agenda.

I’m not looking for a crowd.

Just a few who meet me in the deep end

and let me breathe there.

A circle, not a stage.

And maybe one day I‘ll find it.

I’m holding space for the kind of connection I know exists.

The kind that doesn’t ask me to be smaller just to belong.

The kind that exists within me.

---

Thank you so much for reading The Divine Vitality!

If my stories, readings, and reflections bring value to your journey, inspire, or guide you, I would be truly grateful if you’d consider supporting me. You can become a paid subscriber, book an affordable tarot reading to help me practice and grow, or even offer a small contribution via my tip jar.

My heart for this blog has always been to share love, light, and healing openly, and I deeply desire that everyone who visits here finds something meaningful. At the same time, your support empowers me to keep creating, sharing, and learning as I pursue this as my career. Every bit of encouragement and support is a blessing, and I’m endlessly grateful to each of you for helping make this journey possible.

Thank you for being here💛