The Sisterhood Wound
Why Women Online-Piling On Other Women Hurts Us All
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There's been a lot of noise surrounding the author Glennon Doyle's brief, tumultuous foray onto Substack. While the specifics involve differing opinions on platform ethics, transparency, and how one “should” enter a new community space, one undercurrent felt painfully familiar:
Women piling onto another woman.
Of course there are also corners who say it wasn’t “designed as a pile-on”, but if I’m totally honest: I personally think impact unfortunately trumps intention in this case, and some (albeit not all), voices were very harsh in the way they scrutinised her arrival.
The main suggestion was she hadn't arrived quietly and humbly enough, and that her established success somehow had to make her more mindful of the way she chose to enter. Doyle ultimately decided to leave the platform.
I usually don’t get involved in these matters, and I’m not big on anything that even remotely goes into the direction of influencer culture, but I do believe that no matter where you stand on the specifics of that situation, the dynamics are worth examining with compassionate curiosity because they are important on a much bigger scale.
Why does this happen quite often?
Why do we, as women, sometimes become the sharpest critics, the quickest judges of other women, especially those who are visible, successful, or simply daring to take up space?
I believe this pattern is frequently a painful symptom of internalised misogyny.
And that’s a tough and painful concept to sit with because none of us want to admit, or even believe, we could possibly uphold the very patriarchal structures we often fight against. But misogyny isn't just an external force; it's a pervasive societal smog we've all breathed in, and the “rules” how women should behave are insidious:
Be agreeable, be modest, don't be too loud, don't be too ambitious, don't take up too much space, be nurturing, don't draw too much attention.
When we see another woman breaking these unwritten rules (perhaps by being unapologetically successful, by being outspoken, by challenging norms, or even just by existing and entering spaces confidently), it can trigger a deep, often unconscious discomfort rooted in those internalised patriarchal expectations. The criticism that erupts often echoes the very judgments society levels against women who step outside prescribed roles. It's as if a part of us, conditioned by patriarchal standards, feels compelled to police other women back into line.
This isn't about inherent cattiness, or women being naturally competitive. It's a learned behaviour, a consequence of living in a system that historically pits women against each other for limited resources, validation, and power. When we attack another woman for her success or her way of being, it can often stem from our own sense of lack, a feeling (conscious or not) that her gain is somehow our loss. It’s our scarcity mindset whispering that there isn't enough room, enough success, enough light for all of us. And sorry, that’s a fundamentally patriarchal lie designed to keep us small and divided.
Thank you for reading this far—there are so many amazing writers on here, so I truly appreciate it. If what I write resonates in any way, a comment, restack or like is really welcome…
A couple of personal anecdotes…
I’ve felt the sting of this myself, albeit in a different context. A few years back, in my own professional field, I pointed out a worrying trend to introduce psychotherapeutic measures into performing arts instruction—often without the required training and accreditation. My intention was purely to encourage rigorous standards and appropriate boundaries within our community. I criticised the trend, not individuals. However, some colleagues (all of them women), interpreted my critique as an attempt to “take down” a whole niche within our field. I was labelled a gatekeeper (of course no one ever said this to my face, but the whisper-network fed it back to me regardless with receipts), and it was somewhat bewildering to have my commitment to rigorous standards mistaken for personal animosity, especially by other women.
Similarly, I recall another instance in an online group I shall not name (and have since left), where my faux-pas was to draw attention to a certain therapeutic modality not being recognised by the NHS (and I hasten to add that I use this modality myself, so I’m not against it in any shape or form). I was hoping to spark a useful discussion. The reaction from particularly one key female member (who also happened to be the admin) wasn't engagement, but defensiveness and subtle bullying. My posts suddenly got deleted with weird excuses (“self-promotion” although there was no promotion whatsoever in my posts, or just, “Oops, don’t know what happened there, someone else must have deleted it. I’ll get back to you”—without ever getting back to me: My posts stayed deleted). The opportunity for collective growth and best practice was shut down because someone had the feeling her course of action was threatened, or that “harmony” had to be built on not rocking the boat (another subtle form of policing). The experience taught me how quickly women can become personae non gratae simply for failing to wrap their intellectual contributions in the appropriate package of “deference and humility”.
Conversely, this should also make clear that something said with good intentions may ultimately land or be perceived wrongly, so I really feel both sides here.
But when we participate in criticising the person (and I get that the lines between that, and criticising actions or trends, are often nebulous), we are not only harming the woman being targeted, but we are also harming ourselves and hindering collective progress. We reinforce the idea that women must constantly shrink themselves to be acceptable. We distract from systemic issues by focusing on individual women's perceived mistakes and/or flaws. And crucially, we reveal our areas of insecurity, our places where we feel limited or threatened—places where patriarchal conditioning still has a hold.
Recognising this isn't about assigning blame, because I’m truly not sure if there’s anyone to blame here; it's about awareness and compassion, for others and for ourselves. When we feel that urge to criticise another woman online, perhaps we can pause and ask:
What exactly am I reacting to? Is it her actions, or her perceived violation of an unwritten rule about female behaviour?
Is my reaction rooted in genuine concern, or does it also touch on my insecurities or feelings of lack?
Am I upholding a standard for her that I wouldn't apply to a man in the same position?
Could I choose curiosity (or even silence!) over immediate critique?
Could I channel this energy into supporting other women, including myself?
Breaking the cycle requires conscious effort and empathy
It requires challenging the patriarchal voices inside our own heads.
It means choosing solidarity over suspicion, abundance over scarcity, and celebration over critique whenever possible.
It means recognising that another woman's light doesn't dim our own; it only makes the world brighter for all of us.
And perhaps the most radical act isn't just claiming our seat at the table, but pulling up chairs for others; especially for those women whose styles, approaches, and voices differ from our own…
If you would like to listen to a read-aloud version of this post, you can do this here:
“It means recognising that another woman's light doesn't dim our own; it only makes the world brighter for all of us.” ⬅️ THIS.
Very interesting and insightful. Thank you.