Female Rivalry and How It Impacts Our Friendships
I was recently part of a group conversation in which the topic of female friendships was being discussed. What struck me was how many women in the group spoke of being raised in environments that explicitly taught them that other women were their competition.
As I thought about it some more, I realized that this wasn’t surprising. As women, we’re frequently pitted against one another, especially in terms of our appearance. A perfect example of this is “Who Wore It Best?” comparison images that quite literally put women side by side with the sole purpose of sizing them up.
These comparisons don’t suddenly start when we become women. They begin when we’re young girls. Our culture treats beauty as a currency and we grow up judging and rating one another. Who’s prettiest? Who’s most popular? Who’s wearing the best clothes? We hyper-focus on how we look and how we’re perceived, and as a direct result we jockey for position. This continues throughout our lives.
Embedded in our culture is a deep-rooted belief that a woman’s appearance and achievements can only be viewed through a hierarchical lens. Someone has to come out on top.
We saw this play out just last week when Martha Stewart was praised, then swiftly criticized, for being on the cover of Sports Illustrated. The initial reaction to seeing an 81 year old woman on the front of a magazine (in a swimsuit, no less) was quickly followed by comparisons to Apo Whang-Od who was featured on the April cover of Vogue Philippines at 106.
Martha and Apo are aesthetically very different, as are their cover shots. And while I have thoughts on the glorification of Martha’s “younger” looking body, I found the direct comparisons of these two women to reek of the misogyny so many of us have internalized. There was a very clear implication that only one of them was getting it right.
Instead of holding space for different women, in different bodies, having different life experiences, we immediately want to declare a winner. We struggle to be at ease with the idea that there’s plenty of room for contrast, whether it’s on magazine covers or in our own lives.
As a child, a teen, and a young adult, I witnessed firsthand the distrust my mother often appeared to have for other women. She wasn’t able to model female friendships for me in a way that felt affirming. I also have a sister who I was once very close with, but who has lived with severe depression for many years and has disconnected herself from the family. It’s been decades since we spoke.
So, it’s fair to say I have fractured and complex relationships with the women in my family. For many years, this impacted my ability to form meaningful friendships with other women.
In my twenties I had a few close female friends but I also struggled with believing that women were on my side. Instead, I’d gravitate towards men. Not because I believed they’d be better friends, but because male attention and approval equaled acceptance into a world that I so desperately wanted to matter in.
I lost entire parts of who I was by striving to be a woman who was alluring to men. What I wanted for myself was secondary to what I believed men wanted to see in me. I was deeply disconnected from my true desires and values, so much so that in my early thirties I was on a date with a man who asked me what I enjoyed doing and I was completely stumped as to how I might answer. Outside of drinking too much and seeking male approval, I had no idea.
Whenever a man told me that I wasn’t “like other women” I viewed this not only as a compliment, but also affirmation that other women were part of a circle that I was distinctly detached from. In many ways I longed to belong, but patriarchal conditioning had created a sense of conflict within me, and I didn’t trust the company of other women to be a safe space.
But something I came to notice was that I was using the pain from my fractured family and flimsy relationships with men to create a story about myself that wasn’t true. A story that I could not be loved.
I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t lovable because I wasn’t beautiful in the ways society told me were important. Comparing myself to women who I believed were beautiful simply cemented that they were indeed my competition. In my mind, their beauty meant that I was less attractive and less likely to be appreciated or accepted. Therefore I treated them with envy and suspicion.
Something that eventually transpired was the realization that my beliefs and behaviors were keeping me isolated. I’d witness other women experience an intimate bond with their female friends that I’d closed myself off from. I was missing out on so much joy.
I wanted to invite some of that joy in, but I didn’t want to risk being hurt. I’d absorbed my mother’s skepticism of other women, and I’d experienced the loss of no longer having my sister in my life. Forming female friendships felt unsafe.
It became clear to me that I needed to better know who I truly was before I could form relationships of any depth and substance, with women or men.
I tentatively started to explore what brought me joy and offered me meaning. It was a beautiful revelation to discover I had a passion for photography. Through creativity, I began to come to life in a way I had never before experienced. For the first time, I was giving myself permission to do things for my own pleasure, not anyone else’s approval.
Nurturing myself this way helped me feel more grounded and connected. More whole. Forming friendships, and personal relationships in general, became less daunting because I had a much better idea of who I was and what my values were, and what I needed to do to honor them. Neither my confidence or my self-esteem were at the mercy of anyone else. Comparisons between myself and other women became far less relevant.
Over time, I was able to stop viewing other women as a threat to my happiness and joined forces with them instead. I did this with the help of some very healthy boundaries which meant that I wasn’t leaving myself wide open in the process.
One of my boundaries is being discerning about my energy and who has access to it. Trust is a buildable thing for me. Can we protect our hearts completely? No, not possible. All of life comes with risk. But, in my experience, the benefits of female friendships far outweigh those risks.
It’s ironic that I now work with women and help them feel seen, supported and celebrated. Me, the girl who never felt any of those things. Me, the woman who wouldn’t have believed that I’d have it all mirrored back to me a thousandfold. It’s such a far cry from what I thought was true.
Actor Constance Wu said that when the media pits women against one another, it “helps the patriarchy stay in power”.
She’s right. It does. And that’s not something I’m not remotely interested in seeing that happen.
Now, in my late forties, the love I have for the women in my life is indescribable. I don’t view them as threats or competition. Their opportunities show me what’s possible. Their success does not detract from or diminish mine. I feel more supported than ever. I know I’m lovable. And, for the times I might forget, I have a beautiful circle of women to remind me.
This is another gift that's come with aging. The ability to see how a patriarchal culture encourages division amongst women, and the experience and wisdom to choose unity instead. My female friendships are flourishing in midlife, and I've made my peace with the fractured ones, too. As I said, boundaries are beautiful, but so is letting love in.
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