Too Much, Too Sensitive, Too Strong: Healing the Sister Wound

Unraveling and Healing the Sister Wound, Masculine Energy, and Finding My Place in the Middle

“I know I’m a badass, and yet most days I still lack confidence. But that’s not my truth—that’s my conditioning.”

This line has been echoing through me lately, rising from the deep places inside me. Because I’ve been wrestling with something I’ve never quite said out loud—at least not in this way.
It’s about women.
More specifically, my relationships with women.
How much I’ve longed for connection… and how often I’ve been let down by it.

I’ve had some beautiful moments of sisterhood. But I’ve also been hurt, disappointed, misunderstood. I’ve worked for female bosses and walked away disillusioned. I’ve tried to build friendships with women and ended up feeling like I failed. Over and over again.

And I’ve carried this quiet ache:
What’s wrong with me?

A Tomboy Heart with a Sensitive Soul

I was a tomboy growing up—climbing trees, racing bikes, scraped knees, no patience for drama. But inside, I was deeply sensitive. Empathic. Intuitive. A feeler in every sense of the word.

As I got older, I began to see the energetic blueprint I carry. My husband has always said I have strong masculine energy—and he, a strong feminine side. It’s true. He builds deep, emotional friendships with women. I lean toward structure, directness, leadership. And for years, I thought maybe that made me the odd one out.

I now realize:
I’m not odd. I’m not broken.
I’m a woman living in the middle—the space between softness and strength.

The Invisible Scars

There’s another layer to this story.
A deeper one I don’t often talk about.

Before I met my husband Jim—the man who helped me rediscover safety and love—I was in a different kind of relationship. One built on control, jealousy, and anger. I was with him for nine years.

During that time, many of my male friendships disappeared. They weren’t “allowed.” It wasn’t safe to express myself fully or connect deeply with others. I shrank to stay invisible, to stay out of trouble. I stopped trusting myself, and I didn’t have the energy or freedom to build nourishing relationships with women either.

That relationship ended nearly two decades ago. But the imprint it left? Still lingers.

And I wonder—how much of my struggle to trust women, to allow myself to be vulnerable in female spaces, or to fully own my voice and energy… is rooted in that old scar?

I don’t have all the answers.
But I know this:
I’m not carrying that wound in silence anymore.
I’m healing it.
Naming it.
Reclaiming my voice.

The Sister Wound

There’s a name for this ache I’ve been carrying: the sister wound. It’s the collective pain women feel when connection is replaced by competition, when trust is betrayed, when presence is withheld, when we’re taught there’s not enough space for all of us to thrive.

It’s the quiet grief of wanting sisterhood so badly—and feeling like it’s always just out of reach.

I’ve lived this.
And for a long time, I internalized it. Thought it was me. Thought I was too intense, too sensitive, too masculine, too much.

But now, I’m starting to see that maybe I’ve just been looking for the wrong kind of sisterhood. Or looking in the wrong places. Or expecting depth in spaces that weren’t designed to hold it.

And Then This Happened…

Just this week, something shifted.

I sat with two women—two friends I trust—and we had a conversation that felt like balm to every place that still aches. It was real. Raw. Open. We shared experiences and challenges, and what has helped us heal. There was no competition. No posturing. Just presence.

We laughed. We held space. We enjoyed tea, golden milk, and each other. For an hour and a half, we were fully there—with and for one another.

It felt like a glimpse of what’s possible when women come together with honesty, humility, and heart.

It reminded me that healing is already happening. That maybe the scar doesn’t have to close me off. Maybe it can soften me into something wiser.

Maybe sisterhood is still available to me when I show up as my whole self.

Realizations From the Fire

Here’s what I’m learning:

• My directness isn’t unkind.
  It’s clarity. It’s honesty. It’s leadership.
• My emotions aren’t a burden.
  They’re my compass. My wisdom. My feminine magic.
• My longing for deep, mutual, soul-level connection isn’t naive.
  It’s sacred.

I’m not here to please people.
I’m not here to stay safe.
I’m here to be seen.
I’m here to burn true.

If You’ve Felt This Too

If you’ve struggled with female friendships…
If you’ve been hurt, disappointed, or left wondering why it always feels so hard…
If you’ve questioned your place among other women, or wondered why your strength gets misunderstood as coldness…

You’re not alone.
And you’re not broken.
You are just becoming more you.

And if you’ve had moments of beauty and connection, even just glimpses—hold on to them. They’re proof that healing is possible. That you’re not too late. That sisterhood can still bloom, even from a scarred heart.

This Is My Ministry

Years ago, a prophet said I would have a healing ministry.
Back then, I didn’t fully understand what that meant.

But I see now…
This is my healing.
This is my ministry.
Not from a pulpit.
From the battlefield of my own soul.
From the quiet, honest spaces where I put down the performance and pick up the truth.

A Final Truth

I don’t want to be palatable.
I want to be powerful.

I don’t want to water myself down to avoid offense.
I want to offer something real enough to change lives.

And if that means I lose people who only loved the filtered version of me?
So be it.

Because I’m not here to burn out.
I’m here to burn true.

©2025 Lori Ann King