Tired Of The Dishonesty Around Female Friendships.

Be fucking forreal.

We reached 2k subscribers. Wow. Gratitude! Thank you y’all.

I contemplated on sharing this because I didn’t want to be ‘messy.’ But I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with writing about how you were harmed. And this era is about ME. Writing about MY experiences, MY trauma, MY interests. I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. If you feel a way, write your own shit. Not talking shit if I’m talking about my experience. So, here you go.

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A bitch gotta be honest.

Right?

Recently, I’ve been so upset with myself because I now see with a new lens that I stayed in so many spaces and friendships that seemingly embraced me, while secretly resenting me. This realization can be crushing. Brutal. Almost feels… fatal? Yet I am tremendously grateful nonetheless. I feel like that phoenix they be talking about that constantly rises no matter what? Is that the right reference y’all?

I went through a friendship breakup around August that only hurt me for a few days, until I seen that it would’ve never served me, anyway. Throughout the friendship, I would tell my therapist certain things in passing while just yapping away. And you know how therapists do that thing where they tell you someone isn’t good for you without telling you they aren’t good for you? Yeah. She did that with me. Constantly. She said it without saying that she wasn’t a fan of the treatment I endured throughout the course of the friendship. Typical me, I just gaslighted myself and told myself that I was crazy.

No way, I thought. That’s just you overthinking per usual. Maybe you didn’t explain it the right way to your therapist.

But here I always go. Not trusting my intution. Which revealed to me that I wasn’t as confident in myself as I thought I was. I did not trust my body and spirit as much as I thought I did. I ain’t trust my voice either. I was in a toxic relationship with not only my then-friend, but also with myself. That was the most disrespectful shit I could’ve ever done to myself. It still pisses me off to think about it and I feel this heavy mix of regret, guilt, shame, and gratitude for the experience at the same time. Second guessing myself has always been a constant theme throughout my life— despite me always proving myself correct every. damn. time.

You see, most people have always branded me as this crazy bitch. The psycho girl who goes on these random Instagram rants about things she is passionate about. Rarely, does anybody think— wow, she is so outspoken and driven and expressive about the things she loves, the things she hates, the things that she enjoys. It’s always rebranded as me being out of my fucking mind. And maybe I am. But for good reason. I’d like to describe myself as Beneatha from ‘A Raisin In The Sun’— constantly questioning tradition, calling out misogynoir, and marching to the beat of my own drum. I don’t like doing what other bitches do. I like doing what Kamory likes to do. To others, that makes me ‘aggressive’, ‘masculine.’ Being a vocal and assertive Black woman comes with a cost. Suddenly, I’m ‘too much’ because I like to express myself and share my knowledge. I’m ‘too much’ because I like to wear clothing that is reflective of my bold and dynamic personality and upbringing. I have always been ME and throughout my entire life that has ALWAYS bothered women.

Even in high school, I recall me sharing some fun facts about Martin Luther King on my Snapchat during MLK Day, only for bitches to turn around shading me. Bitches who actually looked like me.

“Y’all wanna be activists so bad. Nobody cares about MLK fun facts. Go to bed.”

That stung. And I remember addressing that one girl in high school about that and her gaslighting me as if I was tripping, when in reality I wasn’t. No, that was directed at me and you didn’t expect for me to clock it. That has been a theme throughout my friendships my entire fucking life. And I think at some point I just stopped paying attention to the passive aggressive remarks and backhanded compliments just because I was so tired of being told I was tripping when I KNEW I wasn’t. Your body can sense when someone isn’t fond of you.

Plenty of people hold this belief that if you keep falling out with people, that you must be the problem. I am not denying this. However, it don’t always work that way and that ain’t always the case.

You see, the rebellious, yapping, fearless, unapologetic woman is constantly romanticized and revered in media— TV, Films, Music. Everyone loves the blunt girl. The girl who says whatever comes to mind and has a sass that remains unfiltered even despite society’s attempts to silence her. They love that she isn’t what we typically associate with femininity— docile, meek, ‘soft’, ‘submissive’. These outlaw women are cute to write about and fantasize about, but very rarely does anyone ever showcase the pain that comes with being that girl. The loneliness that comes with that. The fear that comes with being that girl. Everyone loves the bitch because of how cool she looks to outsiders and the fun experiences we can give you, but often times we wind up befriending bitches who really do look at us with disgust and disdain. Jealousy and resentment. Judgment. Yet they do an exceptional job at hiding those negative feelings and emotions around others. They do an exceptional job at looking like they are seemingly supportive in public, hating you in all actuality. They befriend you because they look at you as a tragedy, and once you begin amassing traction for your authentic nature— the facade comes crumbling down.

You then begin to notice the back-handed compliments. The shady posts that are EXACTLY you. The passive aggressive remarks. The subtle mimicking of you, copying your words, style, language, fashion staples. It is almost like these women look at you with both admiration and resentment, but refuse to say it. Women will ‘root for you’ and be in your DMs telling you how fascinating you are, how much you inspire them, how funny and charismatic you are. This is only for those same women who were rooting for you, to begin turning around and talking down on women who present EXACTLY LIKE YOU. You then start thinking, “Well yeah, they say if the shoe fits then wear it. But how are you saying you hold a disdain towards women who are the textbook definition of me? Even if you aren’t talking about me in specific, per se, I do fit that exact description. So is the love real or fake?”

Women will root for you and despise you at the same damn time. Women who are rebels, outlaws, fearless, unapologetic. Women (especially Black women) who defy traditional notions of femininity— these are the frequent things we go through. Think of women like Grace Jones, Frida Kahlo, Eartha Kitt. I know that without a doubt they endured a lot of scrutiny and backlash, especially from other women— for challenging the way femininity was supposed to look. For being expressive and vulnerable and unfiltered. It rubs women the wrong way when you don’t present in the way that women are taught to show up. You’re cool at first, and then you’re a threat. This is a very real thing, but everyone loves to act as if you are losing your mind when you speak about it as a woman.

I’ve always had poor experiences with women. A lot of women fear women like me because I don’t care about perception enough to the point where I am changing who I am at my core. I do fear whatever ideas the public comes up with about me, I’ll admit. But NEVER to the point where I’m just going to stop being me. It won’t happen. Women are groomed up to be quiet, seen and not heard, curated, voiceless objects in hopes of being ‘picked’ and being deemed ‘wifey material.’ How dare you be open about your personal insecurities or vulnerable about your life journey? Be quiet. That is nobody’s business. How dare you have a potty mouth? How dare you speak out about things that bother you? How dare you show off your intellect and special interests to the public? You’re only supposed to be seen. No one should know anything about you, but that you’re pretty.

I’ve never cared about that shit. And in my adulthood, I never really recognized how many women fear using their voices on both social media platforms and in reality. I am a mirror to them and all their insecurities, and it bothers them because they are forced to stare at their reflection and question everything they’ve been taught about being a [Black] woman. I scare them. I awaken their low self-esteem. Women like me have always throughout history had extremely difficult experiences in connecting with other women.

It’s almost like there is this unspoken rule amongst women where you are not allowed to speak about your poor experiences with other women. You are not allowed to vocalize how shitty female friendships can be. If you do express this, you are suddenly a ‘pickmeisha.’ And I hate that so much because I do love women so much. I love the way we’re designed, I love the way we maneuver, I love everything about being a woman. But it’s like women hate being held accountable. As a way to avoid accountability, we avoid these conversations where women share their rather unsavory experiences with other grown women. And so the cycle continues and continues and continues. We’d rather act like women are perfect and amazing and sunshine and unicorns and glitter all the fucking time, knowing damn well that ain’t true. We’d rather call women ‘the problem’ for being honest about these experiences, rather than doing a deep dive into how the patriarchy impacts how we interact with one another. The patriarchy has socialized women to compete with each other and to look at anyone who challenges it as a threat.

Recently, I’ve been coming to my own realizations about the former friendship I had with my former podcast partner, who we’ll call Kya. I started thinking about it after an interaction I had with a new friend.

It’s been a few people reaffirming me that I stick out like a sore thumb amongst plenty of people (in a good way) and I appreciate my new tribe down for speaking life into me. My new tribe feels refreshing. Like a breath of fresh air. More aligned with who I am at my core. Specifically my new friend, Tyokia (who has an amazing blog, btw. Y’all need to follow her). I can frequently talk to her about some of my spiritual insights and personal development. I also met another friend— Samirah, who is a popular gamer/streamer and in vet school. We had been following each other for a while and she reached out to hang at this cute place in Philly called Writers Block Rehab— a cozy bar AND a library, y’all. How cute! Anyways, when I met her she spilled to me how much she looked at me with admiration.

“You know how hard it is to leave a duo and create a platform solo?”, she said.

“No, I never thought about it, to be honest. Is it really that hard?”

She then went into how she’s been around the Philly creative scene for years and she’s seen how difficult it is for creatives who are apart of group dynamics to build something substantial outside of what they are typically known for, and especially in such a short amount of time. Me— I had only been in the scene for about a year and a half, but Samirah has been around for 7+ years. She’s worked with Rec Philly, dabbed a little in journalism, and has a platform of her own, so I took her words seriously.

I never really thought I was doing anything innovative honestly. I was just being me. And people were just drawn to it. In my conversation and time spent with her, I truly realized the importance of having a tribe. And not just any tribe. A tribe that is in alignment with your heart. Nothing based off similar interests or similar career paths, but based off similar hearts, core values, and beliefs. That was a major fuck up for me in my early 20s. Befriending bitches just because we had the same interests.

If you don’t know, I had a pretty popular podcast, Heauxsome Black Girl, with a former ‘best’ friend. Recently, I’ve been revisiting older episodes and with a new lens I’m like, “Damn, this girl was really a hater.” Just listening to it back, I hear so many of the backhanded, passive aggressive comments and the jealousy. While I’ll always give her props for some of her creative input into the podcast, I do see that she was holding me back. And this isn’t even any hating shit, either. This is just my truth. She was very intimidated by my light, my aura, and my brilliance. And earlier in our friendship, it was during a time where I knew nothing about myself. At all. I rarely ever advocated for myself. I was just finding my voice. But I knew I was special.

I remember her helping me pack items in preparation for my move into my new apartment, to which she had seen clothing from years prior that I had bought from Rainbow. My other friend, fellow hood bitch, Taty— had been there as well (love her down).

Kya prided herself on going to private school and being around white people. She constantly talked about it as if it were her entire personality, even in conversations with other people where no one was talking about that. People could be talking about the cold, Philly weather and she’d find a way to mention cling to a private school with predominantly white people. While there isn’t anything remotely wrong with being proud of your educational background, it was very obvious that she would state it as a way to demean others. She also was like… a suburban Black girl. Which nothing is wrong with that, either. But she acted like she was raised in Bel-Air, when she wasn’t. Girl, you were raised five minutes outside of Philly. She acted like she came from a rich background, when she didn’t. She just had things a little easier than the rest of us.

Kya chuckled, as she picked up the neon romper. “Kamory, what the hell is this?”

“Oh, I bought that years ago. I would never wear that now. But at the time, I thought it was cute. I got it from Rainbow.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”, she stated condescendingly.

Taty stopped. Confused and sensing that I felt a way about that comment. “What’s wrong with Rainbow? I love Rainbow.”, Taty said.

“Nothing is wrong with it, I can just tell it’s from there”

Later on in the evening, she got around to my ancestral altar and my sage and incense and seven day candles.

“Kamory, you really believe that burning these leaves work?”

I really got irritated at that point, because bitch why are you in my space disrespecting my shit? I tried to keep it cute though.

“Kya, yes. I do. I don’t say anything about your beliefs so why are you disrespecting mine?”

“I’m not disrespecting it, relax. I’m just saying you probably give that stuff more power than it really has.”

After that night, I confided in my sister, expressing my growing frustrations. “I don’t like that girl. I’m telling you she’s a hater. Get away from her,” my sister advised. At the time, I dismissed her concerns, reasoning that Kya wasn’t entirely bad—that our differences were simply due to our contrasting backgrounds.

In hindsight, I recognize that Kya’s attitude stemmed from her own insecurities, manifesting as jealousy towards the very qualities I was beginning to embrace while she was still figuring herself out. While she often highlighted her prestigious private school education and her affiliation with predominantly white spaces, it felt as though she used these markers to elevate herself above others, including me. It was draining. Looking back, I see that Kya projected her insecurities onto me, leading to an exhausting cycle of competition rather than camaraderie.

I remember one moment where we went out to eat, her telling me this: “You know, Kamory. You’re not as clever as you think you are. You’re not as innovative as you think you are.”

She told me was just saying it in a loving way, and I was so insecure that I failed to see that this wasn’t ‘tough love’, it was jealousy.

Even in the duo, she would get off on the fact that I was the one who was perceived as constantly in distress, chaos, or depicted as the ‘wild one’— often resulting in me experiencing an alarming amount of sexual harassment and disrespectful comments. In one episode, she said that her private school education and her articulate manner as compared to my public school background and Philly dialect would be the only thing that would ‘take us to the top’.

“I can readily admit that I am the more palatable Black out of the two of us. I will be the one to get us to the top.”

You could literally see the hurt on my face when she said that. Smack on camera.

I expressed later on my discomfort with that comment, to which she just gaslighted me and told me that I found an issue with everything.

As time went on, she ate her words though. I was the fan favorite out of the two of us (no cocky shit) and people were very drawn to me because of my spunky style, my raw, unapologetic aura, and my vivid personality. The more attention I started receiving from other fellow creatives, podcasters, and the more I started thriving on Threads— the more I felt her resentment towards me. The passive comments she would make about women with long nails, how she ‘doesn’t have to wear all that maximalist stuff’, and how she ‘didn’t need to be seen on social media’ started to sound like personal hits towards me, because they were. And I would clock it. Every time.

She hated it.

We went on one podcast, where it was obvious that one of the hosts were trying to paint me as the less desirable one as compared to Kya— who was more traditional. The entire episode I found myself defending myself while Kya said… nothing. She was reveling in the fact that I was being attacked. She never stood up for me, nor defended me. She allowed the shit to just hit me. And I was disgusted. This was a non-black man trying to make me, as a Black woman, feel undesirable because of my standards. She did nothing. In fact, she even egged the antics on— questioning me and encouraging their antics.

When we were in the car, I held nothing back.

“I ain’t even gon hold you, Kya. As my friend, I feel like you did not defend me. You just let me get hit.”

What did she do? Deflect. Bought up some issue she had with me that I wasn’t even aware of. I hate when people do that. You wait until I bring up an issue to throw your problems at me. I have no problem addressing issues, but when you only do it when I bring up your harmful behavior, I look at it as manipulation and a way to avoid accountability. That’s something you could mention another time. Not now. The fuck? Next thing I knew, we weren’t even talking about her behavior. We were talking about me. It felt very disingenuous, and I felt like I could no longer trust her. The next day, she apologized. I accepted.

There was another scenario, where a local photographer wanted us to do a shoot. Me? I wasn’t in the mood to do it, yet I encouraged Kya to do it solo. I told her I would be there in support and help her in getting ready. Her aesthetic for the shoot was very reminiscent of mine. Big bamboo earrings, booty shorts, gold grills, long nails. The ‘around the way girl’ vibe, you know? Anyone who tuned into the podcast knows how much she frequently took pride in being a ‘minimalist’ when it came to style. Short, French tip manicures, no earrings, no patterns, neutral colors. That was her vibe. With this shoot, she chose the opposite. She told me it was inspired by me as we were getting ready. My ass thought it was cute and sentimental that she was paying homage to me. However, after the shoot, the photographer wanted to do an interview— where he asked her the inspiration for her look. I sat in the background as this bitch lied to the camera, saying it was inspired by her family. Which kinda lost me, because she’s in multiple episodes stating that all the women in her family inspired her minimalist aesthetic. They frequently wore pearls and furs, and simple clothing. She frequently talked about how much she hated jewelry and patterns and colors. It hurt me that instead of saying she was inspired by her friend, she chose to make up a bogus ass lie— something she frequently did, both on and off the podcast. I sat there confused, but gaslit myself and told myself that maybe she really wasn’t lying. But the shit just didn’t add up. Did you not just tell me you were inspired by me? Why is it crazy to say your friend influenced you on camera, when you just told me off camera that the look was inspired by my aesthetic? And anyone who seen the girl’s family, would know that that was a lie.

It was weird for me, because I had always given her credit when it came to her influence on me as far as getting into makeup, amongst other things. Both publicly and privately. But, she could never seem to do the same thing.

Later that day, I had a therapy session and I told my therapist about that. I explained our friendship dynamic, to which my therapist was alarmed.

“Kamory, I sense that she really enjoys seeing you get bullets from others, while she remains unharmed.”, she advised. “And she probably feels that way, because you are the more popular one that everyone gravitates towards. So she’ll never give you credit for anything, because she feels like you get it enough. Do you feel that?”

I thought about that for days. And I remember watching Insecure again around that time, finding that our dynamic was VERY similar to Issa and Molly’s friendship. On one particular episode of our podcast, I remember breaking down because of the increased sexual harassment I kept experiencing in public and online. I once asked Kya behind closed doors, if she was experiencing the same thing, to which she said she wasn’t. And that was okay. But when we filmed, there was something very disingenuous about her mentioning that, as I’m crying on camera.

“Yeah, I told Kam that I actually don’t experience that when she asked me. She’s the only one. And I feel so sorry for her— the abuse she receives.”

What was the need to frame it this way on camera? Why was that even necessary to say? It felt like she thrived on my vulnerabilities to carve out a savior complex for herself.

Then, she would make it seem like it was an issue that I was so social and that people gravitate towards me. Always on the podcast acting as if I was joe for being a social butterfly and not a bitch to people. Always acting as if there was something wrong that people would always approach me at creative events. In reality, she was jealous that no one paid her any mind and that wasn’t my fucking problem. How is that my fault? She would consistently try to make it seem like she was okay with people not approaching her, but she wasn’t. She wanted people to flock to her as well. And they just… didn’t. Again, not my fucking problem. There is nothing I can do to change that.

She would frequently express how frustrated she was that people were more familiar with me as opposed to her. I heard her out and told her that the reason people were more comfortable with me was because of my social media usage. On our podcast and my personal page, I would frequently engage with our audience and share pieces of myself to the point where people felt as though they could reach out and touch me. So naturally, I’m gonna feel like that homegirl they never had because I engage with them. I don’t ignore them. Kya constantly took pride in not being on social media and being ‘mystique’, which nothing is wrong with that, but if you’re going to choose to be that way, then you need to accept what comes with it when you’re in a podcast duo. People won’t know who you are and people will not familiarize themselves with you. So once again, I was thoroughly confused on what the hell she wanted me to do about that. I always gave her her props and her credit. What more did she want from me?

As I began to analyze my therapist's insights, I started recognizing patterns that hinted at how Kya might enjoy the validation she received by appearing as the one with all the answers. She cultivated an image of the supportive friend who held me accountable while portraying me as chaotic and lost. That shit really seemed to serve her, as it provided this false ass narrative where she could shine in contrast to my ‘disarray’, even though her life was just as erratic and all over the place. The reality was that this friendship, which I initially viewed as solid and supportive, was hiding a darker undercurrent of competition and misalignment.

As I started coming into myself, recognizing my light, and evolving with my fashion choices— I started to see how resentful she was towards me. And because I had started becoming more confident, I was more assertive and straightforward whenever she would do things that I sensed were passive. I didn’t let her get away with shit, and she hated that. She would frequently gaslight me, make me seem crazy or delusional, or as if she had to walk on eggshells around me, when in reality my newfound confidence dropped my rose-colored glasses, allowing me to see her for who she REALLY was and how she REALLY felt. Multiple family members and outside friends had seen the jealousy from a mile away, and warned me— however, at the time, I would always defend her.

“Y’all don’t know her like I do”, I would say in response. “She not doing me like that. We’re just different.”

My other friends DID NOT LIKE HER. Sometimes, I would bring her around my other best friends, to which they would be annoyed at her presence. “Next time, can it just be me and you? I don’t like her energy. She’s boring. I have more fun with you. Plus I can tell she doesn’t really like you even if you don’t see it,” one of my friends said. “She just wants to ride YOUR wave off that podcast. I don’t wanna be around her again.”

Slowly, I even started noticing her switching up her style. Mimicking me with the long nails that she once disapproved of. Sporting Timberland heels. Suddenly wearing a bunch of gold jewelry and big, gold earrings. It was very strange behavior. The social media posts were even shady, but I remained loyal. And that’s the only part I hate myself for. Staying loyal to a bitch who never liked me. Staying in that for longer than I should have.

With the space I’m in now though, I actually get angry at the fact that I was in that kind of friendship. To her, I wasn’t worthy of any of the praise I was receiving. Even when it came to men, she would always try to throw me under the bus when we were in their vicinity. It was strange and odd to me. She was very male-centered. And she couldn’t fathom the fact that I— a regular degular around the way girl, a college dropout, a bitch who occasionally enjoyed some bottom shelf liquor, a bitch who publicly owned every single side of me— would get attention from not only men, but the general public. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. It was always a why her and not me? kinda feeling I’d get from her. To her, she had everything men were supposed to like— and it ate her alive that they still were drawn to me. It ate her alive that I was magnetizing— not having to put up a curated facade to garner a platform.

Looking back, it is FUCK HER. And honestly, I don’t care who reads this. I don’t care who sends this shit to her. I see it for what it was. That girl hated me.

I appreciate her for what we did together. We created something beautiful. However, even if she was solid and supportive at first, this eventually turned into some fuck ass competition with her later on down the line as I garnered solo attraction and opportunities outside of our podcast. She was holding me back this entire time. I was in the presence of someone who fucking resented me. And I find it crazy how after the friendship ended, I started thriving on Substack. My podcast on here has more traction than my former one. I’ve gained attention quickly… and attention from the audience I actually want. I am thriving on here.

Now, I have a North Node in Leo and a Venus in Gemini that sits in the 10th house— so this actually makes sense. It does. I was BEEN supposed to work by myself. I don’t believe I’m meant for group dynamics. I was nervous to pivot because I believed it wouldn’t be as successful as Heauxsome, but this shit right here? Even if it doesn’t look like it, it’s doing tremendously better. And I’m proud of myself. I’m happy that shit ended. I’m happy she is no longer in my space. I’m happy I found my voice. Because it’ll take me somewhere. I’m actually happy I fell out with my entire former friend group, because it was surface level as hell. I hate that shit. I outgrew it. I only want deep, meaningful connections. I wanna dive right into your soul. And honestly? At this point in my life, I feel like being super vague and surface level at this big ass age is just an indication of someone who is afraid of who they really are underneath all the superficiality. I keep running into those kinda people, really. I believe it’s because that is who I was in my past life. Analytical, logical, anal, stoic, and a control freak. The transition right now is aimed towards passion, emotion, heart, being present, and surrendering. Believing in the unseen and embracing my ethereal, otherworldly aura.

With all this being said, reaching 2K subscribers on here in such a short period really means a lot to me. I’m not where I want to be and I’m slowly rebuilding actual community, but I’m proud of me. That was the most toxic friendship I had ever been in, looking back. She didn’t want me to shine. She constantly subbed me. Constantly made me feel like I wasn’t THAT. And I have a right to write about this shit. Fuck who got an issue with it. At some point, we need to be REAL about the socialized competitiveness amongst women in friendships. And I choose to open this conversation up.

So. When did you realize that ‘best friend’ hated you?