I am saddened that in 2026, this is still a conversation we need to have.

Almost every week, sometimes daily, I hear it from women around me. Quiet confessions shared behind closed doors. Long pauses before the truth is spoken. The same words, repeated in different voices: I'm not okay. What they are describing is not only the pressure of racism or structural inequity, though those realities remain ever present. What they are describing is harm coming from within our own spaces. From sisters. From peers. From people who know exactly where the wounds already exist.

Lateral violence is not a buzzword. It is lived. It shows up as gossip framed as concern, exclusion masked as professionalism, and reputations slowly dismantled in small communities where stories travel faster than facts. It thrives in whispers, private messages and unspoken alliances. The damage does not end when the conversation does. It lingers, shaping confidence, silencing voices and forcing women to question their worth.

The following reflections are shared anonymously to protect the identities of the women involved, many of whom fear further harm if they were named.

"Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I work, the hardest part isn't the job, it's surviving the comments, the whispers and the way my name gets used when I'm not in the room. I expect resistance from systems, but I didn't expect it to come from other Black women. That part hurts the most."

For Black women stepping into leadership, visibility often comes with an unspoken cost. Success is questioned. Capability is scrutinised. Confidence is misread as arrogance. When boundaries are set, they are labelled as attitude. Rather than being supported, women are measured, compared and quietly undermined. Not because they have caused harm, but because their presence forces others to confront unresolved pain, scarcity thinking or deeply internalised beliefs about who is allowed to lead.

This harm is often justified under the guise of accountability or "keeping people grounded", but too often it is selective, gendered and deeply personal. Men in leadership are allowed to stumble, recalibrate and grow. Women are expected to be flawless, grateful and quiet, all at once.

"In a small community, one rumour can undo years of trust. I stopped speaking up, stopped showing up, because it felt safer to be quiet than to keep defending myself against stories that weren't true. What hurts is knowing the people spreading it knew exactly what they were doing."

Lateral violence does not just damage individuals. It fractures communities and it discourages women from nominating for boards, applying for senior roles, or contributing their voice in spaces where decisions are made. In small communities, the impact can be long lasting. Careers stall. Mental health suffers. Relationships break down. The loss is collective.

"Being subjected to lateral violence and dismissed as a 'white shark' or 'not having enough lived experience' from others in the room ignores the truth of my work. My lived contribution, a consistent body of work, is centred on inclusion and ethical responsibility. It has always been grounded in my integrity and a commitment to the greater good, especially the advancement and protection of women."

This is not about public shaming or naming individuals. It is about naming behaviour. Silence protects harm. Avoidance enables it. Explaining it away as jealousy, competition or "just how things are" normalises damage and allows it to continue unchecked.

Kindness is not passive. It is an active choice. It is pausing before repeating a story that is not yours to tell. It is pulling a sister aside instead of tearing her down publicly. It is celebrating another woman's success without measuring it against your own.

As we begin a new year with a fresh slate, this is an invitation to choose kindness more deliberately. As women, we already face enough obstacles simply by showing up. We do not need to add to that weight by harming one another.

Check in on the women around you. Choose care over competition, accountability over gossip, and solidarity over division. Our women deserve safety, not survival. Support, not scrutiny. Let this be the year we lift, not fracture.