Stop Competing. Start Healing.

I used to be that girl—the one who cried herself to sleep over some boyfriend who cheated on her and made her feel like love had to be earned through pain. I was the girl who thought begging meant fighting for love, like some messed-up badge of loyalty. I told myself that holding on meant I was strong, when really it just meant I didn’t know who I was without him.

It took me years—some heavy losses, real soul work, and the grace of God—to realize that begging for scraps wasn't the problem. The real issue was the part of me that believed that's all I deserved.

And now? I’m in my 40s. I’ve rebuilt my life, my faith, and my self-worth. I know peace. I know boundaries. I know the power of walking away. And yet, I still see so many women—especially women older than me—stuck in the same old loops. Women older than me and beyond still seeing other women as threats. Still tearing down friendships in the name of jealousy. Still competing like love is a game you win by being prettier, quieter, or more obedient.

Let’s call it like it is: that’s not discernment. That’s not “female intuition.” That’s insecurity. And insecurity left unhealed doesn’t soften with age. It hardens. It becomes gossip. It becomes projection. It becomes isolation dressed up like self-protection.

"For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work" - James 3:16

I’ve seen women accuse every other woman in the room of chasing their man

—not because it’s true, but because they still don’t feel safe in their own skin. That says way more about them than it does about the women they’re accusing.

The Woman at the Well: Jesus Saw Her Before She Knew Herself

One of the stories that’s always gripped me is the woman at the well in the book of John. She was there in the heat of the day—alone. Not because she preferred it that way, but because shame will isolate you even when you’re desperate for connection. She’d had five husbands and the man she was with wasn’t even her husband. The other women probably whispered about her. Judged her. Avoided her. She’d been labeled and discarded by society. She had wounds layered under survival instincts.

But when Jesus showed up, He didn’t avoid her. He didn’t judge her. He engaged with her. He saw her—truly saw her—and told her everything she’d ever done. Not to shame her, but to set her free. He offered her living water, the kind that doesn’t run out. The kind that fills the exact hole she’d been trying to fill with men, approval, and belonging.

"But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall give him shall never thirst...a well of water springing up into everlasting life"

- John 4:14

And she didn’t just quietly accept it. She ran back to the very people who had probably rejected her and told them who He was. She became a vessel—once cracked, now overflowing.

"Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?"

-John 4:29

That’s what healing looks like. When you’ve really been seen by Christ, you don’t keep playing small. You don’t tear other women down to feel bigger. You don’t accuse your friends of betrayal just because you’re still afraid of being left.

Elder Jeffrey R Holland said in "The Greatest Possession" (October 2021): "God wants all of us. And when we give it, He will shape something greater from the dust than we ever could on our own."

The Mirror We Refuse to Look At

The hard truth is this: when you still feel invisible, every confident woman looks like a threat. Every secure woman becomes a rival in your mind. Every peaceful marriage feels like a spotlight on your wounds.

I’ve been on the receiving end of it. I’ve seen women twist reality to protect their pride. And I’ve learned that their fear has nothing to do with me—and everything to do with the reflection they refuse to face.

But at some point, you have to stop blaming everyone else for the cracks in your foundation.

The Nephites: Pride, Comparison, and the Need to Control the Narrative

This same pattern shows up in the Book of Mormon. In the book of Helaman, there’s this massive shift—something people don’t always expect. The Lamanites, who were once seen as the rebellious and wicked ones, begin to repent. They become righteous. They turn to God. And the Nephites? Instead of rejoicing, they get angry. They become prideful. Jealous. They start imploding.

"And thus we can behold how false, and also the unsteadiness of the hearts of the children of men...and how quick to do iniquity, and how slow to do good."

-Helaman 12:1

It’s such a human reaction. The moment the "less than" rises, the insecure panic. When someone they deemed unworthy finds favor, it exposes their own false sense of superiority. So what do they do? They tear themselves apart. They turn inward and rot with envy.

That’s what we do when we’re not rooted in truth. We sabotage good things because we can’t stand not being the center. We turn friends into threats. We start inventing betrayals that never happened, all because someone else’s confidence feels like a personal attack.

We forget that God doesn’t measure worth by who’s ahead. He measures by the heart—and He’s never been impressed by women who can’t celebrate others.

We Weren’t Made to Compete

When Paul wrote to the Ephesians, he reminded them not to let corrupt words come out of their mouths, but only what builds others up. That wasn’t just about cussing or being rude. It was about living with integrity in how we speak about one another. Because when your words are dripping with envy, spite, or suspicion, that’s not the Spirit talking. That’s fear. That’s ego. That’s the flesh crying out for validation.

"Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to use of edifying..."

-Ephesians 4:29

I’ve seen it so clearly in my own life: the spirit of contention never brings peace. It never draws you closer to God. It only isolates you and convinces you that you’re right while your world falls apart. You can’t chase the Spirit and tear people down at the same time.

"For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me..."

-3 Nephi 11:29

The Book of Mormon warns us about that too. There’s no Spirit of God where contention rules. If your relationships are full of drama, paranoia, and constant accusation, the issue isn’t the people around you—it’s the war inside you.

President Bonnie H. Cordon in "Stress in Zion" (October 2019), said: "There is great strength and influence in a group of women united in righteousness."

When Discernment Becomes Delusion

Let’s talk about something else that happens when insecurity runs unchecked—when so-called “discernment” crosses the line into projection. Not just toward other women, but toward men too.

It starts off as gut instinct. A feeling. A suspicion. And when you’ve been hurt before, it’s easy to believe that feeling must be truth. You start labeling it as “spiritual discernment,” but really, it’s fear wearing a righteous mask. And if you don’t check that, you’ll end up accusing good men of things they never did.

I’ve seen women spin entire storylines in their heads about men they say they trust—accusing them of sleeping with friends, lying, scheming, cheating—without a shred of proof. All because they’re still holding wounds from someone else’s betrayal. That’s not discernment. That’s unresolved trauma trying to feel in control.

Discernment comes from the Spirit. It’s calm. It’s clear. It’s not obsessive. It’s not scattered. And it sure doesn’t sound like the voice that tells you to destroy a relationship just because you're afraid to be wrong again.

"Be still, and know that I am God."

-Psalm 46:10

"By the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things."

-Moroni 10:5

If the Holy Ghost is a still small voice, then fear is the loud one. The anxious one. The one that keeps you up at night with "what ifs" and worst-case scenarios. And if that’s the voice you’re listening to, let’s stop calling it discernment. Let’s start calling it what it really is: pain that hasn't healed yet. Real discernment brings peace. Not paranoia.

Healing Isn't Pretty, but It’s Holy

Healing isn’t glamorous. It’s messy. It’s sitting with the truth that maybe you’ve been wrong about some people. Maybe you’ve been wrong about yourself. Maybe the woman you’re afraid of isn’t out to get you—maybe she’s just healed. And maybe that terrifies you because deep down, you want that kind of peace too.

There’s a talk by Elder Holland called “The Greatest Possession” that gutted me in the best way. He says God doesn’t just want parts of us—He wants everything. All of it. The pride. The insecurity. The unforgiveness. The desperate need to be right. He wants to gut it out of us and fill us with something eternal.

President Uchtdorf said in a talk once, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” And if you’ve ever been robbed of peace, check what you’ve been comparing. Other women aren’t your enemy. The enemy is the lie that tells you you're not enough unless someone else is less.

The Bottom Line

If you’re over 35 and still competing with every woman around you, it’s not cute. It’s not powerful. It’s exhausting—and it’s robbing you of the friendships, joy, and peace you could be walking in.

Jesus met the broken woman at the well and offered her more. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t shame her. He gave her a way out.

He’s still doing that today.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

-Matthew 11:28

But you can’t receive healing while clinging to offense. You can’t embrace sisterhood while accusing every woman of betrayal. And you sure can’t step into your calling while standing in judgment of every other woman’s process.

Heal. Don’t compete. Don’t project.

And for heaven’s sake—stop tearing down the very women who could’ve helped you rise.