The Sisterhood Wound, or ACB and the Great Rupture

Taylor Armstrong of RHWOBH

To my recollection, it was a rainy Autumn evening in Sacramento. I was four Eye of the Hawk’s deep and well on my way with the fifth. Maybe this would be the night I went all the way. The six-pack was bought on deferred rent and couch money, per usual. My preference would have been a true Belgian, but this was almost as good, and would get me farther, if ya know what I mean(wink, wink).

I lived on a beautiful corner of Boulevard Park in an upstairs apartment of an old Victorian. Downstairs was a corner market and an obscure record store that was the favorite haunt of 90s ravers — an interesting combo, but one perfect for my proclivities. 

This night, and this beer, had me listening to Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire on repeat. For a song that’s only 2.5 minutes long, it cuts right to the bone. Still, when it comes on, I wish it would play forever.

I was not in a super great place in life at that moment. I was bouncing around in my dysfunctional relationship with the restaurant industry, trying to find my way out, but falling for the trappings and tales of not being able to make it elsewhere. I was uncommitted and miserable. Restaurants were supposed to have been a stepping stone, but to what? All my other exploits had failed, and I was hopeless. This time I was working the Front of the House at a local cafe. The place still exists and is absolutely gorgeous, but it’s short order, and I have no love for The Public in that context. What it did provide was fast cash so I could have some fun on my off days, and not have to think too much about the future. And what I mean by fun is, eat and drink myself numb with my fellow comrades in the trenches. 

This night, I was drinking alone. Never a good sign.

The emotional torrent started to flow forth on that fourth bottle, and poured vigorously after working on the fifth. It started with me singing I’m On Fire over and over in order to learn the words, and as I got drunker, I got weepier and more sentimental. Once I was nearing the dregs, it was a full blown tempest of despair.

The night ended with me in the fetal position in my foyer, paranoid someone might see me from the street, and praying for my soul mate with my sobs — praying for my Twin Flame.

What seems like the next day, enter ACB — Aaron Carol Kirkpatrick Braeburn. He was one of the boyfriends/exes of one of my friends—one of my best friends—and we had met before. Only, when we met before, I was totally repulsed. He was greasy and doughy, and a total mooch. This time, however, I felt a heat and an attraction I was completely at the mercy of. The way we pulled together felt unavoidable and written in the stars, like this was part of our soul’s contract, negotiated before incarnation.

Unfortunately, I took that to mean that it was a blessed union, and all would be well in the land of make believe. After all, he and her were broken up, right? Sure, they were sleeping in the same bed, and she was killing herself to pay all of his bills, wash his clothes, cook his food, bead his pipe bag—but they weren’t “technically” boyfriend/girlfriend. So, I was for sure totally within my rights to get down with this dirtbag. I mean, she didn’t want him, so fair game… right?

Uh, wrong. And I knew it.

If you know me, you know I am the absolute worst liar in the whole of existence. I just cannot do it. Oh, how I would that it were! I would be so devious(cue evil laugh). But, for whatever reason, I cannot stomach deceit. Every bit of it shows in every molecule of my essence when I make any attempt. 

Right from the word go, I would have to lie to those I loved for the ‘benefit’ of having ACB in my life.

He was the answer to my prayer, though—just, not in the ways I imagined them. He ticked all the boxes: He was tall and handsome(at least, I thought so at the time), he was spiritual in similar ways to me, he was sexy and exciting, he was my soul mate and he would certainly advance me on my path toward self-actualization. 

I have since come to a different understanding about those terms, Soul Mate/Twin Flame, and their meanings.

Soul Mates are just folks who are part of our group lifetime after lifetime. They are part of our Soul Cluster, and some say we have about 144,000 of them. Soul Mates are often here to help show us lessons. Since ACB, I feel pretty complete with these types of romantic relationships.

Twin Flames are also more about the other half of our energy, perhaps more akin to an opposite gendered clone of ourselves, and you know what they say about too much of a good thing.

He and I met on this go-round when I was about 28, right on time for my Saturn Return. We finally parted ways when I was about 33, my Jesus year. My year of Resurrection. He walked me through that dodgy transit, and every moment of that relationship showed me my Shadow in stark, unavoidable, relief.  

Such is often the way with me and much of the growth in this life: I need to be hit severely over the head with the proverbial frying pan in order to make a change.

ACB ended up being very similar in resonance, to an extreme. All of the shadowy bits and bobs of my internal cellar were on full blast with that one. For five of my best breeding years, he held up a mirror for me that was very hard to look at, indeed. I saw exactly what I was willing to do for the prospect of love. I learned about listening to my intuition, and frankly, listening to someone else. I saw how much friendship means to me, and how impactful it is to lose it. I saw how shared passion for an external goal can blur lines and muddle perception. I saw how little I valued myself, and I saw the ways that that translates to all aspects of this Earth Walk.

My friend and I were folding her five loads of laundry at the ‘mat when in he walked. My breath was taken away like someone just punched me in the gut, and I thought my nipples would cut through my shirt. This guy was hot.

The next time I saw him was at a fancy restaurant. My friend and I were enjoying the fruits of our labor and treating ourselves to some industry discounts. She thought it would be fun to have a spontaneous double date with Dude and his bestie. Oh, it was fun all right.

We all got flirty flirty and went back to her place.

I’m not entirely sure about the timeline after that. I know that Aaron and I started our nefarious dealings shortly thereafter. I know that I cried in the shower fiercely the night after Aaron and I had sex. My body knew that this was all bad, and nowhere near what I wanted, even if my mind could justify the transaction. And, I know that I got blackout drunk with three bottles of rose to the face and tried to enroll a mutual friend into being a bridge between all of us.

It was the most hurtful thing I have ever done to anyone in my life ever, and it couldn’t have happened to someone less deserving. I ended up losing both girlfriends in what would prove to be my most aggressive example of the Sisterhood Wound. This extreme rupture would show me what I am made of, and in that lies its own antidote. The wound is the medicine.

For many years I stuck with that relationship because of all that it had cost me to enter it. I wanted to get my money’s worth. On some level, I knew that ACB was a scumbag for years, but I was also able to completely deceive myself, all because I had given so much. After all, he was the answer to my prayer, right?

Because I had given so much, I wasn’t going to let go of him for anything, and here lay my lesson of learning the difference between Love and Attachment. Love is respecting yourself enough to let something go if it’s not aligned. Love is also listening to what the other person is actually communicating about their wants and needs, and then responding appropriately, even if it means moving on from the relationship. Attachment is about needing this particular individual to fulfill these specific needs and wants.

So. Many. Lessons.

Never again will I allow a romantic relationship to come between me and my friends and family. Never again will I mistrust my intuition. Never again will I think I can lie my way to any good outcome.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Four times a year we’d have hot sex—presumably when he was cheating on another woman with me. I got to build relationship with a group of Lakota traditionalists and the Star Knowledge crew, and learn so much about the sacred ceremonies of this land. I found Gregg Braden’s lecture on The Seven Essene Mirrors to aid my healing. And, I have found a little bit of repair with one of those Sisters I betrayed.

The Sisterhood Wound is very real. It is situations like these that have helped rob women of our collective power. Our strength comes from forging unions and diplomatically navigating relationships. When we act against each other, we no longer need men and/or The Patriarchy to oppress us. Once a woman is isolated, she is much less powerful. Divide and conquer is a successful strategy for dominance, and we have been the ones to enthrone Man at the cost of our sisters, and our equality, with behavior like this. We do it to ourselves.

But we can heal.

For my personal situation, I had to wake up to the reality of the relationship with ACB, and let it go. Then, I had to make sincere apologies to each woman and acknowledge their pain at the cause of my hand. I also had to be willing to hear what they each wanted to say, and accept that we might never have a relationship again in this life. I had to fully accept that I was wrong for what I had done. I also had to accept that even though I had been devious and hurt others, I was not a bad person. I was deserving of love, both romantic and platonic. Most of all, I deserved to love myself.

It wasn’t enough to have been raised with the awareness of what women can do to oppress each other. In fact, the awareness—knowing I had been raised to choose differently—worked against me in the relationships of my 20s! I had to feel the effects of this betrayal in my own life. I had to experience it for myself. Then, I had to do the work of repair.

Maybe for the collective Feminine, this is work we will all have to move through as we continue to step more fully into The Time of the Woman. Maybe part of the process of reclaiming the bonds of sisterhood is to acknowledge all of the ways we have wounded, and been wounded. Maybe it requires seeing, and feeling, the motivations behind such actions, and bringing compassion when it comes up in our personal lives.

I am sorry.

Please forgive me.

I love you.

Thank you.