Living in a small town often comes with the familiar refrain, “That’s just small towns.” While it may seem like a casual, offhand remark, it reveals a deeper truth about the often unkind nature of close-knit communities. It highlights a shared struggle—our society’s difficulty in navigating interpersonal relationships and, more significantly, in treating the bonds of a community with the respect they deserve. The sacredness of communal life seems lost in this casual dismissal.  It is in this place of personal enquiry I find an archetypal wound that speaks to most people in most cultures. I have named it ‘The Tribe Wound’

Many of us are aware of the historical link between being cast out of a tribe and the threat of death. In ancient times, to be an outcast from a hunter-gatherer society was to be cut off from the protection, resources, and safety that the community provided. Essentially, it was a death sentence. This deep-seated fear of exclusion still resonates through us today, echoing in the unspoken tension of being “othered” within modern social circles. This is true for big cities but is more obvious in small towns and dedicated groups, where the community is tight and every action more visible, this wound of exclusion can feel particularly sharp.  I believe to some level we all feel it. 

I’ve been reflecting on my relationship with what I now call the “tribe wound” and how it has shaped me throughout my life. As I look back, my first encounter with society outside the family unit was in primary school. It didn’t take long to learn that if you didn’t conform, you would be outed. In fact, I came to believe that everyone would be outed at some point, no matter what they did. I think this fear of exclusion is a root cause of bullying in children. ‘If I make someone else the target, I might avoid becoming the target myself’ type of situation. This early experience shaped me deeply, and by the time I switched to a new school, I had developed a strategy that I still use today: align with individuals rather than groups. I found that by fostering one-on-one relationships, I could avoid the group dynamics of gossip and social gang-ups, which felt much safer to me.

While this approach has worked in many ways, it also has its limitations. By avoiding deeper engagement with a wider circle, I risk isolation and missing out on the richness that comes from experiencing different types of relationships. It also means when I hurt myself I am truly alone. I’ve become very sensitive to people who engage in gossip—it’s something I have no tolerance for. In fact, I once lost a job because I openly refused to participate in talking about others, which inevitably made me the target.  Engaging in gossip damages the fabric of our communities.

When I look at the communities I participate in, both online and in physically, through a loving and inclusive lens, I see a constellation of people who, despite their differences, have a place within the needs of that community.  All are human, flawed and beautiful. The gossips and the fighters, whether driven by passion, habit or boredom, are part of the fabric of that community.  

Wherever people are in their personal journeys, and their ability to self-reflect, there’s a certain perfection to the relationships that cause discomfort and those that nourish. To understand this we must understand that where there is discomfort there is potential for growth.  When we are triggered into an emotional state by someone, they are offering us a potential pathway to healing.  This is where a community can begin to fully grow.  In a climate of self-responsibility.  

I can feel my own relationship with this constellation evolving. I have some lovely, safe connections with other “stars” in the community, and then there are more distant connections with others. There are even stars I barely notice, ones that don’t fall within my focus or energy. And that’s okay. My attention flows toward where the light feels right, nurturing the connections that feed me and allowing the rest to simply exist in their own orbits. There’s a balance in this that feels natural, allowing space for both connection and detachment without judgment.

I’m beginning to see how much my lack of trust in others, and my fear of letting people into my life, has shaped my relationships. It’s time to address that, both in my physical community and within my soul tribe. I’m blessed to have a spiritual community around me, built from my love of love and consciousness and personal development. This very community is what prompted me to explore and uncover the “tribe wound.” 

Why, even at a conscious festival, do I feel alone? It’s because I don’t fully trust the tribe.

I believe it’s time to open up and trust the tribe more—to actively seek alliances and connections that create deeper synergy within my friendships. As a teacher of spiritual practices, I carry wisdom that my community is ready for, yet I’ve held myself back. I’ve played small for so long, avoiding becoming a target. I’ve avoided reaching out to others out of fear they wouldn’t reach back. And yes, sometimes they won’t. But as I expand my capacity to sit with the uncomfortable nature of emotions, I can start to accept the inevitable rejections that come with community. Instead of seeing them as wounds, I can view them as part of the experience, trusting that the right connections will thrive and grow. This is the path to healing—not just surviving, but truly thriving within the tribe.  

I want to inspire conversations within my communities about the harm caused by not addressing incorrect speech and the transformative power of inclusivity. By embracing discomfort as a tool for growth, we can explore what becomes possible. 

I’m interested to see what is possible as I rest deeply into the tribe wound and the healing that comes from uncomfortably recognising it is my wound.