People cheer you on until they don't.

You post the stories. You share the win. You show up in the body you have been building, in the business you have been building, and you feel it immediately.

Not in what people say. In what they don't.

The ones who were loudest when you were behind (when you were figuring it out, when you were smaller, when you needed them) suddenly go quiet. No reply. No reaction. Just silence where the cheerleading used to be.

I have lived this in business. I have lived it in my body. And most painfully, I have lived it in grief.

And I watch it happen every time a new level opens. It is not a one-time lesson. It is a constant shedding. Every time you rise, the room shifts. Every time you heal another layer, someone who loved the previous version goes quiet. This is not a wound you move past. It is a cycle you learn to recognize.

In business, I watch it happen the moment things start working. The peers who told you "you've got this" every time you doubted yourself go quiet the moment you stop doubting. Not because they hate you. Because your success became a mirror they were not ready to look into.

In my body, I watched it as a health coach first, in my clients. Women who lost weight and quietly lost friendships alongside it. Not because they changed who they were. Because their body becoming what they wanted it to be activated something in the women around them. Comparison. Inadequacy. The awareness of their own avoidance.

Then I watched it in myself. The silence that came when I stopped looking the way that made other people feel comfortable.

But grief… that was the hardest one.

When I lost my child, people showed up. They held space. They checked in. The love was real and I do not question it. But as I started healing (as I started finding my voice again, my purpose again, my joy again), some of those same people went quiet. The broken version of me was easier to love. She needed them. She was not threatening. She was not rising.

The healing version of me made some people uncomfortable.

That taught me not to take any of it personally. Not the cheering. Not the silence. Not the disappearing.

Because here is what is actually happening. Some people cheer from a place of genuine love, love that does not require you to stay small to sustain it. And some people cheer from a position of power. When you are behind them (in your body, in your business, in your healing), they get to be the encourager. The one holding the door open. It is a role that only works if you stay on the other side of it.

The moment you walk through, they disappear.

Every new level is another round of it. The shedding does not stop. But what changes is your relationship to it. You stop waiting for the silence to mean something. You stop trying to shrink back into the version of you that kept the room full.

If you are the one who went quiet when someone in your life started winning, that is yours to look at. Not with shame. With curiosity. What did her win bring up in you? What are you avoiding that her body, her business, her healing is reflecting back?

The women who trigger you most are almost always showing you the version of yourself you have not given yourself permission to become yet.

And if you are the one whose wins just cleared the room, keep going. The silence is not a stop sign. It is a graduation.

Because the other kind of woman exists too. She sees your win and genuinely lights up. She lets your light remind her of her own instead of competing with it. She gets louder as you get bigger, not quieter.

Find her. Be her. Keep going for her.

The right people do not get smaller when you get bigger. They get louder.