The Kill Culture: The Two Cultures Every Woman Is Part Of (Whether She Realises It or Not)

There are moments in life that divide everything into a before and an after.

Last year was one of those moments for me.

At the end of the year I had a nervous breakdown and a psychotic episode. Before I continue, let me explain what that actually means because I know the word "psychosis" can sound frightening.

A psychotic episode is a temporary period where a person loses touch with reality. For some people it involves hearing voices. For others, it's believing things that aren't true or experiencing the world in a way that feels completely real but isn't. In my case, my mind became so overwhelmed that I genuinely believed the walls of my bedroom were closing in around me.

No, I didn't suddenly become "psychotic" overnight. It was the result of months of stress, emotional exhaustion and carrying far more than I realised.

It still feels strange writing those words because for so many years I believed those kinds of things happened to other people. The truth is, they don't. They happen to ordinary people who have spent too long carrying extraordinary loads.

For years I had been trying to hold everything together. My family. My business. My responsibilities. Everyone else's expectations. Somewhere in the middle of trying to be everything for everyone, I quietly stopped being there for myself.

One night I woke in complete panic. My bedroom walls began closing in around me until I genuinely believed they were crushing me. Every instinct in my body told me to run, so I did.

The next thing I remember was standing barefoot on the road outside my home in my pyjamas, completely disconnected from reality. My feet bleeding from walking up and down the street and stepping into glass and my scalp all bloody from me pulling handful of hair out of my scalp. A beautiful couple staying at our Airbnb found me wandering the street, crying. They gently walked me home, stayed with me through the night and slept on the floor beside my bed to make sure I was safe.

I'll never forget their kindness.

But I also won't ever forget waking up the next morning and asking myself one question.

How did I get here?

How did I slowly become a woman who ignored every sign that she needed help? I am a psychologist who keeps on telling her clients to ask for help!!!

This was the beginning of my healing.

Not because I immediately found the answer, but because I finally stopped pretending everything was okay.

For the first time in my adult life I stepped away from work. I stepped away from friendships. I stepped away from almost everything that had once defined me so I could do something I had spent years encouraging other women to do.

Heal.

Healing, however, wasn't the peaceful experience Instagram often makes it out to be.

It wasn't sunrise meditations, journaling with a beautiful cup of tea or suddenly discovering inner peace.

It was therapy.

It was ugly crying.

It was sitting with uncomfortable truths.

It was learning that strength isn't always pushing through. Sometimes strength is allowing yourself to completely fall apart so you can finally rebuild on foundations that are actually strong.

While I was quietly doing that work, something else was happening.

People were creating stories about me.

Rumours spread through the community. Some people decided they already knew what had happened without ever asking me. Clients disappeared. Relationships changed. People who had once been incredibly supportive suddenly had opinions about a chapter of my life they knew absolutely nothing about.

Of course it hurt.

I'd be lying if I told you otherwise.

But once the initial heartbreak settled, I found myself becoming fascinated by something I hadn't expected.

It wasn't the rumours themselves.

People have been gossiping since the beginning of humanity. I wasn't naïve enough to think I would somehow be exempt from that.

What fascinated me was how quickly people believed them.

Almost nobody stopped to wonder whether there might be another side to the story.

Almost nobody became curious before becoming certain.

That observation stayed with me for weeks.

Not because I wanted to prove anyone wrong.

But because I realised it wasn't really about me.

It revealed something much bigger.

It made me realise how naturally we lean towards the negative.

Think about the phrases we've all grown up hearing.

"It's too good to be true."

"All good things come to an end."

"Don't get your hopes up."

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

We hear these sayings so often that we stop questioning them. We learn, without even realising it, that disappointment is normal and goodness should always be viewed with suspicion.

Then I started wondering what happens when we apply those same beliefs to people.

What if someone is genuinely kind?

What if someone is genuinely successful?

What if someone really is happy?

Instead of celebrating them, we look for cracks.

We wonder what they're hiding.

We wait for them to fail.

And sometimes we even help that failure along.

As confronting as that realisation was, it wasn't the hardest truth I had to face.

The hardest truth was much closer to home.

Because while other people were creating stories about me…

I had quietly started creating one too.

Not the same story they were telling.

But one that was equally destructive.

I stopped trusting myself.

I became quieter. I stopped talking about the coaching programs I knew had changed lives. I found myself overexplaining, overgiving and overthinking almost everything I did, as though I needed to earn back the right to take up space.

Without even noticing it, I had started living from fear instead of truth.

And that's when it hit me.

The greatest damage wasn't done by the rumours.

It happened the moment I started believing I needed to become someone different in order to be accepted again.

I had forgotten who I was.

I realised healing wasn't about becoming a stronger version of myself.

It was about remembering the woman I'd been before fear convinced me she wasn't enough.

And that was the day The Kill Culture was born.

Not because I wanted to start another movement.

But because I realised we are all part of one already.

For weeks after everything happened, I kept thinking about one question.

Why are we so quick to believe the worst?

Not just about other people, but about ourselves.

Why do we assume a woman who is successful must have had an unfair advantage? Why do we find it easier to believe a rumour than a compliment? Why do we spend so much time looking for flaws in ourselves and in each other?

The more I reflected, the more I realised this wasn't simply human nature. It was something we had learned.

From the moment we're old enough to understand language, we're surrounded by subtle messages that teach us to expect disappointment, to fear failure and to question goodness.

"All good things come to an end."

"Don't get your hopes up."

"It's too good to be true."

At first those sayings seem harmless. They're passed down through generations with good intentions, almost as a way of protecting us from heartbreak. But over time they become the lens through which we see the world.

We stop expecting good things.

We become suspicious of people who seem genuinely happy.

We struggle to believe that someone can be successful and kind, confident and humble, ambitious and compassionate.

And perhaps most dangerously of all, we begin telling ourselves the very same stories.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Someone else is already doing it better."

"You'll probably fail anyway."

"Don't stand out too much."

It's easy to point fingers at gossip or criticism, but if I'm honest, I think the loudest voice in most women's lives isn't someone else's.

It's their own.

That's when I realised we are all part of what I now call the Kill Culture.

Not because we're bad people.

Not because we wake up wanting to hurt one another.

But because we've inherited beliefs and behaviours that quietly kill confidence, courage, creativity and connection.

Sometimes we kill another woman's confidence with our words.

Sometimes we kill it with our silence.

Sometimes we kill our own dreams before anyone else even has the chance.

The tragedy is that most of us don't even realise we're doing it.

There Are Two Kill Cultures

When I first shared the name "Kill Culture," some people assumed I was talking about taking out people.

I wasn't.

I'm talking about something entirely different.

Because I believe there are two Kill Cultures.

The first is the one we've all unknowingly participated in.

It's the culture that kills dreams before they've even had a chance to breathe.

It kills confidence by convincing women they need permission before taking up space.

It kills businesses because people are too afraid to be seen.

It kills creativity through comparison.

It kills relationships through gossip.

It kills truth through assumptions.

It kills joy by convincing us that someone else's success somehow takes something away from our own.

I've lived in that culture.

I've contributed to that culture.

Not because I've deliberately tried to hurt someone else, but because there have been moments where fear has spoken louder than courage.

Moments where comparison has crept in.

Moments where I've questioned my own worth instead of trusting it.

The older I get, the less interested I am in pretending I'm different from anyone else.

I'm am me! Alka freaken Martine!

Which means I have a choice to make every single day.

And that's where the second Kill Culture begins.

The Culture I'm Choosing

Imagine if we decided to kill something else instead.

Not each other.

Not our dreams.

Not our confidence.

Imagine if we became ruthless about killing the beliefs that have kept us small for years.

The belief that we're too old.

Too young.

Too late.

Too broken.

Too inexperienced.

Too ordinary.

Imagine killing the need to compare yourself to every woman on social media.

Imagine killing the belief that rest is laziness.

Killing perfectionism.

Killing shame.

Killing resentment.

Killing jealousy before it has the chance to become gossip.

Killing the stories that tell us we have to earn our worth instead of recognising we were born with it.

That is the Kill Culture I want to belong to.

One where we become warriors against fear instead of against each other.

One where we're brave enough to celebrate another woman's success without making it mean something about our own.

One where kindness isn't mistaken for weakness.

Where curiosity replaces judgement.

Where encouragement becomes our first instinct instead of criticism.

Where women stop asking, "Is there enough for me?" and start asking, "How can I help you?"

Because here's what I've learnt after years of hosting retreats and coaching women from all over the world.

There is no shortage of success.

There is no shortage of opportunity.

There is no shortage of love.

The only thing in short supply is women who genuinely believe there is enough for all of us.

A Different Legacy

I often think about my son.

One day he'll grow up watching how women speak about one another.

He'll learn whether women compete or collaborate.

Whether they gossip or encourage.

Whether they tear each other down or help each other rise.

The same is true for every child watching us.

We're teaching them what womanhood looks like.

Not through our words.

Through our behaviour.

That thought alone is enough to make me want to be better.

Because I don't just want to leave behind a successful business.

I want to leave behind a different culture.

One where women feel safe enough to dream out loud.

One where healing isn't hidden.

One where asking for help is seen as strength.

One where rumours stop with us because we choose curiosity over certainty.

One where another woman's light reminds us to shine brighter instead of making ourselves smaller.

The Kill Culture Manifesto

I don't want this to be another movement people follow online for a few weeks before moving on to the next trend.

I want it to become a way of living.

A quiet decision we make every morning.

I will no longer kill my own dreams before they've had a chance to live.

I will no longer allow fear to have a louder voice than truth.

I will celebrate women instead of competing with them.

I will choose curiosity before judgement.

I will refuse to pass on rumours that don't belong to me.

I will remember that every person I meet is carrying a story I know nothing about.

I will take responsibility for the stories I tell myself.

And when I forget who I am—as we all do from time to time—I will find my way back with compassion instead of criticism.

Which Kill Culture Will You Choose?

The truth is, none of us are innocent.

We've all judged.

We've all compared.

We've all believed lies about ourselves.

We've all said things we wish we could take back.

But that's not where the story has to end.

Every morning we wake up with another opportunity to decide which culture we'll contribute to.

Will we continue killing dreams, confidence and connection?

Or will we become women who kill fear, shame, jealousy and limiting beliefs instead?

Movements don't begin because thousands of people decide to change.

They begin because one person decides to live differently, and another person sees what's possible.

This is my decision.

My hope is that it becomes yours too.

Welcome to the Kill Culture.

Let's make sure we're killing the right things.