The Death of the Strong Woman Within
Women are indeed capable of much — a fact well-established at this point in time. As a woman who identifies as strong, competent, and capable, I must confess: it's exhausting.
I was strong even before my mother passed away and her death further developed my resilience. My strength has acted as a shield, my determination as a compass, which has resulted in considerable achievement and a myriad of experiences, including living and working abroad, for which I’m deeply grateful.
However, there’s a downside. Every aspect of our identity, once overly familiar, risks becoming monotonous, even tiresome.
A few weeks ago, I found myself upset over something. A male friend, who I confided in, sent messages complimenting my strength and expressing his belief that I'd overcome this obstacle as well.
Another, offering the all-too masculine way we’ve been conditioned to survive, said I was just bored: "Do more. Find more projects. Start writing your next book," he advised.
But the truth is, I don't want to “do” more.
I have the ability to turn an empty space into a lovely home in less than two months, to write books when distractions are minimal, and to successfully tackle any project thrown my way.
But that isn’t what I desire.
I want to let go of that daunting strength, so tenderness can emerge.
I’ve observed that women who embody excessive strength and independence without balancing it with tenderness, love, and support tend to grow bitter as they age. This observation comes from living in a town with a predominantly older population. Women who don’t allow themselves (or aren’t allowed) to be vulnerable become prescriptive, bossy even. They construct a facade that, while appearing robust, is fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.
I recently celebrated the birthday of a powerful older woman I consider a friend. Despite our friendship, I felt intimidated, worried that no gift would measure up to her expectations. When we met for drinks, she casually suggested I cover the bill as her birthday gift. Though reluctant, I complied, understanding that her life, like many, lacked the tenderness and support that softens us.
Another older woman, fiercely independent and residing in the Bay Area, insisted we must coordinate a Zoom call or meet up when I'm in town. While I care for her, her assertiveness is off-putting.
Occasionally, women reach out to me, their need for support thinly veiled. A simple, humble request — “Can we talk? I need a friend right now” — would be far more effective than a demand.
Strong women, including myself, often resort to a masculine energy of doing and persuading (some use manipulation) to have their needs met. Some have to overcompensate because that’s what they are accustomed to. And, it’s tiring.
For the first time in my nearly 44 years, I’ve found a female friend with whom I can share my tears and deeper truths behind the mask of strength. Last night, she visited me, and in her presence, I finally admitted: “I’m tired of being the strong one.”
I’m weary of anticipating and meeting others' needs, of solving their problems. I’m tired of the contradictions in modern dating where women (I’m writing here as a woman who dates men), having acquired the means to be self-sustaining, still find themselves bearing the emotional labor in their relationships with men.
Recently, I wanted to support a dear friend whose father just passed away, but I couldn’t find the words, or the capacity to go physically be with her. I couldn’t explain to her that I could not hold her grief alongside my own.
I know she would wonder: What are you grieving?