There’s a little patriarchal trap I hadn’t noticed until I fell right into it. It’s hiding within the feminist movement, masking itself as ‘liberation’ – like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You might have fallen for it yourself – the seductive trap of becoming hyper-independent.
When I left a toxic relationship, I unshackled myself from a small and fearful life and unleashed the repressed feminist rage in me that ached to lunge out.
It was the rage I never felt safe to express in moments when my body was violated and my limits crossed, the moments I did not feel safe enough to assert myself, when my ideas were belittled and I did not defend them. The times I lied to protect the reputation of someone who was hurting me. Years of pent-up self-expression poured out into this gushing, chaotic, beautiful, feminist anger. I vowed to become as independent as possible and galvanise other women to stand up for themselves too. The title of the diary I started at the time was literally PERPETUALLY EXHAUSTED BY MEN. I hated them. And I loved it.
Hating men in my head and my diary was the closest thing I could feel to having power over them, in a life where I had frustratingly experienced having very little. What I didn’t prepare for was that hating men would become just as exhausting as my years of mentally submitting to them.
“Meditation will help reveal the truth about your desires and how you are stopping yourself from getting there.”
By rebelling against the men who had hurt me and the patriarchal structures that have held women back for centuries – with a f*ck everyone, f*ck this, f*ck that, I don’t need help attitude – I didn’t realise, until it was too late and I burned out, that I had started to replicate the same hyper-independent cage that ensnares men to their toxic masculinity. The patriarchal trap that prevents men from being able to express themselves, ask for help, cry, indulge in and express their emotions.
On my trajectory towards becoming an independent woman who relied on no one, I accidentally ended up denying the sensitive, feminine and playful half of myself, the same way that men are encouraged to. Vulnerability became a sign of weakness, I became defensive at the suggestion that I might need to rest, someone offering me ‘help’ made me feel insulted that they thought I couldn’t do it on my own, I lost myself in work and productivity and neglected my body’s screams to slow down. Patriarchy discredited vulnerability and slowly I discredited it within myself, albeit in the name of becoming an ‘independent woman’.
If we’re not careful, this desire to unshackle ourselves from an oppressive structure to prove that we can do it all on our own can end up coming full circle, going so far that it becomes oppressive again.
In the words of Carl Jung: “You always become the thing you fight the most.” Despite my intentional rebellion against patriarchy, I had started to embody it. How the f*ck did that happen?!
A culture obsessed with appearances monopolises our time and energy – but it's not that simple.
Hyper-independence became a form of self-protection. My brain decided, “f*ck this!” and closed up the walls of my heart to protect me.
What made it trickier to notice was that ‘independence’ is something we praise women for as a progressive quality, particularly within feminism. A trauma response very common in people who have been betrayed or hurt in their relationships is to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction and become the direct opposite of who they were when they were hurt. But the truth is, we do not shame these feminine parts of ourselves because they are ‘weak’, but because they are vulnerable and at times frightening to embody.
We shame the parts of ourselves that are silly, feminine, vulnerable and open – because it is likely that we were hurt when we expressed these things. These parts can then start to feel unsafe to show. When you have been hurt by someone, or by multiple people, when you rightfully mourn the years of your girlhood and womanhood that were lost to fear, pain and hurt, the inner bodyguard steps in, protecting your softness, refusing anyone access to it and vowing to never be hurt again.
This is necessary for a period, but if we don’t remove that bodyguard when we no longer need it, we can remain in a state of defence for months or even years without realising it. We become hardened. It becomes who we are. Our life becomes a resistance to vulnerability. We live in survival mode. We avoid our softness. Our femininity. Our openness. Our playful carefree selves. We stop engaging with the world. The hopeful part of us that once saw beauty in life becomes replaced with cynicism, seriousness, hyper-vigilance and caution. We create an entire personality built around defending those vulnerable parts from being exposed. Just like men have done, protecting the façade they’re taught to craft, of their ‘masculinity’.
“The time and money we invest in beauty is no insignificant matter.”
Without our awareness, our brains learn that to be safe in this world means to avoid being that open person again. Our brains fear it was the ‘backdoor’ we left open in our lives that allowed someone in. So they close it. Board it up. Building hard walls around ourselves to protect us instead.
But this rejection of our softness becomes its own cage. I had seen men live like this, and I didn’t want to live like that myself. I had seen how repressive and exhausting the pressure of being hyper-independent can be. It was lonely. I didn’t want to close myself off from the realm of feeling, delighting, the realm of connection where life happens.
I had to learn to integrate the parts of myself that were buried beneath shame. To examine the ways in which I had shamed vulnerability within myself. The desire to do everything by ourselves and become too independent strips us of the beautiful warmth and connection built in asking others for help, it stops us living, building communities, it robs us of the wonderful realm of feeling, delighting and enjoying, laughing, dancing, singing, crying. By shutting ourselves off after trauma, we no longer expose ourselves to joy. If we leave the walls up for too long, we forget that they need to come down for anything beautiful to visit us. To be touched and delighted by life, we need to remain open.
Women Living Deliciously by Florence Given (Brazen, £14.99) is out now.
