What it means to be a “Strong Woman”
Whenever I hear this term bandied about - “strong woman” - it’s usually in conjunction with a few themes: toughness, no-nonsense, has endured bullshit and has come out of it hardened, independent, being physically strong - to name a few. As May comes to a close, which housed Mother’s Day and Asian Heritage Month, I found myself reflecting on this for myself, my mother, and other women in my life.
To some degree, as a child and teen, I bought into this simplified narrative of a “strong girl/woman.” I identified as a “tomboy” where I ran with the boys, loved martial arts, dressed in baggy clothes, dismissed “girly girls,” and suppressed my emotions - except anger of course (that was allowed). All attributes that are stereotypically, masculine. Which I now believe is a truly unhealthy narrative that we feed to boys about what it means to be a man (and clearly, to women too).
I find it interesting that I thought this was the answer to being a “strong woman.” One that suppresses what our society has taught us is “weak” and is associated with being “feminine.” One where emotions are not allowed, where crying and pain is for those that cannot handle the rigours of life. One, where women in past generations had to “act life a man” to get ahead. Somewhere along the line, I learned that what I originally believed as being “strong” was actually, in many ways, weak.
Not that toughness, enduring hardship, and independence don’t represent strength - of course it does. But when I thought about how we simplify these narratives, and in a way, congratulate those who have gone through pain in silence, I felt deeply disturbed.
For women who have endured terrible men, inequality, and torment, we call them “strong” when they have suffered. And they are. But it can reinforce their silence - instead of supporting them or asking why they had to endure all of that to begin with. For those who cry, who lament, who love deeply and openly, we consider weak. Displays of emotion are considered “soft.” And of course, doubly true for men.
But why? Emotions are integral to our humanity. It makes us who we are, so why do we shun it as something not worthy? When we get swept away by stories and relationships, it’s because of these deeper emotions.
And when we are hurting, why do we hide? Why is it considered weak to seek help? We are brought up to think that seeking mental health help is weak. But, aren’t those who seek help the strong ones? The ones who are self-aware and willing to change? It takes more courage and work to change oneself than to hide from our truths and not face them.
This is especially salient in Asian communities, where mental health help is seen as weakness or a sign of “craziness.” It’s highly taboo and people suffer in silence and shame as a result. Problems are ignored and shunned - not solved.
In media, “strong women” are usually given a weapon and can “fight like a man.” As much as I appreciate watching women on screen kick-ass (I really do love it), it’s usually lacking in what we have more recently come to embrace as what is “strong” - emotional maturity and growth.
I was also recently irked by the backlash that tennis player, Naomi Osaka faced when announcing she was prioritizing her mental health and pulling out of the French Open. People called her a “brat” and told her to just get on with it. But would you tell someone to “just get on with it” if their arm was broken? So why do we treat mental health differently? There are some who will see her as “weak” because she has openly stated her struggles with mental health. But in fact, she is strong for putting her foot down and showing her humanity. Athletes are humans too.
I have come to a far healthier and balanced place when thinking of what it means to be a “strong woman” or just a “strong person” - because men and women should be allowed to embrace emotion, express themselves, and not be afraid to speak out - especially against adversity. We are strong when we can accept and love ourselves - no matter what society or others have to say.
