I’m A 32-Year-Old Woman and Still Don’t Understand Women

I'd prefer to not share my "healing journey"

HBO Max’s Series, Girls

My masculine temperament has, undoubtedly, served me socially. I’d go so far as to say it’s even benefitted me in an emotional sense. A rugged charisma coupled with thoughtful aloofness, specifically regarding personal upsets, has resulted in friendships I intend on securing for decades. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many of these friendships are with men.  

Men are, by proxy, easier than women. What my husband considers characteristic of “Neanderthals”, men tend to align themselves with knowledge and logic over emotional outbursts and “lived experience”. This very much parallels how I conduct myself in relationships: I prefer conversation of ideas over affections, and of resolution over warmth. While I’m certain men and women have nearly-equal tendencies to react disproportionately and misinterpret a series of interactions, women have always struck me as unnecessarily dramatic in their responses to any given situation. This occurs when the situation is as hackneyed as a Starbucks barista forgetting a third pump of Pumpkin Spice or as complex as a corporate rival being offered the promotion one was promised by another two-faced female. Regardless of the scenario, it’s a guarantee that I’ll respond with a strategic line of Socratic questioning versus emotional harmony. This hasn’t gone over well with most women. Then again, I am not most women.

I’ve struggled for years, now, to parse out my conflicting feelings related to my own femininity and concept of female friendships. Because I don’t resonate with the theatrics, the excessive reassurance or “check-ins”, and the general aura of forced cheerfulness, it’s been hard for me to relate to the majority of my kind. This is especially apparent in human service fields, which are dominated by women who claim to be feminists. While I do somewhat acknowledge the freedom in unleashing our inner Spice Girl, I’m at a loss as to why anyone, in almost-2024, feels the need to be a feminist. I repeatedly, despite my greatest efforts, cannot relate to this.

One of the most important facets of femininity, in modern day, seems to be that of relatability: we’re hellbent on understanding each other only through excessive displays of vulnerability and emotional eruptions. We connect with one another by means of offering support for problems-that-don’t-qualify-as-problems, which is little more than intermittent use of platitudes and overgeneralizations. I do believe such counterfeit “support” may be sufficient in terms of providing a sense of relief, or even the experience of loyalty. But it’s a brand of support I personally don’t understand or want.

In my quest to tease apart the inner workings of women, I’ve stumbled upon a few female-centric behaviors that make me cringe. What I’ve come to learn about myself, very recently, is my discomfort in receiving compliments. Aside from my husband, who generates compliments sparingly, my friendships with men don’t seem as preoccupied with reciprocal appreciation as female friendships are. Men nestle into their element by focusing on facts and the accomplishment itself versus, what I’d consider, an excessive focus on the emotional experience of accomplishment. Intermittent complimenting is socially traditional, and is therefore a tradition I’ve come to confirm as an overall net-positive. We’d be hard-pressed to find a creature as social as a human whose brain doesn’t bathe in dopamine the moment we’re acknowledged for a job well done. It is with conviction I believe I, too, fall into this category of attention-seeking in more ways than one. Women in general, though… they gush. They endlessly remind one another how “inspiring”, “cool”, and “amazing” their “healing journey is", and how they are “trusting the process”, as if the person they’re speaking with is entirely incapable of producing another breath should their female counterpart fail to validate their existence. Please just do what men do and give me a high five and proceed to pester me about the next task I need to complete.

Excessive reassurance-seeking is a largely female trait that exasperates me more than most any other human behavior. Again, this social tendency isn’t exclusive to women; there certainly are men who could qualify as stage-five clingers. It’s far more common to our sex, though, as we’re hardwired toward both social behavior and elevated neuroticism. With such delicate propensity for negative moods inevitably comes a series of misinterpretations, which often result in irritating statements of, “Are you mad at me?”, “Did I make you mad? I hope I didn’t make you mad”, or “Omg please don’t hate me lol”. Such phrases may be considered cute when the recipient is a smitten male, but they register as irritating pleas for attention when pitched by another woman. Some women, I’m sure, have probably grown accustomed to this type of exchange. Maybe they even seek it out amongst one another, as it’s “proof” that you’re bearing a friend’s feelings in mind. To each their own, man. Or… wo-man.

Friendships have also been challenging for me because of my very low tolerance for check-ins, reassurance, and female attention. I don’t like being constantly attuned to what people are doing. I don’t particularly enjoy unbroken, revolving conversation that has no beginning or end. And I certainly don’t appreciate being micromanaged as to when and how I should respond, and what may occur should I fail to do so on the tight schedule offered up by the woman demanding my attention. In my friendships with men, never once has the topic of “checking in” come up. Someone I’ve grown to love speaking with, whose name is Kait and has appeared on my podcast several times, with good reason, is one female that also fits into this category. Her version of support is often fashioned as an “Oof, that blows” form of text, along with swift conversational nudges toward normalcy and the regular grind of real life. We don’t dwell on hardship so much as we make fun of it, and for this, I appreciate her candor. This is my kind of broad. Not to mention she’s witty, intelligent, and tough as nails. She also uses phrases like “titty bar”, which is fucking hilarious.

Phases in healing journeys or constant cries for check-ins haven’t found their way into my most treasured conversations because there’s a mutual respect for one another’s interests, lives, and daily engagements. The concept that speed of responses to text messages or DMs being somehow representative of our affinity for another person seems to be a womanly hallucination, one teetering on co-dependence versus legitimate friendship. I do not do well when people seem obsessive about befriending me or remaining in constant communication; I’m broadly antisocial, my patience for girly attitudes is minimal, and I’d like to uphold my solitude as sacrosanct. I recognize that this may come across as harsh, and honestly, so be it: much like others are entitled to check-in however frequently their hearts desire, I am entitled to find it avoidably annoying. 

Women use fluffy words like “overwhelm”, “triggered”, “burnout” and “empowered”. As much as I hate to argue semantics, as those debates tend to end exactly nowhere, these phrases are irritating to me. I find them annoying and overly concerned with controlling another person’s perception of our “truth” versus what we believe ourselves to truly be. Have you ever spoken to a man who frequently refers to themselves as being in a chronic state of “overwhelm”? What about a male who is a self-proclaimed burnout crusader? And so help me God if I witness a male posting pictures of themselves in a Speedo and captioning such exploitation with “hashtag empowered”. Again, maybe I’m just a crusty old soul whose impatience has matured into a cynical sarcasm. Or maybe I’m a woman who has finally grown comfortable with themselves and what they find important, which does not include surface-level communication with other women vying for a very specific form of attention.

Suzy Weiss, Bari Weiss’ little sister and journalist, perfectly describes the female dynamic in her recounting of sorority life, which I’ll paraphrase: it is endless validation, no matter how correct or incorrect you are. For example, should you feel compelled to whine about your C grade on an algebra exam you didn’t study for, a slurry of likeminded women will band together to offer you support sounding like, “Well that teacher is just, like, so sexist and dickish. Fuck him, you deserve an A anyway.” My support for friends looks like “man, that blows” as well as mirroring and paraphrasing their challenges. This is a glimmer of my innate femininity at work: I consider myself a stellar listener, and I do tend to melt into a puddle when I see another person in distress. With this, I don’t feel drawn to solving another person’s problems or offering up solutions; my preference is a change in perspective. This, as one may imagine, is typically not well-received. Women very much like to vent and become enmeshed in each other’s misery until it’s unrecognizable as one or the other’s, a psychological inbreeding I personally find odd. Again, though, this is only my personal desire that does not stand to represent “all women”. I couldn’t make the argument that this form of female connection is wrong, as there’s a dearth of evidence to prove such a belief. It’s just not my cup of tea.

On the topic of not being everyone’s cup of tea, my general aura has been tagged “condescending”, “rude”, and “insensitive”, along with the things I say as hurtful as “a punch in the gut”. I will admit, my typed words can come across as quite prickly if you’re unfamiliar with my personality or my communicative flair. To again reference Kait, she has never once responded to any of my statements with something like “I just feel like that was super insensitive to X community”, or “Wow, you are so brave for posting something like that”, or even “You go girl”. God love her, she simply acknowledges the way I’m sure she acknowledges most things: with a chuckle and a grain or two of salt. These are the kind of women I’ve aligned myself with for my entire life, and it’s no wonder they’re growing so sparse: they’re completely cemented, they’re emotionally secure and mature, and they are, for lack of a better word, badass.

I may understand women the way men understand women, which is at the most minimal level possible (at least according to chicks). I may not resonate with such quotes as, “I have chosen to no longer be apologetic for my femaleness”, or “keep showing up for yourself, girl”, but I still am proud of the woman my age has rendered. The immature, cold individual I’ve left behind still lives somewhere beneath my skin, and she is unfortunately here to stay. Perhaps it’s her presence that’s changed me into a wife, a daughter, and a friend worthy of quality consideration.

 To that, I end with a quote that is more fitting to my personality by Margaret Thatcher: “Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.”