Feminism, Polarity & The Myth We Accidentally Broke

There’s a question I’ve been sitting with for a while now — not as a feminist, not as a woman, but as a human being trying to understand our collective psychology:

What happens when feminism forgets the feminine?
And masculinity forgets the masculine?

Because lately, the conversations I overhear — in cafés, on group chats, over wine nights — don’t sound like empowerment anymore. They sound like a war cry.

Not against patriarchy.
Against men.

A frustration so sharp it’s starting to look like hatred.

And somewhere in all of this, I can hear Carl Jung whispering:

“What you resist, persists.
What you fight externally is usually what you have not reconciled internally.”

We didn’t break the patriarchy.
We internalised it.
Then we flipped it.
And now some women are wielding that same masculine shadow with pride — domination, dismissal, superiority masked as empowerment.

But that’s not feminism.
That’s just patriarchy in drag.

The Forgotten Polarity

Jung spoke of animus (the masculine within women) and anima (the feminine within men).
A healthy psyche holds both — but in balance.

When the feminine rejects its own softness, intuition, empathy, and receptivity, and instead elevates aggression, dominance, and emotional rigidity, it becomes the very thing it was trying to dismantle:
a distorted masculine archetype.

And when the masculine rejects its own strength, direction, courage, and containment in fear of being “toxic,” it collapses into passivity, shame, and confusion — a distorted feminine archetype.

We are not meeting each other.
We are trading shadows.

And so the polarity collapses.

Where there was once magnetism, we now have resistance.
Where there was once attraction, we now have fear.
Where there was once mutual respect, we now have competition.

This is not evolution.
This is fragmentation.

Feminism Was Never Meant to Erase Differences

I believe in feminism — with my whole chest.
But I believe in a version that honours polarity, not erases it.

Strength is not exclusively masculine.
Softness is not exclusively feminine.
But the archetypal energies exist for a reason.

Men and women were never meant to be identical.
They were meant to be complementary — yin and yang, form and flow, structure and intuition.

When we stop honouring these polarities, we don’t become equal.
We become disconnected.

Disconnected from ourselves
and from each other.

The System Is the Problem — Not Most Men

Here’s the truth:

Most men are not sitting in dark rooms plotting how to keep us down.
Most men are not deciding promotions, pay gaps, or reproductive laws.

The system — built by generations of unconscious masculine energy — is what we’re fighting.

Not the average man sitting next to us at dinner.
Not the friend who is trying.
Not the man who is learning to be better.

But we treat them the same anyway.

And ironically, that is how toxic masculinity operates:
“Group them all together. Punish them all.”

The shadow is the same.
Only the costume changed.

Men Are Not the Enemy. Women Are Not the Victims.

There are things men are naturally wired for that women can’t touch.
There are things women are naturally wired for that men can’t reach.

This is not inequality.
This is polarity.

A tree grows tall because the roots grow deep — not because the branches declare war on them.

And yet here we are, hacking at each other’s roots.

Here’s What I Believe:

A healed woman does not hate men.
A healed man does not fear strong women.
A healed society knows how to hold both energies without forcing them into battle.

Feminism was never about conquering men.
It was about conscious partnership.

Masculine and feminine — in both men and women — meeting in the middle, not overpowering each other.

When we weaponise feminism, we don’t free anyone.
We just recreate oppression with different branding.

The real revolution is internal:
Women reclaiming their feminine without shame.
Men reclaiming their masculine without fear.
All of us integrating the parts of ourselves we’ve disowned.

This is how patriarchy actually breaks.
Not through war —
but through wholeness.

Diary Entry Day 5: Dressing the Feminine

I didn’t feel like writing first thing in the morning today. Again. I keep telling myself that one day I’ll reach a point where I’ll want to write as soon as I wake up. That’s how I’ll know I’m in a better place. A more grounded place.

This morning, as I was deciding what to wear, something clicked. I’ve always preferred soft cotton clothes, ones that cover me fully. Anything else feels itchy, too tight, or somehow unsafe. Looking back at old photos, I noticed how consistently I’ve dressed in a conservative way. Even as a child, when my cousins wore pretty dresses, I was in pyjamas. I probably wore the dress while we were out, then changed as soon as I got home.

There’s one set of childhood photos I keep returning to. I’m wearing a soft cotton dress, out with family and cousins. I’m smiling, perched on a tree in one, tossing pebbles in the water in another. I look free. I look beautiful. I want to remember myself like that — a child who was happy, not just hurt. I can’t erase the rest, but I can choose to hold onto the moments of light too.

Today, before leaving the house, I hesitated wearing a skirt. Yesterday, I wore something more masculine and comfortable. It felt safe, but I realized I was trying to hide. Trying not to look feminine. Because looking feminine, in my mind, invites the wrong kind of attention. And if people look, they’ll see me — and I don’t always feel ready to be seen. So I dress to disappear. It’s safer that way.

For a long time, I avoided it. I wanted to stay unnoticed, hidden behind comfort and layers. But that began to change in college. I was surrounded by women who made me feel safe in my own skin. I remember one evening when they all chose to wear loose T-shirts like mine so I wouldn’t feel out of place. That quiet act of solidarity stayed with me. It made me feel seen without being scrutinized. A few months later, I started wearing skirts and dresses — not because anyone expected it, but because I wanted to. I felt free enough to explore my femininity in my own way. But when I later found myself around women whose femininity felt performative or competitive, something in me shut down again. I started hiding, dressing to blend in instead of stand out. The softness I had once reclaimed felt threatened. So I put it away.

I’ve made a decision. I’m going to wear at least one feminine thing every day. Even if it’s something small — a piece of jewelry, a subtle ring. I have jewelry at home, but I often hesitate to wear it, thinking it’s “too much.” What I really want are pieces that feel like me. Not loud. Not flashy. Just quietly strong.

I’m not the kind of woman who needs to wear floral clothes or bright colours (respect to those who do feel their best in this style). I can feel just as powerful in a black dress with a slit or in simple leggings that contour my curves. My femininity doesn’t need to scream. It just needs to be mine.

So many women today dress for other women — to be validated, to fit in, or to compete. I’ve done that too. But now, I want to dress for myself. For most of my life, it’s been the masculine part of me leading the way, the part that learned to protect, to stay alert, to survive. I respect that part, but I don’t want it to overpower my life anymore.

This isn’t about feeling empowered by showing skin or proving anything to anyone. It’s not about my cellulite or how exposed I feel in certain clothes. Yes, I sometimes wish I could wear short skirts without feeling self-conscious. But even if I never do, I know I can still be feminine. I can still be powerful on my own terms.

Even if I attract the wrong kind of attention, I now know that evil exists. I’ve seen it. It hides in plain sight. But I also know that evil lives in all of us in some way. I just choose not to act on it. I choose kindness, every day. And I choose to protect that little girl who had no one to save her. I’m here now. And I will protect her at all costs.

Today’s Truth:

My femininity doesn’t need permission.
It doesn’t need to perform, compete, or explain itself.
It lives in how I carry myself, how I soften without fear, and how I choose to be seen — on my own terms.