Writing Gender
_We All Write Gender
The job of the storyteller is to transcend the concept of “other.” Narrative’s function is to break down the inherent lack of identification and understanding between storytellers and people who read our stories, and between readers and each other. Narrative is humanity’s common ground. Because of this, dealing with distinction is essential. We cannot dismiss difference because it is within such that meaning resides (commonality carried to an absolute dissolves relevance); however, dealing with distinctions on the surface alone, without digging down to the level of sameness from which variation arises, leaves individuals hopelessly isolated and truly alone. In such a scenario, anyone not exactly like the self is alien.
Thus, in a very real sense, what we do when we tell stories is illuminate the best we can how distinction coexists with commonality. Each individual is a variation on a common theme: humanness. We need to communicate both the individual and the theme. In such a difficult, contradictory endeavor, gender is one of the most significant sources of distinction among humans. With almost no exception, if we cannot address the distinctions of gender without losing universal human underpinnings, we cannot write a true story, and an untrue story is a lifeless thing.
Given this, it behooves all of us to learn as best we can how to write in such a way that gender plays an active, potent part in the shaping of our characters. To do this perfectly is, of course, impossible; a lifetime devoted to the study of a single culture’s concept of gender is doomed to failure, as the concept itself is ever evolving. We storytellers shouldn’t aspire to mastery of this matter. But we can and must familiarize ourselves with the basics of gender as a force in human life. Using this understanding to inform our compositional strategies can only make our stories deeper and more meaningful.
To this end, I will record a number of my thoughts on how we, as craftspeople of story, can acknowledge the difference between genders (mostly male and female, but not necessarily always) while preserving the underlying commonality of being human. But before moving on to specific compositional strategies, a few basic characteristics of gender must be understood.
Gender Is Not Universal and Uniform
Gender is not a physiological classification. That’s sex, and while sex and gender do often overlap, they cannot be considered synonymous. Additionally, gender is a socially constructed understanding of the role that people (often delineated by sex) are expected to play within a society. Thus, gender is relative according to all of the following and more: nationality, ethnicity, age, time period in which one lives, socioeconomic position, education, class, caste, religion, and far more.
As most stories will deal with two distinct and well-established genders–male and female–we as storytellers have an advantage of familiarity with these roles and expectations. We cannot, however, assume this familiarity equates to broad understanding, especially across cultures. That which is masculine and feminine differs so wildly it can even exhibit differently within families on the same street.
Men are not all the same, nor are all women (despite frequent assertions otherwise about both genders). If you are defining all your men and all your women by the same understanding of masculinity and femininity, you are really writing the same character in different circumstances. Writing a true gender perspective should incorporate the entire cultural, genealogical, and personal makeup of your character, or as much as you can put together.
Gender Is Not a Totality of Self
Even as we begin to understand gender for the powerful force it plays in the shaping of our characters, we must always remember that it does shape them–it does not dictate who they are. This is one area where the essential individuality of narrative can be lost. If we write all heroines as the same paragon of a particular understanding of femininity, they are no longer people but caricatures, and thus cannot carry a story. The same is true of our heroic men, or villains, or any other character exhibited as playing a gender role within his or her society.
It is often said that great characters are larger than life, and part of being larger than life is acting against type or, even better, acting against your own internal impulses or tendencies. True people are erratic, and this volatility exhibits in our performance of gender roles.
Gender Is a Performance
It can be helpful to think of gender as a performance, as a thing one does to fulfill the expectations of (and thus earn rewards from) society. While some aspects of gender may be very natural and inherent for our characters, others will certainly not be. None of us find it easy to be as masculine or feminine as we “should be”, or in exactly the right way. Likewise, our characters are not by nature the men and women who interact in our stories; they are people trying to be men and women as they understand their culture expects. This provides the opportunity for especially gifted performers to earn great reward (perhaps by subordinating personal yearnings and needs), for misunderstanding or mistake in playing out gender roles (a teenage boy trying to compare scars with his date to prove his toughness), or even for rebellion against gender assumptions (where Shakespeare did much of his work). Just remember that every character’s gender is a sum of the things they do, not a pure expression of who they are.
With those few basics understood, let’s move on to specific compositional strategies for how to write true gender. Those who know me well or have heard me teach know that I believe story to be humanity’s means of communicating emotion, so it shouldn’t be surprising that each of these techniques stems from an emotive heart. We’ll start by addressing how men and women express insecurity differently.
Insecurity about the Emotion
When characters feel comfortable, story is boring. Thus it’s no surprise that a good story is going to force characters to operate from feelings of significant insecurity frequently–in almost all cases, the more frequently the better. An insecure character is forced to act out of type, to assess their own values and what they are willing to do to preserve and promote them, and to sacrifice comfort for growth of self or the interests of others.
Insecurity is the initial emotion of threat. Before we can become angry or frightened–at least in a narrative quality, conscious way–we must become insecure. This is the moment when a character realizes that something is other than they expect, desire, or can discern. Humans are obsessive about the notion of control, and anything contrary to the norm of our experience and expectation thus raises powerful insecurity. Also, keep in mind that the single greatest cause of insecurity is uncertainty. A character confronted by a clearly defined challenge they feel is beyond their ability to overcome will feel insecure; a character suspecting something terrible is coming, but not knowing how, or when, or why will be ten times more vulnerable.
And vulnerable is the name of the game. When someone is vulnerable, they act out to change that in some way, and what they decide to do tells us who they are. When a character is vulnerable, she may lash out and try to hurt others before being hurt herself; she may withdraw; she may harden, become callous; she may stay vulnerable and risk being hurt to gain something of greater value, typically love in romances (this can be seen as risking the self for another person who is valued more highly), though other benefits may be used as well, such as self-respect or knowledge (a staple of mysteries where the protagonist must learn something uncomfortably personal to overcome “demons”).
Because action from a place of vulnerability is genuine revelation of character, it will be highly idiosyncratic. Each character will react to insecurity differently, both from others and in various situations. That being said, there are some basic distinctions in the ways men and women typically react to insecurity. By being aware of these distinctions, we can add touches to our stories that deepen plausibility, especially with readers of the gender in question. For any woman who wants to “write men well”, or man who wants to reciprocate, there is no better place to start than to understand how men and women, on average, respond differently to insecurity. For each gender we will explore two components of insecurity: what causes the gender in question to feel insecure and strategies commonly employed to deal with the emotion. Then we will compare and contrast these characteristics, and look at how this affects our storytelling.
(Be aware that this information is based upon my experience, education, and observation, and is culturally specific to contemporary American culture. Some elements of this are likely common in other times and cultures, but should not be taken with the same degree of confidence in such extrapolation.)
Men and Insecurity
Men are valued for their ability to fix stuff: cars, unprogrammed devices, dangerous confrontations with muggers in alleys. In much of Western culture, manliness is defined largely by the ability of the male in question to solve problems. Not only this, but he is to solve the problems using a set methodology: he must do so alone, if possible; he must not express excess emotion, either of apprehension during the process of solution, or of relief afterward; and, above all, he must not fail. This is the central expectation of manliness in our culture: that men be good for something, as many somethings as possible, and earn renown for deed rather than word. (In this case, leadership, public speaking, adroit lying, and other spoken influence and manipulation count as deeds; communication simply to be understood counts as words for words sake, and is thus unacceptable.)
When men are unable to live up to the above expectation, in any situation, they become insecure–whatever the situation, whatever the cause. Thus when a man is insecure (or, for our purposes, a male character), first look for the unsolved problem. Male insecurity typically stems from an unsolved problem that the man in question feels incapable of successfully resolving alone and without the need for support. Keep in mind that an unsolved problem that suits his talents is an opportunity for him to prove his worth and validate himself, and so will not likely produce insecurity. No, most likely the unsolved problem in your story will be one that your character feels unequipped to overcome.
There are a number of different scenarios that fit the above profile. One of the most common, and a must have for any story involving romance, is when a love interest is beset with a difficulty that her suitor cannot solve. (We’ll address how he might respond to this in a moment.) Another is a veteran infantry soldier forced into diplomatic negotiations with a mountain tribe, or a wizard forced to combat some entity immune to magic. Any time a male character faces a situation in which his skills and abilities are poorly applicable, he is in a place of insecurity. And note that it doesn’t take death and physical harm to constitute a threat. He could fear losing other people, or his place in society, or frequently his self-respect. Whenever a man feels something at risk, he is engendered to assume it is his responsibility to fix the situation. When he cannot, he becomes deeply insecure.
This unique paradigm of manliness and insecurity includes an equally unique response to the emotion: when threatened, men frequently refuse to engage. This is typically true of interpersonal dynamics, where what is at risk is public or personal shame. Rather than confront a problem he does not feel he can solve, a man’s natural instinct is to “tough it out,” and part of this manly endurance is to deny that the problem is a problem at all. Thus our romantic suitor, when confronted by a problem his love interest is experiencing, may refuse to engage himself in communication as he feels the problem cannot be solved. He may begin to joke, to automatically shape the situation as not genuinely problematic and with nothing greatly important at stake. His instinct is to provide himself an alibi for engagement as, from his perspective, getting involved can only result in one end: failure (the worst possible option). The more difficult the problem and the less suited his skill in the area, the more reluctant he will be to engage.
So when writing men, keep these things in mind: 1) Men are valued for solving problems without involving emotion; when they can’t fix things, they feel they are of no value; 2) Stoic distance is a defense mechanism men use to avoid problems that provoke powerful emotion or do not fit their skill sets; 3) When a man is acting “manly” it’s probably him trying to perform according to this expectation, which means he’s either seeking validation for solving problems, or fighting to hide the insecurity he feels; 4) Men are likely to joke, mock, and deride others and issues when they feel insecure as an excuse not to engage.
Women and Insecurity
Where manliness disallows the admission of insecurity, femininity requires its validation. A woman is allowed to be insecure (sometimes even encouraged), so long as she has been valuable enough to others to have created a potent support system to help her through tough times. Much of the value we place upon women in our culture is predicated upon their ability to form bonds and interpersonal relationships. With this comes the sad truth that women are often encouraged to conceptualize their self-worth, in great measure, based upon how others validate them. A central tenant of femininity in our culture is voluntary engagement in the betterment of others, even at the cost of self-sacrifice and self-denial.
Because of this expectation, women are frequently made insecure by lack of interchange with those around them and by judgment, often unfair. So when a female character is insecure, look for the validation she is not receiving and from whom she wishes this would come. Female insecurity generally stems from feeling a lack of connection to others. Women are far better at confronting a variety of problems than men because they are more willing to make mistakes and fail without assuming this destroys their self-worth–but only when they have a support structure in place to reinforce acceptance. When a woman in your story is feeling insecure, it is most likely that she believes something to be true or valuable, but those close to her do not agree, or are not professing such in a manner she expects and desires.
Many, many situations fit the above paradigm: the romantic protagonist who takes a terrible problem to her lover, knowing no issue can be more powerful than his love for her, only to have him refuse to engage and empathize; the lone female cop who is sexually harassed and knows her male partner thinks such is only natural and unavoidable; the queen who commands a war knowing her generals despise her strategy, yet knows that she cannot afford to show any signs of disunity during the crisis. Any time a woman feels insecure and can share this and be accepted, it is no longer a genuine insecurity. The problem may still be there, but she is once more secure in her value to others. It is when this validation is not forthcoming that she feels most vulnerable.
Like vulnerable men, insecure women tend to address this emotion in distinct ways. The first is to seek validation from whatever source is most likely to offer it. Generally, this will come from the most intimate people in her life: spouse and children, parents, mentors, and dearest friends. But if this appeal is rejected, if people have no sympathy to offer or refuse to engage, her insecurity will deepen. Next she will search for validation elsewhere: old friends, coworkers, even strangers. This can result in seeking validation from unhealthy sources, such as an affair or other emotional predator. Lastly, if she feels affirmation cannot come from anywhere, she is likely to consider changing her self. Women are so encultured to view themselves according to others’ perceptions that if those perceptions seem to be all of a negative, she may decide she must change her self because she’s wrong.
A unique outgrowth of this notion of women attaining value by presenting themselves in a way to receive validation is women enforcing the “code” of femininity. From bust to waist ratios, to hairstyle and color, to brand name fashion, to voice inflection, women are other women’s most vicious judges. This is because how a woman carries herself and looks can be a “safe zone” where validation from others is normally expected. Women who are thin can expect acceptance and positive feedback from society, both men and women. Because of this norm, women who feel insecure often result to strict enforcement of this “code.” By stressing a stereotypical view of femininity, they align themselves with this standard that validates their own image or presentation. So women, when insecure, are not only likely to seek new relationships of overt support, but also to become more judgmental to support and buttress their validity.
So when writing women who are insecure, keep in mind the following: 1) Insecurity is only a problem for women if it cannot be shared and earn them empathy and acceptance for others; 2) A woman’s first instinct may not be to solve the problem, but to share it; 3) In seeking alleviation of her insecurity, a woman is likely to start with as healthy a source as possible, but will retreat to unhealthy sources if support is not forthcoming or if she feels she will be judged harshly; 4) Insecure women tend to be judgmental of others, particularly other women on the grounds of femininity, in an attempt to reinforce their own worth; 5) An insecure woman is more likely to be needy than distant, and any distance she shows is likely to be a sign of her seeking a new source of validation in her life.
Gender Interaction
Anyone who considers the two cultural paradigms of how the genders experience and handle insecurity must see how deliciously perfect this is for conflict. On average, men and women are insecure in vastly different ways, and handle the emotion in almost contradictory methods. This means that whenever you have an insecure character interacting with someone of another gender, whether a spouse or a stranger on the street, they are highly unlikely to allow the character what they need to feel secure again.
This is particularly useful when one problem makes two characters, one of each gender, insecure at once. In such a scenario, the man will try to tough out or joke away the situation, while simultaneously the woman will come to him for validation while offering the same. Though both are acting in a manner they believe is constructive, neither can possibly help the other without giving up what they are seeking. In order to validate her, the man will have to engage and admit relevance of the issue, which means some amount of emotional involvement. At the end of her process, she feels validated and accepted, but the problem isn’t solved, and so he feels like a failure. In the reverse, she cannot expect him to engage with her without feeling like a failure for not fixing the problem, and so to accommodate him must go elsewhere for empathy–or take the masculine strategy and tough it out.
Do you see how powerful this can be in story? When men and women interact, a great deal of conflict arises from the simple fact that we all feel vulnerable, and when we treat others how we wish to be treated in such a situation, it only makes things worse. By knowing what makes men and women insecure, and the different tendencies they have in their responses, any story can be made more interesting, more genuine, and more relevant to any and all readers.
The job of the storyteller is to transcend the concept of “other.” Narrative’s function is to break down the inherent lack of identification and understanding between storytellers and people who read our stories, and between readers and each other. Narrative is humanity’s common ground. Because of this, dealing with distinction is essential. We cannot dismiss difference because it is within such that meaning resides (commonality carried to an absolute dissolves relevance); however, dealing with distinctions on the surface alone, without digging down to the level of sameness from which variation arises, leaves individuals hopelessly isolated and truly alone. In such a scenario, anyone not exactly like the self is alien.
Thus, in a very real sense, what we do when we tell stories is illuminate the best we can how distinction coexists with commonality. Each individual is a variation on a common theme: humanness. We need to communicate both the individual and the theme. In such a difficult, contradictory endeavor, gender is one of the most significant sources of distinction among humans. With almost no exception, if we cannot address the distinctions of gender without losing universal human underpinnings, we cannot write a true story, and an untrue story is a lifeless thing.
Given this, it behooves all of us to learn as best we can how to write in such a way that gender plays an active, potent part in the shaping of our characters. To do this perfectly is, of course, impossible; a lifetime devoted to the study of a single culture’s concept of gender is doomed to failure, as the concept itself is ever evolving. We storytellers shouldn’t aspire to mastery of this matter. But we can and must familiarize ourselves with the basics of gender as a force in human life. Using this understanding to inform our compositional strategies can only make our stories deeper and more meaningful.
To this end, I will record a number of my thoughts on how we, as craftspeople of story, can acknowledge the difference between genders (mostly male and female, but not necessarily always) while preserving the underlying commonality of being human. But before moving on to specific compositional strategies, a few basic characteristics of gender must be understood.
Gender Is Not Universal and Uniform
Gender is not a physiological classification. That’s sex, and while sex and gender do often overlap, they cannot be considered synonymous. Additionally, gender is a socially constructed understanding of the role that people (often delineated by sex) are expected to play within a society. Thus, gender is relative according to all of the following and more: nationality, ethnicity, age, time period in which one lives, socioeconomic position, education, class, caste, religion, and far more.
As most stories will deal with two distinct and well-established genders–male and female–we as storytellers have an advantage of familiarity with these roles and expectations. We cannot, however, assume this familiarity equates to broad understanding, especially across cultures. That which is masculine and feminine differs so wildly it can even exhibit differently within families on the same street.
Men are not all the same, nor are all women (despite frequent assertions otherwise about both genders). If you are defining all your men and all your women by the same understanding of masculinity and femininity, you are really writing the same character in different circumstances. Writing a true gender perspective should incorporate the entire cultural, genealogical, and personal makeup of your character, or as much as you can put together.
Gender Is Not a Totality of Self
Even as we begin to understand gender for the powerful force it plays in the shaping of our characters, we must always remember that it does shape them–it does not dictate who they are. This is one area where the essential individuality of narrative can be lost. If we write all heroines as the same paragon of a particular understanding of femininity, they are no longer people but caricatures, and thus cannot carry a story. The same is true of our heroic men, or villains, or any other character exhibited as playing a gender role within his or her society.
It is often said that great characters are larger than life, and part of being larger than life is acting against type or, even better, acting against your own internal impulses or tendencies. True people are erratic, and this volatility exhibits in our performance of gender roles.
Gender Is a Performance
It can be helpful to think of gender as a performance, as a thing one does to fulfill the expectations of (and thus earn rewards from) society. While some aspects of gender may be very natural and inherent for our characters, others will certainly not be. None of us find it easy to be as masculine or feminine as we “should be”, or in exactly the right way. Likewise, our characters are not by nature the men and women who interact in our stories; they are people trying to be men and women as they understand their culture expects. This provides the opportunity for especially gifted performers to earn great reward (perhaps by subordinating personal yearnings and needs), for misunderstanding or mistake in playing out gender roles (a teenage boy trying to compare scars with his date to prove his toughness), or even for rebellion against gender assumptions (where Shakespeare did much of his work). Just remember that every character’s gender is a sum of the things they do, not a pure expression of who they are.
With those few basics understood, let’s move on to specific compositional strategies for how to write true gender. Those who know me well or have heard me teach know that I believe story to be humanity’s means of communicating emotion, so it shouldn’t be surprising that each of these techniques stems from an emotive heart. We’ll start by addressing how men and women express insecurity differently.
Insecurity about the Emotion
When characters feel comfortable, story is boring. Thus it’s no surprise that a good story is going to force characters to operate from feelings of significant insecurity frequently–in almost all cases, the more frequently the better. An insecure character is forced to act out of type, to assess their own values and what they are willing to do to preserve and promote them, and to sacrifice comfort for growth of self or the interests of others.
Insecurity is the initial emotion of threat. Before we can become angry or frightened–at least in a narrative quality, conscious way–we must become insecure. This is the moment when a character realizes that something is other than they expect, desire, or can discern. Humans are obsessive about the notion of control, and anything contrary to the norm of our experience and expectation thus raises powerful insecurity. Also, keep in mind that the single greatest cause of insecurity is uncertainty. A character confronted by a clearly defined challenge they feel is beyond their ability to overcome will feel insecure; a character suspecting something terrible is coming, but not knowing how, or when, or why will be ten times more vulnerable.
And vulnerable is the name of the game. When someone is vulnerable, they act out to change that in some way, and what they decide to do tells us who they are. When a character is vulnerable, she may lash out and try to hurt others before being hurt herself; she may withdraw; she may harden, become callous; she may stay vulnerable and risk being hurt to gain something of greater value, typically love in romances (this can be seen as risking the self for another person who is valued more highly), though other benefits may be used as well, such as self-respect or knowledge (a staple of mysteries where the protagonist must learn something uncomfortably personal to overcome “demons”).
Because action from a place of vulnerability is genuine revelation of character, it will be highly idiosyncratic. Each character will react to insecurity differently, both from others and in various situations. That being said, there are some basic distinctions in the ways men and women typically react to insecurity. By being aware of these distinctions, we can add touches to our stories that deepen plausibility, especially with readers of the gender in question. For any woman who wants to “write men well”, or man who wants to reciprocate, there is no better place to start than to understand how men and women, on average, respond differently to insecurity. For each gender we will explore two components of insecurity: what causes the gender in question to feel insecure and strategies commonly employed to deal with the emotion. Then we will compare and contrast these characteristics, and look at how this affects our storytelling.
(Be aware that this information is based upon my experience, education, and observation, and is culturally specific to contemporary American culture. Some elements of this are likely common in other times and cultures, but should not be taken with the same degree of confidence in such extrapolation.)
Men and Insecurity
Men are valued for their ability to fix stuff: cars, unprogrammed devices, dangerous confrontations with muggers in alleys. In much of Western culture, manliness is defined largely by the ability of the male in question to solve problems. Not only this, but he is to solve the problems using a set methodology: he must do so alone, if possible; he must not express excess emotion, either of apprehension during the process of solution, or of relief afterward; and, above all, he must not fail. This is the central expectation of manliness in our culture: that men be good for something, as many somethings as possible, and earn renown for deed rather than word. (In this case, leadership, public speaking, adroit lying, and other spoken influence and manipulation count as deeds; communication simply to be understood counts as words for words sake, and is thus unacceptable.)
When men are unable to live up to the above expectation, in any situation, they become insecure–whatever the situation, whatever the cause. Thus when a man is insecure (or, for our purposes, a male character), first look for the unsolved problem. Male insecurity typically stems from an unsolved problem that the man in question feels incapable of successfully resolving alone and without the need for support. Keep in mind that an unsolved problem that suits his talents is an opportunity for him to prove his worth and validate himself, and so will not likely produce insecurity. No, most likely the unsolved problem in your story will be one that your character feels unequipped to overcome.
There are a number of different scenarios that fit the above profile. One of the most common, and a must have for any story involving romance, is when a love interest is beset with a difficulty that her suitor cannot solve. (We’ll address how he might respond to this in a moment.) Another is a veteran infantry soldier forced into diplomatic negotiations with a mountain tribe, or a wizard forced to combat some entity immune to magic. Any time a male character faces a situation in which his skills and abilities are poorly applicable, he is in a place of insecurity. And note that it doesn’t take death and physical harm to constitute a threat. He could fear losing other people, or his place in society, or frequently his self-respect. Whenever a man feels something at risk, he is engendered to assume it is his responsibility to fix the situation. When he cannot, he becomes deeply insecure.
This unique paradigm of manliness and insecurity includes an equally unique response to the emotion: when threatened, men frequently refuse to engage. This is typically true of interpersonal dynamics, where what is at risk is public or personal shame. Rather than confront a problem he does not feel he can solve, a man’s natural instinct is to “tough it out,” and part of this manly endurance is to deny that the problem is a problem at all. Thus our romantic suitor, when confronted by a problem his love interest is experiencing, may refuse to engage himself in communication as he feels the problem cannot be solved. He may begin to joke, to automatically shape the situation as not genuinely problematic and with nothing greatly important at stake. His instinct is to provide himself an alibi for engagement as, from his perspective, getting involved can only result in one end: failure (the worst possible option). The more difficult the problem and the less suited his skill in the area, the more reluctant he will be to engage.
So when writing men, keep these things in mind: 1) Men are valued for solving problems without involving emotion; when they can’t fix things, they feel they are of no value; 2) Stoic distance is a defense mechanism men use to avoid problems that provoke powerful emotion or do not fit their skill sets; 3) When a man is acting “manly” it’s probably him trying to perform according to this expectation, which means he’s either seeking validation for solving problems, or fighting to hide the insecurity he feels; 4) Men are likely to joke, mock, and deride others and issues when they feel insecure as an excuse not to engage.
Women and Insecurity
Where manliness disallows the admission of insecurity, femininity requires its validation. A woman is allowed to be insecure (sometimes even encouraged), so long as she has been valuable enough to others to have created a potent support system to help her through tough times. Much of the value we place upon women in our culture is predicated upon their ability to form bonds and interpersonal relationships. With this comes the sad truth that women are often encouraged to conceptualize their self-worth, in great measure, based upon how others validate them. A central tenant of femininity in our culture is voluntary engagement in the betterment of others, even at the cost of self-sacrifice and self-denial.
Because of this expectation, women are frequently made insecure by lack of interchange with those around them and by judgment, often unfair. So when a female character is insecure, look for the validation she is not receiving and from whom she wishes this would come. Female insecurity generally stems from feeling a lack of connection to others. Women are far better at confronting a variety of problems than men because they are more willing to make mistakes and fail without assuming this destroys their self-worth–but only when they have a support structure in place to reinforce acceptance. When a woman in your story is feeling insecure, it is most likely that she believes something to be true or valuable, but those close to her do not agree, or are not professing such in a manner she expects and desires.
Many, many situations fit the above paradigm: the romantic protagonist who takes a terrible problem to her lover, knowing no issue can be more powerful than his love for her, only to have him refuse to engage and empathize; the lone female cop who is sexually harassed and knows her male partner thinks such is only natural and unavoidable; the queen who commands a war knowing her generals despise her strategy, yet knows that she cannot afford to show any signs of disunity during the crisis. Any time a woman feels insecure and can share this and be accepted, it is no longer a genuine insecurity. The problem may still be there, but she is once more secure in her value to others. It is when this validation is not forthcoming that she feels most vulnerable.
Like vulnerable men, insecure women tend to address this emotion in distinct ways. The first is to seek validation from whatever source is most likely to offer it. Generally, this will come from the most intimate people in her life: spouse and children, parents, mentors, and dearest friends. But if this appeal is rejected, if people have no sympathy to offer or refuse to engage, her insecurity will deepen. Next she will search for validation elsewhere: old friends, coworkers, even strangers. This can result in seeking validation from unhealthy sources, such as an affair or other emotional predator. Lastly, if she feels affirmation cannot come from anywhere, she is likely to consider changing her self. Women are so encultured to view themselves according to others’ perceptions that if those perceptions seem to be all of a negative, she may decide she must change her self because she’s wrong.
A unique outgrowth of this notion of women attaining value by presenting themselves in a way to receive validation is women enforcing the “code” of femininity. From bust to waist ratios, to hairstyle and color, to brand name fashion, to voice inflection, women are other women’s most vicious judges. This is because how a woman carries herself and looks can be a “safe zone” where validation from others is normally expected. Women who are thin can expect acceptance and positive feedback from society, both men and women. Because of this norm, women who feel insecure often result to strict enforcement of this “code.” By stressing a stereotypical view of femininity, they align themselves with this standard that validates their own image or presentation. So women, when insecure, are not only likely to seek new relationships of overt support, but also to become more judgmental to support and buttress their validity.
So when writing women who are insecure, keep in mind the following: 1) Insecurity is only a problem for women if it cannot be shared and earn them empathy and acceptance for others; 2) A woman’s first instinct may not be to solve the problem, but to share it; 3) In seeking alleviation of her insecurity, a woman is likely to start with as healthy a source as possible, but will retreat to unhealthy sources if support is not forthcoming or if she feels she will be judged harshly; 4) Insecure women tend to be judgmental of others, particularly other women on the grounds of femininity, in an attempt to reinforce their own worth; 5) An insecure woman is more likely to be needy than distant, and any distance she shows is likely to be a sign of her seeking a new source of validation in her life.
Gender Interaction
Anyone who considers the two cultural paradigms of how the genders experience and handle insecurity must see how deliciously perfect this is for conflict. On average, men and women are insecure in vastly different ways, and handle the emotion in almost contradictory methods. This means that whenever you have an insecure character interacting with someone of another gender, whether a spouse or a stranger on the street, they are highly unlikely to allow the character what they need to feel secure again.
This is particularly useful when one problem makes two characters, one of each gender, insecure at once. In such a scenario, the man will try to tough out or joke away the situation, while simultaneously the woman will come to him for validation while offering the same. Though both are acting in a manner they believe is constructive, neither can possibly help the other without giving up what they are seeking. In order to validate her, the man will have to engage and admit relevance of the issue, which means some amount of emotional involvement. At the end of her process, she feels validated and accepted, but the problem isn’t solved, and so he feels like a failure. In the reverse, she cannot expect him to engage with her without feeling like a failure for not fixing the problem, and so to accommodate him must go elsewhere for empathy–or take the masculine strategy and tough it out.
Do you see how powerful this can be in story? When men and women interact, a great deal of conflict arises from the simple fact that we all feel vulnerable, and when we treat others how we wish to be treated in such a situation, it only makes things worse. By knowing what makes men and women insecure, and the different tendencies they have in their responses, any story can be made more interesting, more genuine, and more relevant to any and all readers.