She Wolf
My reflex response to the mythical story of Eros & Psyche
Nowadays when the topic is female nature I rarely ever flinch. I’d like to have some bearings in as a “writer” on a particular side of twitter but am unsure of my fit and of the audiences’ worthiness of my brainjunk, I’m so vain I know even my scraps are gold. Because of the hesitation, my journey has been a bit lonely the process. The topic of “individuation” is on everyone’s mind whether they confront it shyly through innuendos (me, 600 followor count) or brazenly through supplement-backed Twitter accounts. Our precious community continues to be flooded with undercover Jung worshipper accounts, primarily catering to the right-wing community of creators who champion male virility and grit in order to quell their lack of understanding of their total selves, the other repressed goodies that lay to rest in our drafts. As a lurker, albeit jealous of the dudes with a strong online presence, I see it as their attempt to grasp something that women are granted access to by blossoming, real essence, while they cling to self-efficacy and brute force. They collect things and accolades, measly marbles lining their pockets in comparison to our precious gems. It explains the stinginess on both ends.
On this side of the Internet, mentions of women or the feminine experience are seldom,the feminine experience trivialized by posters who larp as beneficiaries of the true feminine essence by way of our most rudimentary gifts: touch and beauty. For every new beautiful blonde account with a <10k following that posts her red-light selfies nightly, there are dudes in droves gassing each other up that their ecomm biz is a true marker of valor. Though the pockets do get deeper.
My friends joke that I’ve done enough charity work for the incel community. I agree with them but my leonine pride won’t let me stop until I’ve managed to transmute my boy-craziness into some sort of larger project that funds my escapades and serves a salve for other girls who’ve been pricked. I’m in my studying era. Nosy enough to keyword search some of these big personality accounts, and flirt with some of them, it’s obvious that most of them are working with a bare bones understanding and a legion of drones; they call it bloodlust but all they do is deadlift and tweet crude observations that give the gist of a corporate boy’s first love triangle.
The common, digestible experiences that anyone with enough time and money to fly a few girls out and hit a few steakhouses can inflate their dates as run-ins with our “true nature”, they don’t realize we just accepted their invitation to play because we were bored with the mundane, we got distracted from our own unraveling. A lot of them are charming and hot, but the invitation is nothing more than a quick reel of primordial sexual dynamics between men of status and their eager counterparts–right time, right place type thing.
From my secret research I’ve noticed a few classic feminine archetypes getting the most attention: the archetypal Mother (nourishing, sweetie, soft-life type) and the budding goddess, baby Aphrodite types who are lusty noobs, beautiful and dedicate their energy to luring men in through the tangible.(Honestly one of the most exhilarating phases to be in and If unleashed I’ll still dip my toes in on any given night). The others, those of us who enchant in a different way, still sexy but a bit more psychological, chatty, embody a more developed feminine prowess that feels like its rooted in companionship, it flows, it’s inspired by conversation–it’s why I pride myself on having the gift of the gab. It can only be cultivated through a natural progression of slipping and falling.
Some of us are written off due to underdeveloped qualities having not yet experienced that foreboding aha moment that triggers a series of rebirths. Men seem to have the luxury of self discovery through tournaments and games of chance, the feminine experience is dilly dallying through portals and stumbling upon a trigger, causing us to zoom out. It’s not a solo-mission, the stumbling upon is likely to be through male intervention, love quarrels or petty friendship dramas. It feels liek hell when you’re trying to sort through all of the Ls but its part of learning how to differentiate and take the best avenue for your personal ~ evolution ~. Brb have to sit and mull it over. Ladies please read She smoll book by Robert A Johnson…
