Women, Power & the Shadow

Whoever fights monsters, should see to it that in the process (s)he does not become a monster. —FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

The Swiss psychologist C. G. Jung used the term shadow work to describe the kind of introspective work that Nietzsche alludes to in the above quote.

I have my own term for shadow work. I call it “cleaning up my own bullshit.” Using plain language to describe psychological processes can demystify what may sound complex but in reality is not rocket science. You can turn around and face the shadowy parts of yourself by asking yourself some questions. These are the questions I have asked myself about my shadow as it pertains to women and power:

How much of my disempowerment at work is because I don’t want people to think I’m powerful? Is it easier for me to play the victim than to come out of the power closet? Do I want to be liked more than I want to tell my truth? Is it less risky to blame others so that I don’t have to take a stand for what I deserve? Am I willing to admit that I use indirect aggression and backdoor manipulation to get what I want? Am I willing to confront, as Jung said, “that which I do not want to be”?

It took me years to confront those questions and to determine what parts of my predicament were of my own making—my own bullshit—and therefore up to me to change, and what parts were structural in the work world, and embedded in the culture at large. What parts would be best dealt with in a therapist’s office, what parts in confrontations at work, what parts in the voting booth, the op-eds, the streets? I have never stopped asking these questions and benefitting from the answers I uncover within. I don’t always get it right, but the point is to keep asking the questions.

Because I work with men, am married to a man, and am the mother of sons, some of the hardest shadow work I have done is looking honestly at some of the bullshitty ways I deal with men. Here’s a shadow question I must continually grapple with: Am I asking men to be more vulnerable and communicative, but still holding them to the old standards of manhood? I can’t tell you how many times I have encouraged the men in my life to be sensitive, caring, and vulnerable, and then when those same men show signs of weakness or self-doubt or fear, I don’t like it; I judge it. This isn’t fair. It confuses the men who are trying to change; it messes with their heads. (Just like it messes with women’s heads when men claim to support us in being whatever we want to be and going where we want to go, but then, when women are harassed or harmed, the message becomes, “You gotta be careful. Don’t dress that way, don’t say that, don’t act that way, because boys will be boys.”)

Research professor and author Brené Brown has been a frequent speaker at Omega. At one Women and Power conference she spoke about research sessions she was leading with groups of men on the subject of men, shame, and vulnerability. “I was not prepared,” she said, “to hear over and over from men in these interview groups how the women—the mothers, sisters, girlfriends, wives—in their lives are constantly criticizing them for not being open and vulnerable and intimate. But when they do open up, when real vulnerability happens in men, those same women recoil with fear or disappointment, even disgust. After an interview with a small group of men, I was driving home and I realized that I recognized myself in that kind of behavior. And suddenly I thought, holy shit! I am the patriarchy.”

Taking responsibility for the ways in which we collude with the old story of power—the ways in which we unwittingly keep the rules of patriarchal power alive—is just one example of shadow work. It takes courage to confront your own bullshit, but it is worth it, and it is a core component of doing power differently.

But wait a minute, you may be thinking. Why should women be the ones to do the shadow work? Won’t my willingness to admit my faults be misconstrued as a weakness to be taken advantage of, and a naïve assumption that if I change others will want to as well? Haven’t we been trying to be our best selves for too long? Feeling guilty when we fall short, and apologizing for our imperfections? Haven’t women been assuming responsibility for things that aren’t even ours, covering for men, placating their egos, babysitting their emotions, even as they continue to benefit from their unfair advantage? Why should we do the hard work of transforming power before we’ve barely tasted empowerment at home and work and in the world?

These are all worthy questions. It’s a tricky subject, this idea of women looking within and taking responsibility for the ways in which we collude with the old power stories and the current rules of engagement. It may feel unfair and even dangerous for you to do so. This is especially true for women of color, lesbian and trans women, women who work in male-dominated industries, any woman within entrenched patriarchal family systems or controlling, abusive relationships. Even if a relationship isn’t abusive, a reluctant, defensive partner can make shadow work risky business.  That’s when it’s good to get help, to do the work in safe, supportive environments—therapist offices, couples counseling, groups of women dealing with similar issues. But I cannot speak highly enough of the importance of looking honestly at our full self, both the light and the dark, as difficult and disruptive as that may be. The truth is we can work on ourselves even as we stand our ground for justice and change. And I contend that doing both is more effective than doing just one.

The Jungian analyst Marion Woodman said, “Whenever we refuse to accept something as a part of us, we project that something onto others. A projection is like an arrow that flies out of your unconscious and finds its mark in someone out there…Jung pointed out that our projections are like treasures that we believe other people have and that we want badly for ourselves. Withdrawing our projections lets us claim those treasures.”

I want women to claim the treasure of our own power. I want us to stop believing that other powerful people have something special that we don’t have. I want us to stop projecting onto men especially what “we want badly for ourselves,” and instead to unearth our own brand of power, and then to partner with men to make the kinds of changes that will make life better for all people.

Excerpted from Cassandra Speaks: When Women Are the Storytellers, the Human Story Changes.

This essay was featured in the September 20, 2020 edition of The Sunday Paper. The Sunday Paper publishes News and Views that Rise Above the Noise and Inspires Hearts and Minds. To get The Sunday Paper delivered to your inbox each Sunday morning for free, click here to subscribe.