The Sheer Endurance of the Strong, Independent Woman
[Reupload, original publication in June 2020]
In a world churning with change, the best way to push against the once-prevalent, hegemonic portrayals of women as mere damsels in distress is to bring out stories featuring the Strong, Independent Woman Who Don’t Need No Man, right? Well, maybe. But are we going about it in an effective way that actually accomplishes this? Questionable.
It’s 2019, and the abundant existence of this perspective of women as actually having agency only appears to be growing exponentially. And yet, there seems to be a twinge of outdatedness about the way we tell the stories of young women and the lives they lead- particularly in lieu of the traumatic path that they are made to traverse to get to transforming into the much-adored version of this Strong, Independent Woman.
It doesn’t take a lot of digging around to find examples of this trope scattered across time; too many of our much-beloved heroines fit so neatly into this category that it makes it hard to pick out just one example. Joss Whedon’s Buffy, for example, saw nothing but constant pain thrust on her for a whopping seven seasons. She endured practically everything from loss of love, to rape, to being forced to kill, and finally death itself. But it didn’t end there for her, for even in death, she was yanked out of a blissful heaven so she could fulfil her true purpose in life (read: be tortured some more). We are told that her character is shaped and strengthened by her capacity to endure.
Can’t relate? Too old a reference? Well then, how about Sansa Stark, who claims herself that being repeatedly brutalized is really what made her strong? “Without Littlefinger and Ramsay and the rest, I would’ve stayed a bird all my life” she speaks, sealing the notion just a little bit tighter, as if it needed that.
Of course, the list doesn’t end there. We see this incredibly toxic idea being perpetuated across genres and media types in the depiction of young women. From Katniss Everdeen’s monumental levels of torment to all the “final girls” of horror movies, whose feminist stand surfaces at the tail end of the two hours of violence and gore.
The age-old idea that the only way women can be strong is by experiencing immense trauma, over and over and over again, and still manage to get out of bed every morning seems to be stuck in a way that hints at a deep belief in this notion within the fabric of popular culture. That’s not to discredit the truth of people in the real world; repeated trauma is a difficult reality in many of our lives and we often find the strength to beat it, to grow out of it. But the fact that our ladies can’t experience a full day’s contentment before being struck by yet another terrible tragedy says a lot more about the culture of popular storytelling than about the function and navigation of trauma in the world around.
Yes, this isn’t a trope that is limited to women. Male protagonists experience their fair share of this treatment, especially in the world comics. Many make up the list, perhaps topped by our beloved Bruce Wayne, of heroes that lose everything they hold dear one after another, as they struggle to retain a semblance of humanity. Yet, somehow, the loses they face, more often than not, fall together to drive a well-deserved and pleasing-to-behold character arc, motivating the development of true essence and agency, rather than merely becoming the newest item on the laundry list of traumas experienced.
While it’s true that adversities intensify the flow of stories by hooking the audience in deeper, there’s a difference between learning to cope and overcome distress from trauma and have it be piled on to make the character appear Strong. It takes little hunting within these texts to find the mission statement stated outright, openly sketching out the Strong, Independent Woman. Is that a bold move on the author’s part, a conscious call for recognition? I’m not so sure. To me, it simply seems to reestablish how out of touch said creators have become in bringing their stories alive.
Trauma happens, sometimes repeatedly. For those of us who endure, through every blow, getting through the day is sometimes the most we can manage. The little, unexpected triggers sprinkled across our experiences are really real. Ignoring this while weaving a narrative and simply compartmentalizing to the point where characters are able to move through time without ever pausing to think, much less deal with it all, falls to a scale going from unrealistic to insulting; unfairness in its utmost form, both to the character and everyone who grows to identify with her.
Too often, characters like Katniss and Buffy are crowned the Triumphs of Feminism, apparently personifying real strength and resilience. But watching these characters be repeatedly shredded, then forced to move ahead without even a shadow of real exploration of the impact it has on them does a great disservice to the story, the creators, and of course, the audience.
Stepping over repeated traumas isn’t the only way to display strength. Reflection and self-care don’t necessarily render stories and characters uninteresting. To everyone who believes that this trope has to be the core of a strong individual: it doesn’t. It shouldn’t be.
So, the next time Wonder Woman tells you it’s possible to be pretty and badass, maybe you can ask her why her badassery doesn’t ever seem to touch healing. And how she expects to grow from her traumatic experiences if she never stops to process them. Because doesn’t strength entail a whole lot more than someone’s capacity to endure? Or is that just me?
