Are You a Boy or a Girl? Pt. III
Was I becoming a femme fatale?
Self-Portrait VI: Reflections on Predation, 2025. Mixed-media collage with encaustic wax finish on wood panel, 19” x 19” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
My high school sweetheart, Mike, was a surfer and break dancer; I was a sun worshiper and dance production student. We met at the beach and bonded over our love of dance, the ocean, and Snack-Hut nachos. When we weren’t at the beach flirting and watching waves, we were cruising popular boulevards in his lowered VW Rabbit caravanning with other young caucasian low-riders to underground dance events and hang-outs to drink Brass Monkeys, park, and lose our virginity to each other in the back seat. As young and immature as we were in the summer of ’86, we enjoyed a tender and loving adolescent romance that lasted two years, spanning our sophomore and junior years.
During my senior year of high school, however, I began to take an interest in an older guy who managed the music store directly opposite the surf and skate shop where I worked at the mall. I was intrigued by Bradley’s post-high-school status.
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As much as I loved Mike, I found myself wanting Bradley to notice me. I wore my cutest outfits to work and turned up the music in my store when a song came on that I wanted him to know I liked. This covert game of attraction lasted many months until one weekend night during my senior year, when I decided to leave the comfort and security of my good (but maybe a little boring now?) relationship with Mike. A few months later, I started dating Bradley.
A modeling photo taken in 1989, when I was 19 years old and attempting to get work as a model. Whereas I used to see a “pretty girl” when I looked at these photos, now I see a young woman trapped in an image of so-called beauty and perfectionism, trying to be what she thought others wanted her to be. (See Part I and Part II for the back story.)
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While breaking up with high school sweethearts after graduation is practically coded into the adolescent experience, I can see that this marked a significant pivot away from my body’s signals and a first glance toward the femme fatale archetype. The way I bonded and connected with Mike was very different from how I “hooked up” with Bradley.
First and foremost, Mike and I had gotten to know each other for months at the beach before we went on our official “first date”. When we had our first kiss, we already knew each other; it was intimate. We were bonding in a way that was vulnerable and heartfelt, if not a bit awkward and silly at times.
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Not so, my beginning with Bradley, my next two-year relationship. In contrast to my more innocent days with Mike, Bradley and I bonded first and foremost as sexual objects to each other.
Bradley was just as emotionally wounded as I was at that time, which revealed itself through his jealousy and possessiveness. It turns my stomach to recall that I enjoyed seeing a man become emotionally upset over where I was going and with whom, but at that time, I interpreted that behavior as love and, ironically, protection, even though it was volatile and violating.
I was accustomed to feelings of love being paired with emotional volatility and abuse, abandonment, and neglect from the many ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) my traumatized nervous system was harboring by that time. Strangely, his toxic behavior made me feel valuable and worthy of “claiming”; and sadly, being claimed by a man gave me a sense of safety, security, and identity. Sacrificing my personal power for male sexual attention, protection, and misplaced self-worth, I began to develop a pattern of relying on men to define me and rescue me from my emotionally toxic mother (read: wounded woman) and, in adulthood, from myself.
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If receiving neutral, non-judgmental attention from others is a type of food (something we get energy from), then receiving positive, nurturing, and loving attention is a feast. Since our survival depends on others, we need to be included in the group. In fact, when we’re infants, we need nurturing attention in order to learn how to regulate our own brains and nervous systems with other humans. We’re in constant biofeedback with our caretakers during the early years of our lives, and remain in constant biofeedback with our environments, and the people who inhabit them, our entire lives. (It’s important who we surround ourselves with.)
When we’re infants, this co-regulation and constant biofeedback help keep us alive. However, when that co-regulation process is interrupted by unmet emotional needs, abandonment, and sexual abuse (as in my case), the nervous system of a traumatized child is built on faulty information about themselves and the world.
When a woman is acting from her wounds, she likely has no idea that her actions are being generated by a psychological complex* that is attempting to get deep, instinctual needs met, albeit in controlling, dubious, and destructive ways. When you’ve given away your power, your only remaining options for obtaining power are through indirect and covert means, such as manipulation, deception, passive-aggressive and controlling behaviors, and other unhealthy, “dangerous” expressions of a woman’s wounded psyche.
The Stone Witch, 2021. Mixed-media collage on wood box panel 12 1/4” x 21” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
Read about my shadow sister (mythologically, my Ereshkigal) in the “The Stone Witch” essay series in The Seeker’s Notebook.
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The changes in my behavior and appearance during middle school were evident to me and others, but the reasons were imperceptible. What I began saying “yes” and “no” to were changing; these were the choice-making threads that started weaving the fabric of my new life as a “pretty girl”.
By saying yes to things that my mind and body were saying no to, I began unconsciously overriding the wisdom of my body (i.e., my authentic self) and acting in accordance with the role I was identifying with. This was the slow, insidious way I gradually adopted a new persona, or mask, built on self-deception, cognitive dissonance, and the near-constant, looping misperception that others rejected me as I was and that the world was not a safe place for me.
From early on, as a type of psychological bargaining chip, I began surrendering my power and sense of self to my mother in exchange for her approval and a sense of security, a classic co-dependent mother-daughter dynamic. Once I began the process of trying to become the girl my mother wanted me to be, sacrificing spontaneity for control, it wasn’t a far stretch to later project my need for approval onto men (and everyone else, for that matter), and the pretty people-pleaser was born.
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I’ve come to view the archetype of the people-pleaser as a form of self-abandonment, an unconscious survival strategy that often leads to self-hatred. That may sound extreme, but when we fail to achieve the levels of perfection that we falsely believe are required of us to earn love and keep ourselves safe in a perceived dangerous world, we begin to hate ourselves for not being better or enough of what others seem to want and need from us. It’s the opposite of self-esteem when you refuse to listen to your needs and wants and honor them as best you can. I wasn’t honoring myself because I had been taught to negate myself.
We now understand that self-negation creates despair, isolation, and mental maladaptations (i.e., debilitating self-criticism, self-doubt, and low self-esteem), which are all things I have suffered, as have millions, if not billions, of humans (particularly females) throughout our evolutionary trajectory, largely due to the misogyny inherent in a patriarchal society that pits women as the root of all evil rather than honoring them as powerful life-bringers.
In the depths of despair, it is heavy, dark, and hopeless. There’s no image of a brighter day to help lift you from the dredge of your hidden shame, fear, and grief, and the negative thoughts they bear. Wishing yourself dead and dispersed into oblivion just so you can finally be at fucking peace (can you hear the inner wail?), becomes an all too familiar longing. This is what self-hatred feels like underneath the perfect smile and big hair.
Shortly after having these modeling photos taken, I took my portfolio around to a handful of agencies in Los Angeles. I was quickly dismissed by the gatekeepers at reception. (My “look” was too commercial and my tits weren’t big enough for that spectrum of the modeling world—I naively aimed for the high art domain, envisioning myself in W Magazine.) Seeing myself as a failed model, I abandoned my dream. I now see this as a blessing, and I’m grateful I didn’t succumb to the pressure to change my body surgically; instead, I focused on my studies in biology and psychology, while paying my way through college as a cocktail waitress.
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After decades of being desperate for approval, craving positive, non-sexual attention, and hungering for emotionally available and healthy parents, it is no wonder the image of a predator was emerging in my artwork in middle age. When I created the self-portrait below, I didn't fully grasp its implications. However, after weeks of reflecting on this image, I began to perceive a hungry, predatory essence looking back at me. I was compelled to ask, “Am I a femme fatale?”
Of course not. That’s ridiculous. I’m not a murderess; I have difficulty harvesting my edible plants. I don’t consider myself a power-hungry person; I’m a conflict-avoidant good girl who wears a mask to navigate the challenges of relationships with others. Hell, I’m a people-pleasing wallflower, not a man-eater!
But that’s not what my art was showing me.
Self-Portrait V: Femme Fatale Rising, 2025, 17” x 18.5” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
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I was compelled to look up the term. A “femme fatale” is an attractive and seductive woman, especially one who is likely to cause distress or disaster to a man who becomes involved with her. The origin of the term is French and literally means ‘disastrous woman.’
I hated to admit it, but that could describe me.
That veneer of bright smiles and fashionable outfits was a disguise for a panoply of emotional distress that, unbeknownst to the men I attracted, was not going to lead to a stable, satisfying relationship.
This photo reveals both a light and a darker, shadowed side of my face, foreshadowing the self-portrait from this series, “The Two of Me,“ shown below.
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The femme fatale is a dangerous manifestation that can arise when a woman is cut off from her unacknowledged and repressed feelings and her inner masculine power (in Jungian terms, her Animus); she becomes hungry with unmet needs that she must now source from outside herself. Rather than being connected with her body and power center, she needs to draw her power from external sources, i.e., through men.
The helplessness and seeming innocence of this side of the femme fatale archetype appear in the form of a damsel in distress, and is like Kryptonite to guys with The Rescuer or Hero Complex (“she needs me!”), and they are ever-ready to swoop us up and carry us away from all of our problems. Only our problems live within us, so we take them with us wherever we ride off to and with whoever has “rescued” us.
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When a woman is cut off from her emotions and inner masculine, she is cut off from her internal source of vital energy that motivates her to achieve her dreams and visions. One aspect of masculine energy is the necessity for creative expression; it must act on and respond to its environment (in contrast, feminine energy is to accept things as they are, passively; both have their rightful place in balance with one another). Otherwise, the same unexpressed creative energy can become distorted and destructive. Our unexpressed light grows heavy within us, and our best qualities are subverted by the Shadow, where they are twisted into dark expressions in our personalities.
Behind the ego’s mask, spontaneity and natural behaviors are lost to the roles we play. We often sacrifice our instinctual, emotional, and intuitive powers in exchange for safety and a sense of belonging by taking flight from reality through avoidance, over-attachment, denial, addiction, and other dysfunctional behaviors.
Self-Portrait II: Disembodied, 2025. Mixed-media collage with encaustic wax finish on wood panel, 20” x 20” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
One of the messages coming to me from this image is how my disembodiment led to a mid-life addiction to marijuana; the birds resemble the pipe I used to smoke, taking flight through escapism in order not to feel what was lurking in the dark shadows of my disconnected body. Of course, the other “light side” interpretation is that our words give us wings. There are multiple meanings to every image.
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This disembodiment creates a schism between our body and mind, preventing us from experiencing ourselves as a unified whole. The personas our minds generate to cope with this psychic fracturing struggle for control, which manifests as a range of dysfunctional symptoms and physical and psychological disorders, including depression, anxiety, complex PTSD, autoimmune disease, bipolar and borderline personality disorders, and the autism spectrum, to name a few.**
Self-Portrait IV: The Two of Me, 2025. Mixed-media collage with encaustic wax finish on wood panel, 19” x 19” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
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These are the little monsters that live hidden within a traumatized woman’s personality; and these little monsters, these Stone Witches and hungry lions, are simply the dark side of our natural power. To heal, we need to reach into the dark depths of our shadows to reclaim that healthy power, and along with it, our self-esteem.
Dream of Eros, 2023. Mixed-media collage on wood panel, 16 1/2” x 26 3/4” x 1 1/2”. Prints available.
This image suggests that our inner monsters can become our salvation when we alchemically transform shadow energy into golden light through compassionate observation of our bodies’ emotions.
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Recognizing the manifestation of emotional disturbance in my personality, my artwork subsequently helped me understand that when I engage my creative masculine energies without restriction, I resemble a well-fed lion sitting in my power, rather than a starving predator searching for its next victim. Once I made that connection, I came to realize that the lion also symbolizes the power of the Self. We don’t need to seek energy and power from others when we tap into the strength that resides within us.
When we allow ourselves to feel and witness the pain, fear, and grief we’ve been pushing down and away with compassion, we are reconnecting to and reclaiming the lost parts of ourselves that have been unconsciously and obsessively trying to resolve the original wound by recreating our traumas repeatedly through choices that follow the familiar dysfunctional patterns we inherited.
Ultimately, it is empathy, compassion, and love—both from ourselves and from others—that rejuvenate and empower us to reclaim our innate ability to create a greater balance of masculine and feminine energies, and thus share our gifts with a suffering world.
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In a different life and time, I might have become an androgynous adult who didn’t identify with a specific gender or sexual orientation. But in this life, now 54 years old, born and raised in Southern California and shaped by the norms of Generation X, I have come to appreciate and prefer living as a monogamous cisgender female. I wish it hadn’t come at the expense of my masculinity—my vital, creative impulse, and healthy sexual urge; the things that give our lives direction, meaning, and help us achieve genuine self-esteem—the elusive pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the Self.
Standing in front of the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California with my puppet monkey, a constant companion in 1981 when I was 11 years old.
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NOTES:
* A psychological complex (such as the archetypes of the people pleaser and femme fatale) is a structured group of related ideas, impulses, emotions, and memories that are organized around a central theme, often unconscious, and exert a strong influence on an individual's behavior and attitudes. It can be viewed as a powerful organizing principle within the psyche that drives behavior, sometimes leading to psychological disturbances if it becomes too dominant or if it's not properly integrated. Source: AI Overview, Google.
** I recently heard it said that diagnoses serve the doctor, not the patient. That rings true. I’ve never received a diagnosis of a personality disorder, nor has my mother or anyone in my family (to my knowledge). When I mentioned that I inherited a bipolar condition that appears to run in my mother’s family line (in Part I of this essay series), I’m saying that I’ve noticed patterns of behavior that resemble the descriptions I’ve read for Complex PTSD, Bipolar and Borderline Personality Disorders, and certain traits commonly associated with the autism spectrum.
Whenever I take the online tests for these disorders, I often score in the ambiguous zone, where I only partially identify with the symptoms of each disorder. This probably points more toward general patterns of emotional disturbance and untreated trauma than any one single “correct” diagnosis, but I’m not concerned about an official diagnosis. I use the things I’ve learned about these personality disorders and their symptoms as a mirror for me to reflect on my experience and who I’ve been in the past, which is a powerful tool for me to heal my thoughts and make conscious choices for the future I wish to create.
When I observe myself in the mirror of self-reflection, I become aware of what’s underneath the mask; I can see my survival instincts at play. Instead of being conscripted by misdirected energies that didn’t develop properly (i.e., the Stone Witch, the emotionally hungry predator), I take responsibility for the unconscious pattern and begin to resolve the complex at its roots. This is the healing process that brings transformation to the emotionally wounded personality.