The Feminine Urge To Balance
Every breath we take contains roughly 25 sextillion air molecules. Each of these molecules is made of atoms, and within every atom exists electrical charge. Taken together, the amount of charge moving through us with a single inhale is comparable, in scale, to that which could spark 1,000 bolts of lightning. And yet, our hair does not stand on end, we don’t spark or explode. This is because the atom is electrically neutral: its positive and negative charges are precisely balanced.
When we understand the fibre of our being as operating in this state of neutrality – a balance of positive and negative – it becomes easier to see that the world is not divided cleanly into black and white binaries. Instead, there exists a vast grey area. Buddhism intuitively recognised this long before modern physics articulated it: that between compassion and cruelty, attraction and aversion, lies a neutral field. Most of what we encounter in life is charged with potential, but it is only shaped by intention.
Having operated for a long time in my own world of binaries, this was a difficult truth to absorb. It meant accepting that people can be both ignorant and kind, or loving and rude. That we ourselves do not function like machines – that we can be driven and lazy.
It is easy to attach feelings and actions to a fixed sense of self, and whether we should do so is a debate in itself. Sometimes this identification can be useful and grounding when creating a better future:
Am I someone who accepts this kind of behaviour?
Am I someone who settles for a continual 7/10 happiness simply because I am afraid of dipping to a 2/10 temporarily by changing something?
At other times, however, this attachment becomes punishing, trapping us in the past:
I am not good enough because I didn’t realise sooner.
I am not strong enough because I didn’t change things sooner.
Accepting that people are doing their best at the time – reacting and responding from their own hurts and intentions – becomes essential. With good intentions, they are doing their best. With bad intentions, they are also doing their best at that. The question is whether we accept this as a narrative for ourselves.
In January, I was confronted with the statement: ‘Everyone is seeking power.’ My initial reaction was to disagree. Coming from a background of studying cruel structural dynamics of power through my degree, and still operating within a binary lens, I believed there were those who sought power and those who sought transformation, justice, or betterment. Nevertheless, it gnawed at me. Now I believe I have my answer:
People are not seeking power so much as they are seeking relief from suffering; they are choosing their struggle.
In fact, it does a disservice to those labelled ‘power-hungry’ to reduce them to that alone. What we are often witnessing is a pathological combination of attachment to identity (status, image), aversion to threat (a fear of appearing weak), and ignorance of impermanence (the belief that the self must be defended at all costs). From this cocktail what can arise is selfishness, cruelty, and harm - unless we choose otherwise.
When my brother and I were younger, we both developed a strong sense of justice. For example, if there was one final Mini Egg left in the bag, it obviously had to be split in half equally or forfeited to our parents.
We often spoke in terms of ‘goodies’ and ‘baddies’. Having inhaled as much fiction as we could, the world appeared to be neatly designed that way. It has been underwhelming to enter adulthood and realise that one does not always magically metamorphose into a ‘goodie’ at the first sign of wrongdoing.
Harder still is the disappointment that comes when those we perceive as ‘goodies’ – loved ones, role models, or ourselves – fail to live up to that image. This creates internal conflict and makes it tempting to return to binaries, to seek power over suffering by pushing people beyond an imaginary threshold of goodness. Yet the reality is that they were doing their best at the time, responding to their own fears, insecurities, and intentions.
A common objection arises here: If everything is fuelled by insecurity, fear, and intention, are we not excusing all bad behaviour?
Quite the opposite. There is a critical difference between accepting and choosing. One can accept a person, forgive them, and separate their actions from their identity – understanding that the harm they caused does not necessarily make them inherently cruel. But acceptance does not require continued tolerance; there is a difference between what is good enough and what is good.
This distinction appears across all human interaction. For example, there is a misconception that feminism seeks redemption through misandry or female domination. Conceptually, this is incorrect. Mainstream feminism advocates for women’s rights on the basis of equality. It recognises that patriarchy as a structure shapes responses in all of us – that there are ‘safe’ gender roles we cling to – and that the oppression of women is not an inherent biological and psychological trait of men. Again, the work is to separate actions from identity, to understand socialisation and experience, accept the past, and act differently in the present.
Another example is conflicts in relationships; they are often simply two people’s unresolved wounds brushing against one another, triggering reactions rooted in old fear and anger, not inherent distaste or malice aimed at your partner.
This is where responsibility emerges. Acceptance and choice go hand in hand. Trauma – whether ‘big T’ or ‘little t’ – keeps us anchored to the past as individuals and as a society. We can accept a past of systemic inequality and still choose a future of equality. We can accept our past wounds and what effect they have in our relationships and choose to heal them and do better. It is our responsibility.
It is acceptance that allows us to release the past. Choice allows us to shape the future.
Like electrically neutral atoms, we hold vast potential in balance – neither good nor bad but charged with possibility. The direction that energy takes is a matter of intention.
So again, I return to the question: am I someone who accepts a continual 7/10 happiness out of fear of falling to a 2/10 for a while, even if that descent might be what allows me to reach a 10/10?
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