How Fragility Was Rebranded as Feminine

The Power of Woman: Beyond Fragility and Into True Agency

The world has long sought to define women—what we can endure, what we are capable of, and even what we are worth. These definitions have often been external, imposed by systems that see women as passive, delicate, and inherently disadvantaged. But what if we reclaim the defining power? What if good and bad, strong and weak, capable and incapable are not bestowed upon us, but rather forged by us? That is our one great power: to define for ourselves.

A woman seated fully in her erotic power is not one who looks to the external world to make her whole. She is not waiting for permission, enlightenment, or validation. She does not demand that the world become something softer, kinder, or more accommodating to her perceived fragility. Rather, she becomes the source—tapping into her well of vitality, strength, and sensual wisdom. She bestows power onto the world around her. She defines it.

The old, Victorian notions of sexuality—where a woman waits for the enlightened knight to deliver “good sex” or save her from the bad—are not only outmoded, they are insulting. These beliefs hold women as fragile flowers, incapable of wielding their own erotic energies. The irony? Women have always been the stronger sex. The view that women are inherently weak, that we are prey to be protected, erodes our power and shackles us to a passive position. Rather than train women to develop the assertion and resilience required to meet the world as equals, we are pulled further into our white towers, insulated and brittle, where our weakness is rebranded as “feminine.”

The demanding princess archetype—one who entitles herself to gratification without responsibility—must also be unraveled. The deepest, truest gratification comes not from transaction, entitlement, or taking, but from the act of offering. A woman’s erotic power is transformative. It is generative. It is not fragile; it is indomitable when she learns to wield it with compassion and assertiveness.

This reclamation of power aligns with ancient traditions, where value itself was seen as ascribed rather than inherent. Consider the story of the Buddha and the rancid food: the lower person refuses to eat it, the middle person eats it and falls sick, and the Buddha transforms it into nectar. He then feeds the same food to the others, and they too are enlightened. It is not the condition of the world that determines its value but the capacity of the individual to transform it.

For too long, we have allowed our domain of sexual energies to be co-opted and redefined, positioning us as mere receptacles—delicate systems that must carefully guard what we take in. But history tells a different story. There was a time when the divine was feminine, when women were seen as warriors, huntresses, and healers. In temples, women healed indiscriminately with Eros, just as monks healed with compassion. Women were not fragile; they were agents. They could meet the world’s poisons and transform them into medicine.

To reclaim this, we must develop resilience—through exposure, through intensity, through deliberate confrontation. Cultures, immune systems, and individuals grow strong not by hiding in plastic bubbles but by facing germs, facing conflict, and embracing the discomfort of growth. This is how one becomes an unstoppable force: the all-terrain bodhisattva, capable of walking into any realm—no matter how harsh or poisonous—and emerging whole.

The tale of Yeshe Tsogyal is a powerful example of this path. When she faced assailants on her journey, she did not seek protection or retreat. She met them with her power, transformed their attack, and used the encounter to deepen her strength and purpose. Her story asks us not how we manage as delicate beings in a harsh world, but how we transform the world with our inestimable power.

What fixed notions of gender would you have to hold to see women as prey and men as abusers? Who benefits from this insidious form of sexism? Perhaps the greatest act of rebellion is to remember who we are: women who are not fragile but ferocious, not passive but assertive, not brittle but resilient. We do not need the world to cover itself in leather; we simply need to wear shoes.

When we reclaim our erotic power—when we see ourselves as agents of transformation, capable of meeting the world nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye—we return to our true nature. We become women who can enter any condition, face any opposition, and transform what looks like poison into medicine. This is not about survival. It is about creation, connection, and power.

It is about being the woman who no longer demands the world show up a certain way but who, through her strength, grace, and capacity, defines the world herself.