theres no women psyche user. humans are just fumbling their way through life, with each of us carrying baggage from our upbringings
youll never 'understand' women cuz women aren't a thing to be understood in the first place. 'women' dont understand 'women' either, that's why we always fight and complain - plus we're socialized in the west to be more evasive and vague so we dont hurt people's feelings.
but it doesn't hurt to read a bit about what it's like growing up as a girl. its sad anne frank didnt get to grow up as a writer. her diary has a lot of wonderful moments like this:
As I've told you many times, I'm split in two. One side contains my exuberant
cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my abthty to appreciate the
lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a
kiss, an embrace, an off-color joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to
ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper and finer. No one knows Anne's
better side, and that's why most people can't stand me. Oh, I can be an amusing clown
for an afternoon, but after that everyone's had enough of me to last a month. Actually,
I'm what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker -- a mere diversion, a comic
interlude, something that is soon forgotten: not bad, but not particularly good either. I
hate haVing to tell you this, but why shouldn't I admit it when I know it's true? My
lighter, more superficial side will always steal a march on the deeper side and
therefore always win. You can't imagine how often I've tried to p:ush away this Anne,
which is only half of what is known as Anne-to beat her down, hide her. But it
doesn't work, and I know why.
I'm afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side,
a better and finer side. I'm afraid they'll mock me, think I'm ridiculous and sentimental
and not take me seriously. I'm used to not being taken seriously, but only the
"lighthearted" Anne is used to it and can put up with it; the "deeper" Anne is too
weak. If I force the good Anne into the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts
up like a clam the moment she's called upon to speak, and lets Anne number one do
the talking. Before I realize it, she's disappeared.
So the nice Anne is never seen in company. She's never made a single appearance,
though she almost always takes the stage when I'm alone. I know exactly how I'd like
to be, how I am . . . on the inside. But unfortunately I'm only like that with myself.
And perhaps that's why-no, I'm sure that's the reason why -- I think of myself as
happy on the inside and other people think I'm happy on the outside. I'm guided by
the pure Anne within, but on the outside I'm nothing but a frolicsome little goat
tugging at its tether.
(...)