Skip to content
My WebMD Sign In, Sign Up

Health & Sex

Font Size

Fembots: The New Breed of Women

continued...

In essence, we've mortgaged off our time and energy. "I've got worries," says Kathleen, 29. "It starts with a mentally challenged brother and ailing parents. I'm navigating the backstabbing nightmare of the modern workplace, where everyone, including me, is determined to hold onto their jobs with white-knuckle ferocity. I only have so much emotion to go around, and I certainly don't have time to chat with the girls about how bloated I feel."

When time isn't an issue, it may come down to control. In a binge-prone world, fembots are emotional anorexics. Maintaining a safe distance from your feelings can be liberating (and anytime we co-opt a traditionally male attribute, we give ourselves a little pat on the back), but anyone who made it through Psych 101 knows that too much compartmentalizing will have its consequences. Feelings ignored can come back to haunt you. Worse still is another side effect of fembotism: numbness.

Over the years, I've built up defense mechanisms that have hardened like plaque. In love, I believe you either hide or seek — and I damn well didn't want to do the latter. Running after someone was too exhausting, and no one was ever worth catching. So I spent the better part of my 20s in clipped, casual relationships — until I met my husband two years ago. He was a 21st-century emo-boy who looked like Jesus Christ. On one of our first dates, he figured out what was making my sound system so temperamental. We sat Indian-style on the floor, the guts of the amplifier splayed across my living room. "I love complicated things," he confessed. Good thing for that, I thought.

While some women have knotty friendships that go back to grade school, most of my social lineage dates back no more than three years. A few weeks ago, I found a folder of cards from forgotten acquaintances. "I know we're going to be friends when we're old and gray," wrote a girl from my first job. "I don't think I could have gotten through this period without your ear, T."

Dread and a faint longing washed over me. My perfectionist side believes I've failed at being the kind of woman my mom manages to be so naturally. The cards show my capacity to love, my ability to be there — but I feel like a big poseur. I've tossed my friends aside but can't part with the cards, as if I need proof that I'm actually a caring woman who's capable of deep intimacy and selflessness. Though I couldn't bring myself to throw them out, I wanted to get them off my hands. It was a matter of necessity, I told myself. I'm busy. I'm married. Having to be there for people, and keep it up day after day, makes me want to take a nice, long nap. I'm not the Bionic Woman. I'm human. My husband caught me as I put the cards far, far away — at the back of a cluttered walk-in closet. He asked if I ever missed those old friends.

Today on WebMD

flowers behind back
Article
Upset woman sitting on bed
Article
 
couple kissing
Article
Exercises for Better Sex
Video
 
Life Cycle of a Penis
Article
HIV Myth Facts
Slideshow
 
How Healthy is Your Sex Life
Quiz
Couple in bed
Video
 
6 Tips For Teens
Article
Close-up of young man
Article
 
screening tests for men
Slideshow
HPV Vaccine Future
Article