Korean Women’s Addiction to Perfection and The Journey of “Tedious” Repetition to Discover the Feminine

by Mikyung Jang

Women experience a range of significant biological and emotional changes throughout their lives that differ from those of men. From the menstrual cycle to pregnancy, childbirth, and menopause, women must continually adapt to the outcomes of these natural phases and accept them. They also navigate the emotional and relational shifts that come with raising children, from their birth to growing autonomy and eventual independence. This demands a high level of adaptability and receptiveness to constant change, but the process can often feel repetitive and tedious. In addition to their roles as mothers and wives, women possess a certain masculine aspect that ceaselessly seek for social fulfillment and personal growth. While this is a natural strength and a blessing, it also requires integration. Korean women, in particular, have undergone—and continue to experience—a profound transformation. Many of today’s Korean women are the daughters of a generation that survived war and contributed to Korea’s economic prosperity. They often perceive living in the present moment as a form of regression. As a result, they find themselves resisting the present, feeling suspicious of what they are grappling with or striving for, despite the fact that both their existing circumstances and their deficiencies are inherent to the natural human experience.

This mindset extends to parenting as well. Many women approach raising children with the same drive for success that they apply to their careers and social standing. Consequently, they struggle to accept their children’s imperfections, living in a psychological hell where they believe they must excel at work, raise perfect children, manage the household flawlessly, and have a husband who adheres to their expectations. But in such a dynamic, it becomes challenging for a husband’s positive masculinity to manifest. Ironically, when a man withdraws under the pressure of an overly powerful wife, he becomes less attractive—not due to a lack of care or devotion, but because of a diminished sense of masculinity. Unfortunately, this loss of eros soon leads to a loss of feminine identity for the woman herself.

The perfectionism observed in Korean women closely aligns with Marion Woodman’s concept of women’s addiction to perfection. Women addicted to perfection are likened to women robbed of or rob themselves of their inner feminine in a patriarchal environment (Woodman, 1980). In an effort to avoid repeating their mothers’ lives, the current generation of women has rejected traditional femininity, opting instead for a life dominated by patriarchal power. Women played a crucial role in Korea’s recovery from the devastation of war, yet women were often perceived as negligible. Society tended to view women’s lives as lacking value, considering only the work of men—who built factories, constructed buildings, and held socially prestigious positions—as worthwhile. This mindset may have been influenced by Confucian traditions, which devalued feminine qualities. In the immediate aftermath of the war, men found their roles limited; they were authoritarian and patriarchal, often unwilling to engage in the work that women undertook while asserting their authority instead. Now that Korea has emerged from the ravages of war and achieved economic prosperity, women are no longer bound to the struggles of that era. Yet, many remain addicted to the new patriarchal power of perfection, continuing to reject their femininity.

The powerless spouses of the postwar generation projected an idealized version of femininity—distinct from the reality of womanhood—onto their daughters, reflecting Woodman’s concept of the shadow lover. This projection, along with the projection of unrealized masculinity of their mothers, has fostered another addiction to perfection in women. As a result, they find themselves caught in a chaotic struggle between two opposing forces: the pursuit of a superficial femininity that prioritizes unrealistic appearances and the pursuit to achieve, driven by the accomplishment-oriented and coercive expectations of their mothers. Women who have been projected onto or who project this idealized feminine onto themselves often struggle to embrace their own bodies and sexuality. This preoccupation with appearances can lead them to engage in practices like plastic surgery and the pursuit of the “perfect” body.

Women caught between these opposing forces frequently experience perfectionism not just in their roles as mothers and professionals, but also in their outward appearances. Women addicted to perfection may feel repressed, resentful, and victimized by the weight of their burdens, all while striving to manage everything alone. This struggle can result in a chaotic state, marked by unexplained anger toward their children and spouses. Yet, during quiet nights, they may experience moments of clarity, realizing that nothing is truly a sacrifice, their children are not robots, and this is the life they wanted and chose. However, with the arrival of morning, the chaos resurfaces, pulling them back into the turmoil of early dawn.

Sandpicture of a struggling woman in her 50s

Recovery may ironically be possible through a sense of traditional community spirit. While Murdock (1990) does not specifically use the term “traditional,” his description of recovery as the experience of inhabiting the female body as both maternal and sexual—encompassing the processes of conceiving, bearing, and raising children—closely parallels the femininity historically embraced in Korean society. Traditional Korean thought, rooted in community, unites all individuals, fostering a state where people remain emotionally resilient even amid the gray of dawn. This aligns with concepts of wholeness, the mother archetype, and the union of opposites. In mature women, we observe an inclusiveness and relationality that embraces lack, deficiency, and weakness, both in themselves and in others. This idea is illustrated by the figure of Ungnyeo in the myth of Dangun, Korea’s founding story. Ungnyeo, or “bear woman,” was originally a bear who transformed into a human by enduring 100 days in a dark cave, subsisting on bitter garlic and mugwort before finally seeing the light. Just as women who reject their femininity may view childcare and housework as tedious, depressing, and meaningless, Ungnyeo’s daily life likely felt like a monotonous cycle of anxiety and despair. Yet, this repetition was not without purpose; it ultimately led her into the world of light, where she encountered a divine being and gave birth to Dangun.

Dangun, the son of a god and Ungnyeo, aspired to establish a new country under the Tree of Life on Taebaek Mountain, aiming to realize the concept of hongik ingan, which seeks to benefit all of humanity. In the cave with Ungnyeo was another being—a tiger—that also desired to become human but could not endure the tedium of the repetitive process and ultimately gave up. This tiger may symbolize a form of negative masculinity that struggles to embrace. In modern terms, this manifests as women rejecting their femininity, refusing to have children, opting not to be nurturing mothers when they do become parents, expecting others to fulfill these roles, placing a higher value on work and social success, and struggling to accept their own appearances. These women may feel absurd for enduring such hardships, as garlic and mugwort are not what they truly desire. The spirit of hongik ingan embraces the imperfections of both oneself and others. Failing to do so can lead to serious societal and individual pathologies, including depression, anxiety, interpersonal difficulties, reclusiveness, self-harm, suicide, abuse, and violence. These challenges are increasingly evident in Korean society, with a growing number of women rejecting parenthood and femininity. Conversely, those who move beyond a life of self-torment and resentment toward the world can live with respect and acceptance for themselves and others, embracing the inherent imperfections of life—much like Ungnyeo, who transformed into a true woman within the cave, symbolizing the feminine.

 

References

  • Kim Y. H. (2021), Psychological symbolism of the shamanic song of Princess Bari: from the perspective of analytical psychology, Shim-Song Yon-Gu. 36(1), 1-52.
  • Murdock M. (1990), The heroine’s journey: Women’s quest for wholeness, Shambhala
  • Woodman M. (1982),  Addiction to perfection, Inner City Books

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