Is Melancholy Feminine?
Years ago, I read Dörthe Binkert’s *Melancholy is a Woman*. The book pushes us to contemplate valuable boundaries, such as those between depression and melancholy. “The fact that medicine and psychiatry generally do not distinguish between melancholy and depression has had devastating consequences for women,” writes Dörthe in her book.
Although melancholy was once confined to a definition close to illness, this book encourages us to stop judging our melancholy and even to honor it. It makes some arguments that, by nature, women are inclined toward melancholy.
First, we need to understand the differences between sadness, depression, and melancholy. Sadness is an emotion, a natural response to specific events that we will inevitably experience at various points in our lives. Depression, on the other hand, is when sadness becomes chronic, layered with hopelessness, and often weighs down over time, sometimes with no specific cause. It’s where the desire and enthusiasm for life have been depleted.
Melancholy, however, situates itself in a more poetic place. A person might take their coffee, sit by the window watching the rain, and listen to a sorrowful love song in the background, fully enjoying this melancholic moment. In other words, melancholy is a companion to those quiet, wistful, perhaps neutral-void moments we experience.
We can’t say that melancholy is exclusive to women, but it can certainly be described as a “feminine” state. Masculine qualities are action-oriented, constantly doing, leaving little room to pause and experience melancholy. The book also touches on the physical reality of women—our monthly menstruation cycle and the constant interaction we have with bodily fluids. Our hormones change in a regular cycle, causing us to shift into different emotional states throughout the month.
During these phases, we must give ourselves time. By nature, we are compelled to do so, and there is no escape. The more we surrender to these moments when hormones and moon phases take hold of us, the easier it becomes to navigate the process.
Melancholy carries within it qualities that allow us to sense life. For instance, we wouldn’t call someone who is constantly sleeping melancholic; rather, we notice the artistic side of melancholic people.
Melancholy is always connected to a narrative or a sensory experience—whether through poetry, painting, dramatic words, a melody, or the grayness of the sky.
It wouldn’t be wrong to say that some people draw nourishment from melancholy. “Sorrow turns into flavor; who can be sure that I truly want to reunite with what I long for?” the book says. Humans don’t just create for the sake of it—these melancholic moments drive us to create. Because we can’t stay frozen within melancholy, it may be stagnant, but it is not dead. Perhaps this is its greatest difference from depression.
When we let go of the idea that happiness is the only emotion we should strive for, we can start to embrace our melancholy. Welcoming melancholy and accepting it as it is allows it to fulfill its role and leave us, only to find us again when the time is right.
I’m not saying we should cling to melancholy—just as we can’t cling to joy or happiness. Instead, it’s about experiencing every wave within us, without judgment, and giving each one its due. I’m not sure if melancholy is a woman, but I do know that saying “yes” to all emotions and every state of being is undoubtedly a feminine attitude. The feminine energy doesn’t have the ability to discriminate—one is not better or worse than the other.
Melancholy, like happiness, is a gift given to us.
This gift saves us from superficiality.