Book Review: Emotional Female

by Yumiko Kadota

Words by Ngoc Lan Tran

Emotional Female is Yumiko Kadota’s memoir of the rise and fall of her life’s journey dedicated to an ambition of becoming a young plastic surgeon. Throughout all of the years and milestones in her life, Kadota’s work ethic is nothing short of impeccable. In-between university studies, she organised Med Camp and volunteered at the aged-care ward of a local hospital. As a trainee surgeon she worked diligently on her knowledge and skills, honing them to the point that her superiors had to acknowledge how advanced she was compared to her peers. Kadota’s lifestyle is also an aspiration for many; she trains and completes marathons and triathlons; she wakes up at 4.30am to exercise, cooks breakfast, and prepares lunch before work. Kadota plans out her life with such vigilance and precision that it was no surprise her fastidiousness made her an excellent surgeon.

Yet she gave it all up. Now a former medical practitioner, Kadota authored Emotional Female not to boast about her achievements, but rather to admit and come to terms with her demise. Kadota’s dream disintegrated when the dark reality started to creep in. During her years as a registrar, she had done over 100 hours of overtime work. The reason? She kept getting rostered on for 10 days of back-to-back 24-hour shifts every fortnight, meaning that she barely had any time to sleep, cook, exercise, or take care of herself in any way that she has expected. Her physical and mental health slowly but steadily deteriorated; she slept on hospital beds more often than she slept at home which increasingly concerned her colleagues. Worse than that, being a woman of colour in the medical field also meant that Kadota had to ignore the casual sexist remarks and racist microaggressions if she wanted to excel through the male-dominated ranks of medicine. More often than not, the offenders are male doctors who abuse

their prestige - which they have gained from being male in addition to being physicians - using this power to justify, validate, and normalise their verbal abuse, sexual harassment, and racist and misogynistic attitudes.

“Stop being an emotional female,” one of Kadota’s male colleagues complained. At this stage, Kadota had been constantly fighting back unfair mistreatment for years. The book’s title thus was born, and it sums up both the height and essence of Kadota’s incessant encounters with a system that exploited and mistreated her to the point of physical, mental, and spiritual burnout.

For Asian women, there is a perfect façade expected to be put up: perfect grades in school; perfect jobs with immense success in either science or medicine; perfect families with perfect husbands and kids; perfectly dutiful to their parents. Yet, the demanding expectations of society do not stop there for these women. Smart, beautiful, talented; none of these qualities are praised in Asian women if we are not also meek, docile, impassive, and silent. There is so much social and cultural pressure for Asian females to be perfect, as if we are porcelain pieces that bend to the wills and wants of others. And when the porcelain cracks under pressure, the women are punished and labelled as inferior.

I picked up Kadota’s book while browsing through the shelves of Dymocks because the apparent similarities between her and I immediately resonated with me. Both of us are Asians, both are female, both are crazy overachievers wanting nothing more than to prove ourselves and stake our positions in a world made for men. It’s also a big plus that Kadota went through university as an international student, which makes her even more relatable in my eyes. I do realise that we are also very different people; the most obvious reason being that she is a medical professional whereas I can’t even tell if I’m having a cold or a mood swing. Yet, what I found most unexpected was that I connected with Kadota mostly on the realisation that I, too, am an emotional female.

I was taught to turn to blind eye to emotions, especially the “negative ones”. A perfect Asian daughter never cries; she works hard until she drops for perfect results in school and work while also helping with the housework. Later in life, I started to realise the social and emotional toll that this kind of staggering social expectation had - and continues to have - on me as a person. I’m not stone cold nor am I a piece of porcelain, but I find the world to be stifling. I choke and walk on eggshells when it comes to dealing with other people, caring too much about what they think and how they feel. I don’t know how to act around people. I only know that I need to make my parents proud.

Kadota’s book helps me unlearn my suppression through her emotional journey. The book reads like entries of a blogpost, which is appropriate considering it is the medium that propelled her story into fame. Kadota’s experience growing up was not that far off from mine. She has been there and done that, trying to become the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect doctor. Pressure built up as the repercussions and symptoms of a toxic system caught up with Kadota’s wellbeing. It took a long time for the book to reach the climax, the moment where all hell breaks loose and shit hits the fan. As a result, it took me a while to see the entire picture of the story as well as who Kadota is as a person. In return for this minor drawback, however, the book remains very honest to the nature of burning out as you can never see it coming until you break… When that moment comes, the book engulfs you and sweeps you under. “I never thought

I would say this, but I broke. I give up. I am done. I surrender.” As I read Kadota’s words, I burst into tears. Kadota has spoken the words that we unfortunately know too well in this day and age.

The book is imperfect, but I would be more surprised if it was flawlessly written. Doctors are not writers; they do not spend hours and days on structured prose and crafty storylines. Yet, wouldn’t it be hypocritical to enforce Kadota and Emotional Female to a standard of sheer literary perfection? I didn’t seek the book for being a literary achievement. In fact, I love the book even more because the only reason behind its imperfection is its honesty, passion, and faithfulness to its message: it is okay to be imperfect; it is okay to be broken; it is okay to be emotional.

After all, if we cannot admit to our emotions, how can we begin to heal and take care of ourselves?