The text does not translate the image into words. It adds another dimension that does not exist within the image itself.
Freud had his version. I have mine.
I don’t believe that a woman’s Id, Ego, and Superego are like three neatly arranged floors of a single building, where instinct screams in the basement while some respectable adult upstairs tries to keep the neighbors from hearing a thing. That sounds suspiciously orderly. And women - at least the ones I see - are rarely linear creatures.
First comes the Id.
It is a wild force that cares very little about being useful. Desire, rage, lust, hunger, curiosity, aggression, creation, destruction. It needs no justification. It revels in itself simply because it exists.
There is nothing inherently good or evil about it. A mountain river doesn't apologize for overflowing its banks. Lava doesn't call a committee before engulfing a village. A wildfire can wipe out a century of growth while simultaneously preparing the soil for what could never emerge without it.
That is the Id I know.
Then comes the Ego.
Not vanity. Not the exhausting spectacle of "I'm the most important person in every room." Quite the opposite.
To me, Ego means sovereignty.
It is the age when a woman finally stops running endless social referendums on her own existence. She knows what she wants. She knows what she doesn't. She knows who she is when nobody is watching.
And perhaps most importantly: she discovers the extraordinary luxury of the word no.
No explanations.
Just no.
This is where power stops being something you constantly have to demonstrate. You don’t need to fire a gun every five minutes to know it’s loaded.
And then comes the Superego.
And this is where my version diverges most radically from Freud.
I don’t see it as a leash slapped onto the wild creature we spoke of at the beginning. I don’t believe the pinnacle of a woman’s evolution is to become quieter, more obedient, more sensible, and socially palatable.
Quite the contrary.
The wild creature returns.
Only now, it knows where it is going.
The very same force that once existed purely for the ecstatic thrill of being alive has gained memory, experience, direction, and purpose. It can still create. It can still destroy. It can still set the whole damn landscape ablaze.
The only difference is that now it knows what that fire is for.
Perhaps this is what I meant months ago when I created If God is a woman, then God is a weapon.
Back then, I was fascinated by the divine weapon: female power as an element capable of creating and destroying, shifting between these states without asking anyone’s permission.
Then came The Tension's End, and the weapon misfired. That which considered itself indestructible suddenly discovered: strength doesn't vanish when you fall. Sometimes, strength is allowing someone to catch you.
In this third chapter, she carries both memories within her.
She knows she is a weapon.
She knows she can break.
Neither piece of knowledge makes her weaker.
Perhaps true evolution lies right here: not in replacing the wild woman with a civilized one, but in allowing every version of yourself to survive. The Animal. The Queen. The Goddess. Desire without justification. Sovereignty without apologies. Power with a purpose.
Id. Ego. Superego.
Not three women.
One and the same woman, who has finally become powerful enough to embrace all three hypostases.
(Digital drawing, 2026)