We watched the drama Woman a few months ago, my wife and I. My wife admires the main actress, Hikari Mitsushima, and she was eager to share this drama with me as one of her favorites. For those unfamiliar with Japanese dramas, they are typically mini-series of 10 to 12 episodes, broadcast weekly on television. These shows explore a wide variety of themes, ranging from suspense to comedy, but one of the most beloved genres is undoubtedly the emotional and family-centered drama. Woman belongs to this category. Although I’ve found some dramas cringe-worthy in the past due to subpar plots, scenarios, or acting, this one stood out for its quality and impact.
Recently, I found myself reflecting on Woman after listening to a podcast by Andrew Huberman and Dr. Allan Schore on how relationships shape our brains. This overlap of art and science reshaped my perspective on the drama’s themes.
The Story of Koharu: Strength in Vulnerability
The plot of Woman may seem a bit far-fetched at first glance, but the compelling element of the story lies in its protagonist, Koharu, and her remarkable growth. After a tragic incident in which her husband is killed, Koharu is left to care for her two young children alone. Her challenges intensify when she discovers she has a serious illness. To ensure her children’s well-being, she makes the difficult decision to reconnect with her estranged mother, who abandoned her decades ago, remarried, and now has another daughter.
This reconnection introduces a central theme of the drama: letting go. Dr. Allan Schore emphasizes the importance of being able to let go and show vulnerability to heal and repair the right brain, the unconscious driver of our decision-making. Koharu’s decision to approach her mother reflects this process. While the past cannot always be forgiven or forgotten, her ability to let go initiates a journey of healing.
True strength, as the drama illustrates, comes from admitting vulnerability and being honest about emotions, even when society often labels these traits as weaknesses. This paradox is one we all face, but Koharu’s growth offers a valuable lesson. By embracing her emotions, she gains self-awareness, enabling her to move forward. She demonstrates this twice in the story: first with her mother, and then with her sister. In both instances, her shift in perspective profoundly impacts those relationships, untangling emotional knots and offering a path toward resolution.
The Role of Early Emotional Development
Another profound point in the drama resonates with Dr. Schore’s insights on the critical importance of the first few years of life—and even the prenatal period—for emotional development. During this time, the primary caretaker, often the mother, plays a pivotal role in regulating the baby’s emotions at an intuitive level, not a cognitive one.
A baby’s right brain, responsible for emotional processing, develops first, while the left brain—associated with logic and cognition—emerges later, around age three. Thus, the primary caretaker’s ability to connect right brain to right brain with the child is vital. Koharu exemplifies this in the drama by prioritizing her children’s safety and emotional well-being, despite her overwhelming circumstances.
Her actions underscore a powerful truth: to nurture our children’s potential, we must first nurture ourselves. A parent’s emotional health directly influences their ability to provide stability and love. Woman portrays this beautifully through Koharu’s unwavering determination to bring out the best in her children by first confronting her own struggles.
What are your thoughts on the relationship between vulnerability and strength, or on how early childhood experiences shape our emotions? Share your reflections in the comments below!
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