Raising Girls Who Stand in Their Power

There is a kind of daughter I want to raise.

She is not here to be palatable. She is not here to be sweet for the sake of being liked. She is not a support beam for someone else’s emotional fragility. She is not born to be agreeable, or to adapt herself to the insecurities of the men—or women—around her. And she is definitely not here to fit the mold of “nice” so many of us were trained to slide into without question.

I want to raise daughters who are a fireball. The kind that walks into a room and knows they belong there, without asking for permission. The kind of girl who tells the truth, even when it makes people uncomfortable. Especially when it makes people uncomfortable. The kind of girl who understands her voice is not meant to be twisted into something smaller, something sweeter, just to soothe someone else's ego.

This isn’t about being loud for the sake of being loud. It is not about defiance for defiance’s sake. It is about truth. It is about raising girls who know where their power lives. It is about teaching them to stay connected to their gut instincts and their values, to resist the world’s ongoing attempts to make them easier to consume.

Because there is a world out there that still, even now, asks girls to soften themselves. To shrink. To look pretty. To keep the peace. To dim the light in their eyes if it’s too blinding for someone else.

I have daughters. Four of them. And I have felt the slow simmer of anger rise in me as I see what this culture tries to hand them. What it expects from them.

We are raising daughters in a time where misogyny isn’t just lurking in the shadows—it is being broadcast, monetized, and celebrated by some of the loudest voices on the internet. We are up against entire systems that are feeding boys messages about dominance, control, and the idea that women are somehow less. I am talking about people like Andrew Tate and the ideology he represents. The way his words make their way into YouTube clips, social media sound bites, and locker room conversations. If we are not actively teaching our daughters to hold their power, to recognize manipulation, to call out disrespect, then we are leaving them vulnerable to this cultural quicksand.

This is not the world I want them to step into blindly. So we do not raise them to be agreeable. We raise them to be aware.

And here’s the truth most people don’t want to say out loud. Strong women are often labeled as “too much.” Too intense. Too emotional. Too direct. Too angry. Too opinionated. And if we are being really honest, many of us, were once praised for how little space we took up. For how helpful we were. How polite. How much we could tolerate (especially as mothers - “you can handle it all!”). We were conditioned to make others comfortable, even when it cost us pieces of ourselves.

That pattern stops here.

I will not raise my daughters to believe their worth comes from being easy to deal with. I will not raise them to suppress their needs in exchange for someone else’s approval. I will not let them think being “liked” matters more than being in alignment with their own integrity.

They are not here to contort themselves for anyone.

They are not here to make themselves smaller so that someone else can feel bigger.

They are not here to carry the weight of others’ discomfort just because the world cannot handle women who know themselves.

I want to raise girls who trust their own voices before they look for validation from anyone else. Girls who know that “no” is a full sentence. Girls who question the status quo, who hold boundaries like armor, and who will not perform niceness to appease a broken system.

This doesn’t mean they won’t be kind. But kindness is not the same as people-pleasing. I want them to lead with empathy, yes. But not at the expense of their own safety or sanity. I want them to know that true strength lies in being both compassionate and clear. Soft when they choose to be, not because it is expected of them.

I want them to grow up knowing that discomfort is not something to avoid. It is often a sign that growth is happening, that they are stepping into territory that challenges the old narratives. And I want them to be okay with being misunderstood, because women who tell the truth always are.

This isn’t just about my daughters. This is about a generation of girls watching everything we do. Listening to how we speak about ourselves. Watching what we tolerate. Noticing how we apologize before we even speak.

They are watching us.

And I want them to see women who are whole. Women who are unlearning the rules that kept us small for so long. Women who are healing, who are reclaiming, who are teaching their daughters that being powerful has nothing to do with being polite. That their presence does not need permission.

So if my daughters grow up and someone tells them they are “too much,” I hope they smile.

Because that will mean they are on the right track.

They are not here to be manageable. They are not here to be nice. They are here to be true. And I will keep reminding them of that every single day.

Not because the world is ready.

But because they are.