Raising girls who can (and do) speak up for themselves is something really important to me.
Growing up, I was always the quiet one — I never trusted myself to take risks, make my own decisions, or speak up for what I needed (let alone what I wanted).
So much of that comes from how we’re raised—how our earliest experiences shape our sense of security within ourselves. I never want my girls to struggle to ask for what they want or need, and I’m genuinely proud that they’re becoming advocates not only for themselves but also for others. Honestly, watching them choose their voices so naturally feels like a little bit of healing.
We were at a birthday party recently, and my oldest, who is four, was out there chatting like she owned the place—answering questions, talking with adults, and casually dropping her opinions on things she likes or doesn’t like. Like broccoli pizza vs. cheese pizza, but saying, “But I know not everyone likes broccoli, and cheese is just as good,” when she innocently shared her favorite kind while being served.
And then there’s my youngest. She’s two, but she can absolutely hang with the big kids. She followed every direction and held her own until someone pointed out that she wasn’t supposed to open something she had already opened. Then she turned into her fierce, expressive little self — asking me for help and saying, “I put it back on,” all proud and determined. She’s tiny, but she’s got a whole lot of “don’t underestimate me” energy.
My kids also have zero hesitation telling an adult “no,” whether it’s about being held, hugged, or gently guided somewhere. And I’m fine with that. Actually, I love that. My children don’t owe anyone physical access; they owe respect to themselves first. It doesn’t mean they’re rude or disconnected, it just means they trust their intuition and check in with me if they need another layer of safety.
Maybe it’s a hot take, but I’m totally okay with little girls with big voices. I’d rather raise kids who know their boundaries than kids who spend adulthood trying to recover them.
This may sound seamless or “perfect,” but that’s far from the truth. I’m not perfect—none of us are. There’s deep healing happening behind the scenes, full of tears, therapy, and so much love.
