By: Mia Thompson
Updated: Dec. 1, 2014
Originally Published: Sep. 10, 2010
“She cried when they welcomed daughters into the world, knowing that being a girl meant a lifetime of quiet struggles.” – Adapted from Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Every time I come across that quote, I can’t help but think, “Not on my watch!” There’s nothing meek about womanhood. Women are fierce, resilient, and can achieve anything a man can. My parents instilled this belief in my sister and me, and we’ve chosen partners who share the same view. There’s nothing inherently harder or more humbling about being a woman today than being a man. Sure, times were different back in the early 1900s, but in my world, fear of raising daughters simply doesn’t exist.
And yet.
When the ultrasound technician announced, “It’s a girl,” and I exclaimed, “I knew it!” while exchanging gleeful looks with my husband, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered, “Oh.” This “oh” carried the weight of the cosmos, knowing I was bringing another girl into a world that, despite progress in equality and feminism, still sees her as female first. Now, not just one, but two daughters are on their way, and that knowledge weighs heavily on my heart.
The reality is, we live in a society filled with men who harbor disdain for women; men who believe women exist for their possession and pleasure. Yes, this is true even in America. My daughters will face relentless messages about their appearances, their bodies, and their worth, which can erode even the most confident girls into self-doubt or worse. We reside in a city that is better than many in terms of equity, yet overt sexism is still prevalent, even here.
A dear friend once shared a quote that says, from the moment your child is born, a piece of your heart exists outside your body forever. Now there will be another piece—another girl, another daughter—and I can’t help but hope that if we raise them right, they will create a protective shield around themselves. Maybe they’ll deflect the harmful messages that circulate and grow into strong adults, find decent partners, and if they have daughters of their own, perhaps they will bear a little less worry than I do.
And yet.
When I stroll through the toy aisles at Target, I can’t fathom why girl toys are drenched in pink while boy toys flaunt blue. I felt reluctant to announce the gender of my first child, wary of the endless pink dresses, “Daddy’s Little Princess” slogans, and the “Math is Hard” rhetoric. When a stranger compliments my daughter’s beauty, I instinctively add, “And smart and strong!” She’s stunning, no doubt about it. Sometimes, her beauty takes my breath away. I want her to recognize her beauty while instilling the confidence to challenge negative societal messages. I just don’t want her to think her value lies in her looks, and I fear she might grow up believing that beauty should overshadow her other qualities.
So, yes, there will be two. My husband and I, along with our friends and family, will strive to create a nurturing environment for our girls, teaching them that they can achieve anything as long as they put in the effort. We’ll share stories of strong women, encourage curiosity in math, science, and engineering, and allow them to play with everything from dolls to trucks. They’ll know they can love whomever they choose, as long as that person treats them with kindness and respect. We’ll ensure that the only princesses we expect them to be are warrior princesses. Every day, we’ll remind them of their beauty, intelligence, and strength. We’ll do our utmost to lift them when they stumble, dispelling the shadows of self-doubt and insecurity. If we work really, really hard, maybe they’ll grow up believing in themselves. They’ll see women as equals and call out the media’s misogyny with confidence.
And yet.
My heart. A piece of it is already outside of me, and in a few months, another piece will join it. I worry. I worry for my girls. I worry for my daughters and the women they will become. My heart aches under the weight of it all—the unexpected challenges of motherhood.
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