The Quiet Women I Admire Most
The women I admire most aren't always the ones making the biggest noise.
They’re not shouting from stages.
They’re not chasing followers.
They’re not demanding you notice them.
They move differently.
They work the medicine of presence.
They make you feel something you can’t always name.
You can miss them if you’re not paying attention.
But once you see them—you don’t forget.
I admire the women who listen longer than they speak.
Who can burn the whole damn house down with a single sentence—but choose not to.
Who sit at the edges of the room, and somehow still shift the whole atmosphere.
Who say, “I trust myself,” and actually mean it.
Who don't announce every boundary, they just live inside them.
I admire the women who know their anger like a sacred river—strong, ancient, coursing underneath—but who choose, every day, how and when to let it rise.
I admire the women who would rather be misunderstood than betray themselves.
They aren't always graceful.
They're not always polished.
Sometimes they're a little rough around the edges—
Sharp where life made them sharp, soft where they stayed tender on purpose.
They are slow to explain.
Quick to see through bullshit.
And uninterested in being palatable.
"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."
— Rainbow Rowell
The women I admire most don’t need applause.
They don’t need permission.
They don’t need to win the argument.
They know:
That quiet doesn’t mean invisible.
That calm doesn’t mean weak.
That kindness without self-respect isn’t kindness at all.
And they don’t trade their peace for proximity.
I’m trying to live like that more and more.
Not softer in the way the world wants—
but softer in the way wild things are soft.
Soft like moss on stone.
Soft like river bends cutting rock.
Soft like a heartbeat you can feel through the soles of your feet when the world finally goes still enough.
So if you’ve been feeling out of place in a world that rewards noise over knowing,
flash over feeling,
performance over presence—
You’re not broken.
You’re rare.
And you're exactly who you’re supposed to be.
You’re the kind of woman I admire most.
—
Dee
(In your corner, always.)
Lovely and powerful.