I’m a warrior. It’s taken me decades to accept this notion. But I now know it to be true. How could I have been otherwise? I was raised by one of the best warriors God ever created. Ma, my Warrior Queen. The courageous one. The small package containing a fierce and valiant spirit. My inspiration. Teacher. Leader. The one I will follow into the dark.
I have raised two glorious Girl Warriors. They too inspire me. Every day and in every way. They stand tall. And walk with their own swagger. Speak their truth. They challenge. Question. Test. They are noble. I have a grand daughter who is a young Girl Warrior. Already fiercely independent. A mind of her own. An adventurer off to see the world. No holding her back. Then there’s my bonus Girl Warrior. My daughter-in-law. The one who captured my son’s attention and the hearts of his entire family. Another small package containing a wondrous, magical, spunky soul.
These extraordinary Girl Warriors, along with an army of others, have taught me much over the years. They’ve helped me unearth my Girl Warrior. To not be afraid of her magical powers. To celebrate. Honor. Appreciate. And applaud.
There’s no age limit to being a Girl Warrior. She doesn’t look a particular way. She comes in all ages, sizes, shapes, colors. She’s out there. And inside every girl who enters the world. She’s the face of hope at the bottom of Pandora’s Box.
This blog is dedicated to her.
