"I'M JUST A GIRL"

“I’m just a girl.”

Girls these days are quick to shy away from this line of thought:

“Just a girl? I’m a moving force. I’m a woman king.” This and that.

But I think the weight of the phrase is revealed by how you interpret it. I’m just a girl who’s going to shock everyone by picking up a sword and charging into battle in pink armour. I’m just a girl who’ll stand in a room full of people and make a difference, despite being a girl.

Am I tired? Yes.

Do I want my mummy? Absolutely.

But I’m just a girl who’ll keep pushing.

It has been ingrained in some of us, by our own selves, that there are levels we must transcend before we can do or be something. That somehow, to be powerful, we must become something beyond what we are.

It has become so deeply ingrained that some women refer to themselves as “king,” as though being a queen could never carry the same weight. As though femininity and strength are opposites. As though “girl” is something we must outgrow before we can be taken seriously.

And so, “I’m just a girl” has been reduced to an insult. Something weak, small, apologetic, like an excuse for incompetence. But what if it isn’t? What if “I’m just a girl” is not me diminishing myself, but me acknowledging where I stand—and still deciding to move?

I’m just a girl. And I can be brilliant.

I can be tired.

I can be soft. I can want my mummy.

I don’t have to become a king to prove that I can fight.

I don’t have to become less of a girl to become more of myself.

I’m just a girl.

And maybe that was always enough.