Today the world is celebrating International Women’s Day and social media is alive with thoughts about what that means to different people. And, of course, the opinions and commentary are wildly diverse not only in content but in tone as well. They range the gamut from deliberately provocative and outrageous to a flagrant disdain for the “worldliness” of such a proclamation.
As someone who is always culturally curious, I find this hodge-podge of ideology somewhat intriguing and somewhat perplexing at the same time. While I am not at all a feminist, I am all about women being smart and strong and empowered to show up as the best version of themselves. I am favorable to women living their most vibrant, fulfilling, connected, joy-filled, purposeful and accomplished life. I fully realize that this will naturally mean different things to different people, and I’m totally okay with that.
Yesterday, my granddaughter, Shiloh, played in the first soccer match (and first team sport of any kind) of her young five-year-old life. Watching the unabashed delight and whole-hearted passion with which she played the game simply for the fun of it stirred me in the depths of my soul.
Running after the ball and kicking it for the sheer pleasure of the activity. Laughing and playing with her teammates (and a few friends from pre-school) with unbridled joy.
My son, David, was helping with coaching so he was also on the field. Once, after being jostled in a cluster of girls and taking a fall I saw her search her father’s face tentatively for affirmation. Am I okay? she wordlessly asked. Am I good enough? I felt the ache of her vulnerability in that moment. I don’t know whether words passed between them or not but his smile, his nod reassured her, filled her with encouragement and in a flash she was on her feet running down the field after the ball.
Later, after the sunshine began to warm the cold morning air and Shiloh had grown heated from her exercise, she skirted to the sidelines to get Chelsea’s help in removing some extra layers of clothing before flitting back into her place on the field.
In the past five years since her birth, I have witnessed some version of these two scenes repeat itself literally thousands of times. It’s called parenthood. It’s called love.
In that vein, there were also in attendance at her opening game an entourage of important people in Shiloh’s life there to cheer and support her. Not just grandparents, but also uncles, aunts, cousins and friends of the family, all on the sidelines, showing up for her on a Saturday morning, loving her well.
In it all, I see the makings of a strong, confident woman. This is how it’s done. Through unconditional love, relentless care, purposeful connection, intentional nurture, thoughtful training, unfailing support, loving family. Through glances and gazes, through focused attention, through encouragement and spoken affirmation, through bedtime stories, and feedings, and baths, and sometimes sleepless nights. Through play and chores and messiness and tears. Through sacrificial giving of oneself’s time, resources, energy and all you have to give, over and over and over again, no matter what. Anything meaningful in life takes time. And though the acts of love take a different shape, it doesn’t seem to matter at all whether your child is 5 or 35.
So it is with heartfelt gratitude for those who came before us, for those that stand beside us, and for those whose story is yet to unfold that I celebrate International Women’s Day today. To all the gorgeous, strong, faithful, caring, giving women in my life, I celebrate you.
