All I can tell you is that I've never met a woman who is not

Diane von Furstenberg, a woman of vision and endurance, once declared: “All I can tell you is that I’ve never met a woman who is not strong, but sometimes they don’t let it out. Then there’s a tragedy, and then all of a sudden that strength comes. My message is let the strength come out before the tragedy.” In this statement lies a truth as old as humanity itself: that strength is not the rare gift of the few, but the hidden birthright of all. Especially within women, so often burdened, underestimated, or silenced, there dwells a well of power waiting to be revealed.

The meaning is at once sorrowful and inspiring. Too often, the flame of strength lies hidden, veiled by fear, doubt, or the weight of tradition. It emerges only when life shatters the fragile veil — when tragedy strikes, when loss comes, when necessity presses too hard to ignore. Then the world beholds a force it did not expect: the mother who carries her children through famine, the widow who rebuilds her home from ruin, the daughter who stands firm against injustice. Von Furstenberg’s plea is not to wait until sorrow demands strength, but to release that power now, in daily life, before tragedy calls it forth.

The ancients themselves bore witness to this truth. Consider the tale of Antigone, who dared defy the king’s decree to honor her brother with burial rites. Hers was not the strength of sword or shield, but the strength of will, the strength to uphold justice against tyranny. Her defiance was born of tragedy, yet it revealed a power that echoed through centuries. Von Furstenberg teaches that such strength need not wait for calamity; it may and must live within us in times of peace as well as crisis.

History, too, offers living proof. Think of Eleanor Roosevelt, who began her life overshadowed by shyness and loss. Yet when her husband’s illness struck and the weight of leadership fell upon her, she discovered in herself a voice of courage. She became the champion of human rights, a pillar to nations in turmoil. Her strength, though awakened by tragedy, reshaped the world. Von Furstenberg’s wisdom is this: why wait for grief to awaken what is already within? Let courage and resilience rise before calamity demands it.

The lesson here is not for women alone, but for all who walk the earth: your strength is not a tool to be hidden away until despair calls for it. It is meant to shine in every hour, to uplift not only yourself but others. Life’s challenges, great and small, are not merely enemies to endure, but opportunities to draw forth the inner reserves of spirit. To wait until tragedy is to delay the gift the world most needs: your courage, your voice, your unwavering will.

Practical is this counsel. Each day, in small ways, practice your strength. Speak when silence is easier. Stand firm when compromise would betray your heart. Care for others not only when necessity demands, but when kindness may prevent sorrow. Train your soul as the warrior trains his body, so that when storms do come, you will not be discovering your strength for the first time, but wielding it as a seasoned friend.

Thus, children of the future, engrave this wisdom upon your hearts: do not wait for tragedy to awaken your strength. It is already within you, like fire beneath the ash. Fan it now into flame, that it may light your path and warm those around you. For strength unexpressed is wasted, but strength revealed — freely, daily, before calamity — is the very power that transforms lives and lifts the world.