I would love to show young girls that you can be complex, and

Alison Sudol, with words both tender and fierce, declared: “I would love to show young girls that you can be complex, and that you don’t have to part ways with your femininity in order to be taken seriously. But it does take more strength if you’re going to be feminine, because people are going to underestimate you. I struggled with that when I was growing up.” In this saying lies the eternal struggle of women across ages — to be seen in the fullness of their humanity, not reduced to one dimension, not forced to abandon their femininity in order to be granted respect.

The meaning is profound: society, for centuries, has often exalted strength in the form of hardness, authority, and dominance — traits wrongly imagined to be at odds with tenderness, beauty, or compassion. Sudol proclaims that a woman may be both gentle and powerful, both complex and dignified, both adorned in femininity and crowned with intellect. Yet she admits the burden: the world underestimates the feminine, mistaking grace for weakness, softness for fragility. To walk proudly in femininity is therefore not surrender, but courage. It requires greater strength, for it resists the pressure to conform to others’ narrow visions.

The ancients saw this paradox too. Consider the story of Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, who ruled with cunning and majesty. Many remembered her beauty, but beneath her adornments lay a formidable strategist, a woman who held empires at bay. Her femininity did not weaken her power; it was part of the complexity that made her unforgettable. Yet she too bore the weight of underestimation, her intellect obscured by her charm in the eyes of her enemies. So it is with many women: the world sees what it wishes, and the true strength must often rise from beneath veils of assumption.

History gives us another vision in Eleanor Roosevelt. She was no queen draped in jewels, but a woman of dignity who carried compassion as her banner. In her time, many underestimated her, imagining her role was simply that of wife to a president. Yet she wielded her femininity with purpose — empathy, listening, nurturing — and from it drew unmatched political influence. She authored the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, reshaping the destiny of nations. Her power was not in casting away her softness, but in wielding it as strength.

Sudol’s confession that she struggled growing up speaks to countless young girls who feel torn between authenticity and acceptance. To remain true to one’s complexity — to embrace both strength and softness, intellect and beauty, determination and grace — is to walk a harder path, for the world will question, underestimate, and even mock. Yet this path, though difficult, is the higher one. For in embracing the fullness of the self, a woman not only liberates herself, but also blazes a trail for others.

The lesson is clear: strength is not always the loudest voice or the hardest hand. Sometimes true strength is found in refusing to sever parts of oneself in order to be taken seriously. To the young, the counsel is this: do not abandon your authenticity for approval. If you are gentle, be gentle with courage. If you are feminine, be feminine with pride. Let the world underestimate you, for in their doubt lies your hidden advantage, and in your resilience lies your triumph.

Therefore, children of the future, remember Sudol’s words: you may be complex. You need not part with your identity to command respect. The road may be harder, for the underestimated must fight doubly to prove their worth, but the victory will be richer. Embrace every side of your being, and let your life itself be the answer to those who doubt. In this way, you will show the world that femininity and strength are not rivals, but eternal allies, and that the most radiant power is found in the soul that dares to be whole.