My mother told me two things constantly. One was to be a lady

The words of Ruth Bader Ginsburg—“My mother told me two things constantly. One was to be a lady and the other was to be independent, and the law was something most unusual for those times because for most girls growing up in the '40s, the most important degree was not your B.A. but your M.R.S.”—shine with the strength of a torch passed from one generation to another. They are both tender and fierce: the counsel of a mother who wished her daughter to walk with dignity, yet also to rise beyond the narrow cages set before her. To be a lady meant to hold grace and composure; to be independent meant to wield one’s own destiny. Together, these commands formed a foundation strong enough to shape a woman who would one day change the course of justice.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the hard soil of the 1940s, when society measured a woman’s success not by her achievements, but by her marriage. The so-called “M.R.S. degree” was the highest expectation: to wed well, to be chosen, to bind one’s identity to another. Few paths were open to women, and fewer still to women of ambition. To choose the law was to walk into a man’s world, a world of courtrooms and statutes where women were seen as anomalies. Yet Ginsburg, guided by her mother’s words, dared to claim independence when independence was radical.

This recalls the ancient tale of Hypatia of Alexandria, a philosopher and mathematician who lived in the fourth century. She, too, walked a path reserved for men, rising as a teacher of wisdom when women were told to remain silent. Hypatia embodied both grace and strength, commanding respect not by conforming to expectations but by transcending them. Like Ginsburg, she bore the paradox of her age: to remain dignified, even while challenging the very structures that sought to limit her.

We see the same spirit in the life of Susan B. Anthony, who in the nineteenth century was told that her place was in the home, not in the halls of power. Yet she chose the harder path of independence, dedicating her life to women’s suffrage. Like Ginsburg’s mother, Anthony’s family instilled in her the conviction that dignity and independence were not opposites but allies. Her struggles, though long resisted, planted the seeds of rights that future generations would inherit.

The lesson in Ginsburg’s words is clear: true strength is born where tradition and defiance meet. To be a lady is not to submit; it is to hold one’s dignity amidst adversity. To be independent is not to forsake grace, but to carry it into the battlefields of justice, education, and freedom. When joined, these two virtues create a force that cannot be silenced—a woman who walks with poise yet refuses to be bound, who honors her roots yet stretches beyond them.

Practical wisdom calls us to act. Teach the young not only how to succeed but how to stand with dignity. Remind them that independence is not selfishness, but the courage to shape one’s own destiny. Challenge the narrow cages of expectation, whether they come in the form of outdated traditions or modern pressures. And if you are told that your ambition is “unusual,” let that word become your crown, for every great change in history began as something unusual.

Thus, let Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s remembrance of her mother endure as sacred counsel: raise children to walk with grace, but also with freedom. Tell them to be composed, but also to be courageous. For the world does not need only those who conform; it needs those who, like Ginsburg, take the old commands of dignity and independence and weave them into a life that transforms the world.