Lessons in Strength and Resilience from Fictional Women
Hey everyone, this is Pixie Quill, wishing you all a very HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY!
Since childhood, books and fictional characters have been more than just stories to me—they’ve been my truest friends, my guiding stars, and the voices that have shaped the person I am today. Some of the strongest, independent, and deeply empathetic women I know exist within the pages of my favorite books and the frames of shows. Their courage, intelligence, and resilience have taught me what it means to embrace strength while honoring vulnerability.
Dear Hermione, Jo, Matilda, and Monica,
Hermione, my first true friend in the world of fiction, my guiding star in the endless pursuit of knowledge and kindness. You taught me that intelligence is not just the sum of facts but the courage to use them for good. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery,” you once said. And yet, you are proof that books and cleverness were never separate from bravery but intertwined with it. I have carried you with me through late-night studies and the moments when I doubted my own voice in rooms where I felt too small. You showed me that being the smartest person in the room does not mean dimming your light for the comfort of others, nor does it mean forsaking your heart in the pursuit of reason. You are the magic that exists in every girl who dares to raise her hand when others shrink back. When the world told me that being emotional was a weakness, you reminded me that feeling is not fragility—it is fuel. After all, wasn’t it your unwavering love for those around you that made you the strongest witch of your age?
Jo, you are ink-stained fingers and a mind brimming with stories untold. You are rebellion wrapped in tenderness, a tempest who refuses to be tamed. I see you in the pages I scribble late at night, in the restless ache to create something that will outlive me. You once said, “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” And Jo, you have taught me to navigate the tempests of my own soul—to embrace ambition, to crave independence, and to find poetry in the fight. You showed me that womanhood is not a singular shape but a spectrum, each shade deserving of love and celebration. You taught me that wanting more—more adventure, more stories, more life—is not a selfish thing but a declaration of self-worth. And yet, Jo, for all your fire, you also taught me that vulnerability is not surrender. That to love deeply is the bravest thing of all. You softened my sharp edges even as you sharpened my mind, and for that, I owe you the world.
Matilda, you are the dreamer in me, the quiet storm, the girl who found power in the margins of a book. You showed me that no circumstance—not the cruelty of others, not the weight of loneliness—can silence a soul determined to grow. “Somewhere inside all of us is the power to change the world.” Your words, your belief in magic, in knowledge, in justice, have shaped the way I see the world. You taught me that intelligence is not just about knowing things but about knowing yourself—your worth, your strength, your ability to carve out a place in the world even when it tries to shrink you. You reminded me that kindness is a force as mighty as any spell, and that sometimes, the bravest thing one can do is simply to refuse to become cruel in a world that has been unkind. I carry you with me in every moment I stand up for someone who cannot stand up for themselves.
Monica, you are warmth wrapped in resilience, the embodiment of care woven into discipline. You taught me that strength is not just in ambition but in the way we nurture, the way we love, the way we make a home for the people we cherish. You are proof that perfectionism is not a flaw but a love language, that structure and spontaneity can coexist in a heart that beats for others. You showed me that sometimes, being strong means admitting when you need help, when you need to be held, when you need to let go. Your heart, Monica, is your superpower. You love with an intensity that terrifies you, and yet, you never stop. That is the kind of strength I want to carry with me—the kind that makes people feel safe, that turns friendships into family, that holds even when everything else falls apart.
Each of you, in your own way, has whispered wisdom into my life. You have made me brave. You have made me soft. You have made me fierce, and thoughtful, and full of wonder. From you, I have learned that to be a woman is to hold multitudes—to be strong and gentle, ambitious and kind, intelligent and emotional, structured and wild. To be a woman is to never fit into a single box, but rather to build my own library of identities, stacked high like the books I grew up loving. I hope, wherever you are—between the pages of a well-worn novel, within the glow of a television screen, inside the heart of every girl who has ever looked up to you—that you know the kind of magic you have left behind.
You are more than fiction. You are foundation.
With all my love and gratitude,
A Girl You Have Raised
