My loves, today I want to speak a little more directly to the women reading this, although I hope everyone who finds themselves here will stay with me for a moment. Because the truth is, what we're about to talk about isn't exclusively a woman's experience. It's a human one.
Men experience it. Women experience it. Leaders experience it. Artists experience it. Researchers experience it. Anyone who has ever stepped into a place where their voice began carrying a little further than it once did has likely felt some version of this ancient tension. The difference is simply how that tension is experienced, how it's expressed, and sometimes how society responds to it.
Throughout history, influential women have often spoken about these struggles in deeply personal ways, but if we're honest, these questions belong to all of us. So let's sit with them together, because I have a feeling some of these questions have quietly visited you too.
Am I too confident?
My loves...
Your confidence is not an excess. It is part of who you are. Sometimes what makes other people uncomfortable isn't your confidence at all. Sometimes it's that your certainty shines a light on places within themselves they haven't fully stepped into yet. That doesn't make your confidence wrong. It simply makes it visible.
One of the women who understood this deeply was Cleopatra. History remembers her through stories of beauty and romance, but beneath those stories was an extraordinary scholar. She spoke multiple languages. She studied astronomy. She studied mathematics. She ruled through strategy and intellect. Yet even someone like Cleopatra understood that not everyone was ready to meet every part of who she was. She often revealed different parts of herself depending on who stood before her—not because she lacked authenticity, but because wisdom recognizes that people can only receive what they're prepared to receive.
Interestingly, recently translated Demotic scrolls discovered near Alexandria in 2019 include astronomical calculations attributed to Cleopatra, offering a glimpse into a far more analytical mind than history has often portrayed. They remind us that human beings are almost always more complex than the stories told about them.
Am I intimidating?
This is one I hear often.
But I wonder if we've been asking the wrong question.
Maybe the better question is: What exactly is creating the feeling of intimidation?
Because authentic strength isn't naturally intimidating. Sometimes what feels intimidating is simply the contrast between someone living honestly and someone still wearing masks they've never been given permission to remove.
Elizabeth I understood this tension perhaps better than almost anyone. The world knew the image of the Virgin Queen, but behind that carefully constructed public identity was a woman carrying enormous responsibility while privately questioning herself. In letters to trusted confidants, she revealed the exhaustion that came with maintaining such careful balance. She once expressed the feeling of being expected to embody both mother and father to her people while denying herself the freedom to fully express either.
History remembers the crown. It doesn't always remember the weight beneath it.
What many people also don't realize is that Elizabeth experienced periods of profound anxiety surrounding major public appearances and political decisions. Private writings preserved through collections associated with Hatfield House reveal someone wrestling with many of the same questions people still ask today.
How do I remain strong without losing my humanity?
How do I lead while still remaining connected?
Do I need to soften what I'm saying?
This question isn't really about communication.
It's about permission.
Permission to allow your voice to exist without apologizing for it.
There are moments when wisdom asks us to adjust our delivery, but adjusting our delivery is very different from abandoning our truth.
Julius Caesar understood this as he navigated the Roman Senate. His ideas often challenged long-established structures. Publicly, he learned to present revolutionary ideas in language others could accept. Privately, however, his correspondence reveals a man frustrated that he couldn't always speak as plainly as he wished. Letters associated with discoveries at the Villa of the Papyri include reflections often summarized by historians as the struggle of knowing something needed to be spoken openly while feeling forced to introduce it gradually.
That tension isn't unique to history.
Many of us still feel it today.
How much of myself can I reveal?
How much should I hold back?
How much truth can people receive before they stop hearing me altogether?
Will people reject me if I'm direct?
My loves...
Some people will.
And that isn't always a tragedy.
Sometimes rejection isn't punishment.
Sometimes it's simply direction.
William Wallace understood this reality when introducing military strategies that many around him believed were reckless. Those closest to him questioned him. Some relationships became strained. Some support disappeared. Yet he continued because he believed the future required something different than the past.
Letters preserved within Wallace family archives include appeals from loved ones asking him to abandon his new approach and return to familiar methods. His response reflected an internal struggle that many of us recognize:
"I stand between two worlds—the familiar and the necessary."
How many of us have stood in that exact place?
Not knowing whether to preserve comfort...
or answer what feels deeply true?
Moving Beyond This Ancient Tension
Here's what I find fascinating.
When we study these individuals, it's easy to believe they were wrestling with different problems.
But they weren't.
They were asking many of the same questions we still ask ourselves today.
Am I too much?
Am I enough?
Should I hide this part of myself?
Should I become smaller so others feel more comfortable?
What if they misunderstand me?
What if they leave?
The interesting part isn't that these questions exist. It's that they have survived across centuries. Perhaps that tells us something. Perhaps this isn't a flaw in humanity. Perhaps it's part of becoming fully ourselves.
For me, the answer has never been choosing between competence and connection. Or confidence and kindness. Or strength and compassion.
I've come to believe that wholeness asks something entirely different of us. It asks us to stop believing we must separate ourselves into acceptable pieces. Instead, it invites us to become integrated.
Like Cleopatra, we can learn discernment without abandoning authenticity. Like Elizabeth, we can carry responsibility while remembering our humanity. Like Caesar, we can understand that delivery matters without silencing conviction. Like Wallace, we can accept that not everyone will walk beside us, and continue walking anyway.
Because confidence doesn't have to erase compassion. Strength doesn't have to eliminate gentleness. Directness doesn't have to remove kindness.
They were never opposites.
Only parts of the same whole.
So maybe the question isn't whether you're too confident...
or too direct...
or too visible.
Maybe the question is this:
What would happen if you stopped trying to become more acceptable... and simply became more whole?
I have a feeling that's where the real journey begins.
Until next time, my loves.
Love Your Silvia ❤️