To my daughter: I don’t want life to catch you sitting around, waiting for a knight in shining armour. I want to see you rising up, fists clenched and nails painted… if that’s your choice, but overflowing with determination.

To my child:
I refuse to let life catch you idle, hoping for rescue.
I want it to find you on your feet—fists tight, nails perhaps polished, but hands stained from battle.
Fragility doesn’t suit you, nor silent tears over what life withheld.
I adore your strength, even when it cracks your heart.
Be the woman of grit, not glass; the one who sweats, aches, bends—but never her pride.
No room for bitterness or blame.
Choose joy. Build your world, laugh at doubters.
Never shrink from discomfort.
Stay free—voice sharp, mind clearer. Shout your truth; dismiss what wastes your time.
I’d rather you wild with stories than “proper” and lifeless.
You need no crown.
You’re already royalty—but I treasure the witch in you:
Unyielding. Fierce. A storm to those who clip wings.
Fight for what’s yours. Steer your ship, even clueless. Learn mid-voyage.
This is how I love you.
Let the world step aside.
**—**
And know this:
The world will dictate your walk, your words, your love.
Ignore it.
Your path is yours alone.
If you fall, flaunt the scar—proof of courage.
Scars mark where you’ve been, hint at how far you’ll go.
Keep company with those who cheer your rise, not revel in your stumbles.
If none are found—become your own ally.
Perfection is empty. Truth is everything.
Walk. Run. Crawl. Just move forward.
Remember: your veins hold my love, the grit of ancestors, and the fire of those unborn.