August arrives with its own kind of music.
It’s not loud, but it’s there — a steady hum beneath the surface, a rhythm we recognise in our bones. Purple ribbons on lampposts, Women’s Month panels advertised on social media, carefully curated quotes about queens and crowns popping up on timelines.
It’s beautiful.
But here’s my truth: women don’t magically become strong, beautiful, deserving, and powerful in August.
We already are.
This year, Women’s Month was different for me. I wasn’t just attending an event. I was creating one. I arranged a Women’s Day gathering from scratch with help from amazing women — the venue our favourite home FH, the programme, the atmosphere — and then, when the day arrived, I stepped onto the stage as a speaker. Miss Vee can really sometimes help you live out your fantasies.
The duality was delicious: the organiser and the guest of honour, the one behind the curtain and under the spotlight. And in that moment, looking out at the sea of faces — women of every age, every shape, every journey — I knew this was more than an event.
It was a mirror.
The Energy of a Room Full of Women
If you’ve ever been in a space where women gather with intention, you’ll understand this: the air feels different. There’s an unspoken frequency that vibrates through the room, like we’ve all tuned into the same station.
It’s not just the laughter (although there was plenty of that) — rich, warm laughter that curled through the air like the scent of something baking in the kitchen.
It’s not just the tears — quiet, dignified, healing tears that traced stories down cheeks.
It’s the connection.
The way one woman’s story echoes inside another woman’s heart. The way silence between us can be comforting, even sacred. The way a shared glance says, “I see you. I’ve been there. And you’re going to be okay.”
Every Woman Carries a Story
That day, I realised something I’ve always known but rarely stopped to name: every woman in that room carried a collection of invisible medals.
Medals for battles fought in silence.
Medals for heartbreak endured with dignity.
Medals for climbing mountains with no applause.
Medals for walking away from things that didn’t serve them, even when it hurt.
And the thing is, those medals aren’t heavy. Not because they don’t cost us something — they do. They cost tears, patience, courage, and sometimes pieces of ourselves.
They aren’t heavy because women learn to carry them with grace.
Strength Comes in Many Dresses
We often picture strength as loud — a voice that roars in the boardroom, a protest sign held high, a fist raised. And yes, sometimes it is exactly that.
But sometimes strength is the woman who shows up to work after crying in the shower that morning.
Sometimes it’s the quiet decision to leave a relationship that doesn’t love you back.
Sometimes it’s protecting your peace like it’s your last resource.
And sometimes — perhaps most powerfully — it’s simply saying no.
Women’s strength is never one-dimensional.
We can be soft and steel in the same breath.
We can cry into our coffee in the morning and close a deal by lunchtime.
We can nurture, seduce, negotiate, build, heal, and lead — all without missing a beat.
Sexy Is an Energy, Not an Outfit
When I use the word “sexy,” I don’t mean stilettos, smoky eyeliner, or a perfect Instagram pose. Those are surface-level trimmings — fun, but optional.
Sexy is the way you walk into a room knowing you belong there, even if you’re not sure where the chairs are.
Sexy is speaking your truth without trimming it down for someone else’s comfort.
Sexy is the kind of confidence that glows from the inside out — the afterglow of self-respect.
It’s not in the shoes you wear, it’s in the ground you claim when you stand.
It’s not in the way your hair falls, it’s in the way your chin lifts.
And the most magnetic part?
It’s real. You can’t fake it, because it’s built from every moment you’ve survived, every lesson you’ve learned, every boundary you’ve held firm.
The Women I Saw
From that stage, I saw more than faces. I saw whole worlds.
- I saw the mother whose hands are rough from work, but whose touch is gentle enough to raise the next generation.
- I saw the business owner who learned to build with what she had instead of waiting for perfect conditions.
- I saw the friend who has been everyone’s safe place and is finally learning to be her own.
- I saw the woman quietly healing from something that could have broken her.
- I saw the woman who, after years of doubt, finally loves the reflection in her mirror.
Each of them was a reminder: we are not side characters in our own stories. We are the main event.
Beyond the Month
Women’s Month is a beautiful spotlight, but the light shouldn’t fade when the calendar turns to September.
The real work — the empowering, the uplifting, the building — happens every single day:
- When you advocate for yourself in a meeting.
- When you say no without explaining why.
- When you mentor another woman instead of competing with her.
- When you give yourself permission to rest, knowing that burnout is not a badge of honour.
- When you decide your dreams are worth the risk.
These are the everyday revolutions.
A Love Letter to Us
To every woman reading this — whether you’re thriving, surviving, or somewhere in between — I want you to hear me clearly:
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to be loud and soft, fierce and tender, ambitious and tired.
You are allowed to rewrite your story halfway through the book.
You are not too much. You are not too loud. You are not too emotional.
You are exactly as you should be.
When the world forgets who you are?
Remind it.
The Challenge I Leave You With
For the rest of this year — and beyond — I challenge you to:
- Stand taller, even when your knees shake.
- Laugh louder, even when life feels heavy.
- Love deeper, even when you’ve been hurt.
- Take up the kind of space you’ve been told to shrink from.
Remember: you are not part of the story.
You are the story.
And the world is better because you’re in it.