The Strength of Women

A couple of weeks ago I delivered a keynote address at a community event in Beaufort, Victoria.  A beautiful small town just north of Ballarat.  It was for the launch of a book about “The Strength of Women”.  A beautiful book about 120 of the local country women and their stories.

I wasn’t given a brief other than a time frame and I didn’t want this keynote to be about me, but about the strong women in my life who have given me my strength.

So I spoke about my maternal grandmother Elizabeth, my mother Phyllis and my mother-in-law Peggy (who I have never met, but got to know her through her own words in a book she had written). What strikes me most when I think about these three women is that none of them would probably have described themselves as “strong women.”

And yet, when I look at them, I see strength and courage everywhere.

Not the loud kind, that demands attention. Not the kind that appears on television or in history books. I see the quieter kind.

The strength to leave home.

The courage to start again.

The determination to walk into rooms where women were not expected to be.

The resilience to keep going through grief, disappointment, hardship and uncertainty.

The generosity to keep loving, giving and showing up for others even when life was difficult.

I think sometimes we underestimate the power of ordinary women because they make extraordinary things look normal.  We celebrate big achievements; medals, titles, careers and milestones, and they absolutely deserve celebration. But often the real strength of women is found in the moments nobody applauds.

It is in the mother sitting up all night with a sick child.  The woman caring for ageing parents while still holding together a career and family.  The woman rebuilding her life after loss.  The woman battling illness quietly while still supporting everyone around her. The woman who chooses kindness after being hurt. The woman who keeps going when nobody sees how hard it really is.

That strength changes generations. Because strength is rarely just about the individual.

It ripples outward.

My grandmother’s courage shaped my mother. My mother’s courage shaped me. Peggy’s beliefs shaped her sons, which in turn shaped the family I married into.

And every one of us has people like that in our lives. Sometimes we recognise them immediately. Sometimes we only realise years later just how much they influenced us.

I think one of the greatest gifts we can give each other is to share our stories openly. Because when women share their experiences honestly, the victories, the failures, the heartbreak, the resilience, they give other people permission to believe they can survive too.

That is why stories matter so much.

A story can make someone feel less alone.

A story can give someone hope.

A story can help someone find courage they didn’t know they had.

I know that to be true because I have lived it.

There were moments in my life when I could easily have stopped believing in myself. Moments when fear, illness, setbacks or self-doubt could have won. But somewhere in the back of my mind were the voices and examples of these women reminding me to keep going, keep adapting and keep believing that another path was possible.

And I think that is the true legacy of strong women.

It is not perfection. It is not fame. It is not having an easy life. It is leaving people stronger because you existed.

That is exactly what this book does. It honours the strength and resilience of these country women. Within its pages are stories of bravery, determination and quiet perseverance. Women who built businesses, raised families, cared for loved ones, overcame illness, faced unimaginable challenges and, through it all, continued to love generously and give selflessly.

Their stories matter because they remind us that strength comes in many forms. It is found just as much in everyday acts of courage as it is in life's defining moments.

But you don't have to have your story published in a book for it to make a difference.

Every family has women whose courage has shaped generations. A grandmother who took a chance. A mother who sacrificed more than anyone realised. A sister, friend, teacher, colleague or neighbour who quietly made life better for those around her.

Perhaps today is a chance to think about those women. To thank them if you can. To tell their stories while they're still here to hear them. And if they're no longer with us, to keep their legacy alive by sharing the lessons they left behind.

Because stories don't simply preserve memories. They preserve courage. And sometimes, that's exactly what someone else needs to hear to find the strength to keep going.

Dedication from the front of the book