On Quiet Power, Unfinished Equality, and Knowing When to Step Aside

Women have been shaping the world from the quiet corners for as long as there’s been a world to shape. History loves its kings and loudmouths, but look closer and you’ll see the fingerprints of women everywhere—deals struck over kitchen tables, revolutions whispered into motion, empires shifted by a single word.

The damsel-in-distress? Pure fiction. Every woman I’ve known has been a strategist or a survivor. I was raised by women, so I never bought the stereotype. My mother, aunts, and grandmothers ran their worlds with a precision that left no room for excuses.

That lesson stuck. My daughters and granddaughters get no slack because they’re women—the only pass they get is being mine, and even that expires fast. I’ve watched women pick up the slack when men fall short, holding things together while someone else grabs the credit. And still, women are underestimated in ways I’ll never understand. The proof stands right in front of us, yet people squint as if strength needs permission to be real.

I saw it firsthand in the military. Equality is improving, but the gap is still wide. A striking new soldier joined our unit, and the guys forgot every rule of conduct, circling her like moths while she tried to learn her job.
So I played the villain. I called people out, made her untouchable, and turned would-be defenders into cautionary tales. I hated doing it, but it gave her room to breathe. Her father was a command boss I’d butted heads with, so I expected trouble. Instead, we ended up on good terms, a quiet truce born from protecting his kid. She and I became friends, and years later, I still get the occasional text or Facebook update from her and the husband I once terrorized.

Long before marriage, an older woman once told me over beers, “If I can’t get what I want with a look and a smile, I’m not doing my job.” Back then, I didn’t get it. Marriage cleared that up. My wife could hold an entire conversation with a single glance, seal the verdict with a faint smile, and I’d move before she spoke—remembering that barroom oracle and chuckling while carrying out silent orders.

Here’s the tricky part: as much as I know the women in my life can handle themselves, the instinct to defend them never leaves. But that impulse can backfire. Sometimes the smartest move is to pick your battles, stay alert, and trust their strength. Respect isn’t rescue—it’s giving credit, stepping aside, and making sure the field is clear when they swing the hammer themselves.

Even after a lifetime of their guidance, I still don’t have a clue how women work. They tell me that all the time. I just smile, nod, and keep doing my chores. History is finally, grudgingly, starting to catch up.

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Author’s Note
I like Sunday Poser’s questions. They make me think—probably more than they should, but think nonetheless. Anything that stirs the mind is a good thing. So, thanks to Sadje for providing these tremendous challenges.