The Audacity of a Grown Woman’s Voice

If we ever needed a voice before, we sure do need one now.

Not a careless voice.

Not one of performance.

But a voice that’s rooted in wisdom and anchored by truth. One that remembers the courage of our past, understands the stakes of our present, and has lived long enough to know the cost of our silence.

In a world where women’s voices have often been policed, citing that we’re too loud, too shrill, too opinionated, or just too much—especially with women of color—I am here to say…that’s too bad for you, because we’ve got things to say. And not just any ole thing, but things of substance. Things that shape our homes, our jobs, our society, our world.

That’s not to say that we are at a loss of mouths that speak. Some folks speak just because they have a mouth, which is okay. That would be their right. I’m just much more discerning about whom I lend my ear.  

As for this mid-century woman, I use my voice not because I need to be heard, but because I know what happens when women with wisdom decide to stay quiet.

And sometimes, staying quiet isn’t an option.

When silence at its best equals being complacent or at its worst, being complicit, to meet these challenging moments, our voices of hope, pain, love, and resistance, must “resound loud as the rolling sea,” in my James Weldon Johnson voice.

I learned how to speak truth to power early in life by watching my mother. Whether at a school board meeting or before the city council, my mother’s voice stood for something, and when she spoke—like her or not—people listened. She didn’t have a conventional platform, but she had conviction to guide her. She spoke up for those who didn’t believe they had a voice, and inspired others to find theirs. While society often expects women to shrink as they age, to soften their convictions, or lower their expectations, she did the opposite. Until the time of her passing, she was a staunch advocate for the equitable education of children of color. In her own words, her role was to educate, motivate, and agitate the powers that be in order to get things accomplished.

She wasn’t reckless. She was intentional. Sometimes she was measured. Sometimes she was loud. But she was always grounded in purpose. She stood in a lineage of women who knew when to press, when to persist, and when to raise their voices without losing their integrity. That legacy is not lost on me. It’s inherited.

That’s why the title The Audacity of a Grown Woman’s Voice matters so much.

Because audacity, at this stage of life, is not about tone. It is not about volume. And it certainly isn’t about silencing frustration or pain.

The audacity of a grown woman’s voice is about wisdom and the courage to speak it with discernment.

It’s about knowing why you’re speaking, whom you’re speaking for, and what the moment is asking of you. It’s the refusal to confuse reaction with conviction, or presence with performance. It’s understanding that our collective voices must be heard, and that silence is not surrender but a strategic choice only when it serves a greater purpose. And it’s about knowing the difference between moments that require a whisper and moments that demand a shout. Trust me. History and faith make room for them both.

As we honor Black History Month, I am reminded that even the voice that struck chords of moral clarity, and whose message shifted the world—the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—was not alone.

Voices of women who understood the same truth fought injustice, challenged discriminatory social norms, and liberated those once bound by sexist, racist policies and practices. Fannie Lou Hamer knew when to raise her booming voice and when to let her testimony do the work. Rosa Parks understood that resistance does not always announce itself. Coretta Scott King showed us that leadership continues long after the spotlight moves on. Their voices differed in tone, but never in purpose.

That same audacity still shows up today, often without fanfare. I see it in women I know and love, women who carry responsibility with integrity in their own lanes. Women who sit on benches, stand in courtrooms, steward institutions, protect privacy, tell stories, manage finances, and hold communities together, not for applause, but because they understand accountability.

As mid-century women, many of us now stand in a unique position. We were children of the 80s. The moment was met for us by our mothers’ generation. We enjoyed the benefits of their courage, their sacrifice, and their willingness to stand when standing was dangerous. Now, we are living in a moment that asks something of us, not to recreate their struggle, but to protect what they secured.

That means mentoring without condescension. Standing beside younger voices, not speaking over them. Modeling what it looks like to engage with wisdom, courage, and resolve, especially during challenging times.

Women may make up more than half the population, but numbers are not the point. Responsibility is. We are the keepers of memory. The translators of experience. The living archive of what happens when rights are defended and what happens when they are ignored.

So no…I am not interested in shrinking.

Not my voice.

Not my convictions.

Not my responsibility.

The only thing I’m willing to shrink at this stage of life is my tolerance for staying quiet when wisdom is required.

Because if we ever needed that kind of voice before—

we sure do need it now.