The charge is clear. Guard her voice. Protect her becoming. Reinforce her identity. Challenge her without humiliating her. Love her without requiring perfection.

If we are not intentional, girls will edit themselves before anyone else has to, and culture is quick to condemn and confuse them. We tell girls to be confident, then critique how that looks. We tell them to lead, then call them bossy. We tell them to speak up, then call them loud. We tell them to be bold, then ask them to soften their tone.

But a different future is possible.

By Dr. Matisa Wilbon

This blog post is in conversation with “Dads, Let’s Hold the Line for Our Sons Until They Can Hold It for Themselves,” a companion piece published by Kenneth Braswell. 

A girl can memorize choreography in a week. She can perfect a presentation. She can curate a feed that looks effortless. But belief? Belief is built more slowly, underneath the surface, in the tension between who she is and who the world keeps suggesting she should be. It’s built in the quiet moments after she replays what she said, after she wonders if she was too loud, too confident, or too direct. You know, “too much.”

We treat confidence in girls like decoration instead of infrastructure. But why?

Why do we praise appearance before effort? Why do we reward likability before leadership? Why do we compliment compliance more than courage? Why do we teach girls — subtly, consistently — that being agreeable is safer than being assertive? And why are we surprised when brilliant, capable young women second-guess themselves? We cultivated it.

As a result, many girls navigate pressures we rarely name:

• “Be strong — but not intimidating.”
• “Be smart — but not threatening.”
• “Be confident — but not arrogant.”
• “Lead — but make sure you smile.”
• “Succeed — but stay small enough to be palatable.”

But a confident girl raises her hand even when she is unsure. She negotiates. She tries out. She applies. She says no without apology. She receives feedback without translating it into shame. She loses without collapsing into self-critique. She wins without shrinking to preserve someone else’s comfort. Confidence in a girl is not about how loud one can be. It’s about permission. Permission to think out loud. Permission to try and fail. Permission to grow in public and be decisive without being diminished. 

This kind of confidence is protective.

Girls are consuming highlight reels while privately negotiating insecurity. So when they struggle, they don’t see growth happening. They assume deficiency. They worry, “Something must be wrong with me.”

This is why encouragement matters.

Girls don’t need more slogans. They need reinforcement. They need adults who are intentional. They need communities that teach them to trust their own voices before the world tries to edit it.

Real encouragement is not flattery. It is not telling a girl she is amazing without evidence. It is not lowering standards to avoid discomfort. Real encouragement tells the truth while protecting identity. 

I repeat: Real encouragement tells the truth while protecting identity.

It says, “That project needed more effort,” and also, “You are capable of deeper thinking.” It says, “That choice wasn’t your best,” and also, “This moment does not define you.” It corrects the work without crushing the girl.

One pattern shows up in the habits of strong leaders and wise mentors: Name the challenge, affirm the dignity, call the next step. And girls need adults who can name the pressure without shaming them.

They don’t need speeches; they need evidence, the kind that comes from doing hard things and surviving them, from speaking up and discovering the room did not collapse, from trying, adjusting, trying again. Belief is built through repetition.

Changing How We Talk to Girls About Failure

Too often, girls internalize setbacks. A missed opportunity becomes, “I’m not good enough.” A social rupture becomes, “I’m not likable.” A critique becomes, “I am the problem.” And if we rush to overprotect, we teach fragility. If we minimize the pain, we teach suppression.

A better response sounds like this: “That hurt. Let’s talk about it. What did you see? What did you learn? What’s the adjustment?” When a girl learns to narrate her setbacks, she becomes a woman who can lead herself.

Adolescence is a constant negotiation: Who am I? What must I do to be accepted? And if she seeks answers in algorithms, peer approval, and cultural stereotypes, she will build her identity on something unstable, like applause.

A girl needs her dad or other role model to reflect something deeper back to her: discipline, courage, intellect, creativity, empathy, leadership, faith, and resilience. This is especially urgent for Black girls, who are often perceived as older, louder, more responsible, and more resilient than they should have to be. Adultified. Over-disciplined. Expected to carry more.

They are frequently denied softness. Denied grace. Denied the assumption that they are still learning. Encouragement, in this context, becomes advocacy. It refuses to let a girl’s hardest day write her whole story. It helps her expect resistance without surrendering to it.

In classrooms, on courts, in boardrooms-in-training, the struggle can look subtle. A girl stops raising her hand. She over-prepares to avoid criticism. She apologizes before speaking. Her ideas arrive wrapped in disclaimers.

Adults can either reinforce that caution or interrupt it.

How Dads and Other Role Models Can Encourage Our Girls

One of the greatest gifts we can give a girl is a stable place to land. A place where she does not have to earn love with performance. A place where she can say, “I’m scared,” without being labeled weak. A place where she hears, “I’m proud of your effort,” and also, “Now let’s sharpen it.”

So what does this look like in practice?

• Praise preparation, persistence, and courage more than appearance.
• Normalize growth seasons — new level, new pressure.
• Give her the language to understand and express her inner world.
• Build routines that produce evidence.
• Treat mistakes as data, not drama.
• Expand her identity beyond one lane.
• And perhaps most importantly, examine ourselves.

Girls can feel when praise is performative. They can sense when expectations are ego-driven. If we are trying to rewrite our own unfinished stories through them, they will carry weight that was never theirs.

The charge is clear. Guard her voice. Protect her becoming. Reinforce her identity. Challenge her without humiliating her. Love her without requiring perfection.

If we are not intentional, girls will edit themselves before anyone else has to, and culture is quick to condemn and confuse them. We tell girls to be confident, then critique how that looks. We tell them to lead, then call them bossy. We tell them to speak up, then call them loud. We tell them to be bold, then ask them to soften their tone.

But a different future is possible.

It starts with one girl. One hard day. One adult who refuses to let self-doubt have the final word.

The goal is not girls who never doubt. The goal is girls who know what to do when doubt shows up. Girls who can take a hit and keep their softness. Girls who can lead without shrinking. Girls who understand that their presence is not a disruption: It’s a contribution.

Stand with her. Reinforce her. Build her.

Before the world mislabels her strength.
Before her clarity is called attitude.
Before her leadership is reframed as arrogance.
Before her boundaries are called disrespect.
Before her ambition is softened into apology.

Do the work early. Do it intentionally. Do it consistently. Before they call her “too much.”