From the start of this project, I’ve kept running into the same frustrating truth—history has a habit of trying to erase powerful women. Not just overlooking them, but actively working to scrub them out like they never existed. And honestly? That pisses me off.
Take Hatshepsut. She ruled as Pharaoh, something almost unheard of for a woman, and she did it well. But after she died, her name and image were chiseled away, her accomplishments buried under layers of revision. For years, people thought her stepson, Thutmose III, was just being petty. But now, historians believe it wasn’t personal—it was about keeping up appearances, making sure Egypt looked like it had only ever been ruled by men. The message? Women don’t belong in power. And yet, here we are, still talking about her. She was too great to erase completely.
This same story plays out over and over. Take Aspasia of Miletus. She was one of the greatest intellectual minds of ancient Athens, influencing political thought and maybe even Pericles’ famous Funeral Oration. But since she was a woman, she didn’t get to leave behind her own writings. Instead, we’re left with accounts from men who painted her as little more than a scandalous courtesan. How many other women have been lost this way? How many brilliant, capable leaders were erased because they weren’t considered worth remembering?
And that’s exactly why I care so much about this project. I don’t want these women to just be forgotten names in history books—I want to reclaim them, celebrate them, and show that they were just as strong, smart, and influential as the men who got all the credit.
Grace O’Malley is the one who really gets to me. She wasn’t just a pirate—she was a military strategist, a political leader, and a mother who fought for her children and her people. When Sir Richard Bingham, the English governor in Connacht, killed one of her sons and imprisoned two others, Grace didn’t just rage against the system. She sailed straight to England and demanded an audience with Queen Elizabeth I. And when she got there? She refused to bow. In an era where hierarchy was everything, that was a bold move. But the craziest part? Elizabeth respected her for it. Two powerful women, completely different worlds, standing face to face. And Grace got what she came for—her sons were released. Of course, she still went right back to aiding Irish rebels afterward, because loyalty to her people came first. That’s the kind of leader she was.
I love her for so many reasons, but one of my favorite stories is from her childhood. She wanted to go to sea with her father, but they told her she couldn’t because her long hair would be a problem. So what did she do? She chopped it off. Just took matters into her own hands and said, “There. Problem solved.” That kind of defiance, that refusal to accept being told “no”—that’s exactly why she was destined to lead.
And then there’s Freydis Eiríksdóttir. She was a Viking, born illegitimate, with no real status, and yet she forced her way into history. My favorite story about her is almost cinematic: pregnant, outnumbered, her people panicking, and instead of backing down, she rips open her tunic, beats her sword against her bare chest, and terrifies her enemies into retreating. Was she ruthless? Absolutely. But I don’t think she had another choice. Women in her time didn’t get the luxury of playing nice. They had to be bold, brutal, and unshakable just to survive.
One thing that stands out to me, though, is that these women weren’t leading in isolation. They had men who followed them, respected them, and stood by their leadership—something incredibly rare in their respective time periods. Grace O’Malley commanded fleets of men who saw her as their chief, not just a woman playing at piracy. Freydis led warriors who feared and respected her in equal measure. Even Hatshepsut had loyal supporters in her court who backed her reign despite the tradition of male rule. Their ability to earn that loyalty in a world that wasn’t built for them speaks volumes about their strength and leadership.
These women weren’t idealized heroes. They were human. They weren’t perfect—they were complex, forceful when they had to be, and unapologetically themselves. And that’s exactly what makes them worth remembering. They embraced their womanhood not as a limitation, but as a source of power. They knew that what they had to offer was just as important—if not more important—than the men around them. They didn’t ask for permission to lead. They just led.
Even fictional women like Wonder Woman reflect this spirit. She’s a warrior, but she leads with empathy and intelligence, not just brute strength. She doesn’t have to choose between being compassionate and being powerful—she is both. One of my favorite things about the Wonder Woman movie is the idea that “you can either do something or do nothing.” When things seem impossible, when the fight seems too big, you still have a choice. Even if your action seems small, it matters.
The thing is, I know what it’s like to exist in a male-dominated world. It’s been my reality for most of my life. I served in the Navy as the only woman in an all-male Marine unit. Before that, I grew up with mostly guy friends. I didn’t even really start embracing what it meant to be a woman—really celebrating it—until my mid-thirties. And even now, I’m still on that journey. This project has already had such an impact on me, making me reflect on how I see myself and how I understand female leadership. I don’t regret my past or the experiences that shaped me, but I do think they give me a unique perspective as I move forward in recognizing and honoring the legacies of women in history. Honestly, there’s no telling where this will take me, and I love that.
Mariya Vasilyevna Oktyabrskaya is another one of those unforgettable women. Her story is often wrapped in Soviet propaganda, but the truth is much more raw and real. She didn’t just fight—she bought a tank with her own money, named it Fighting Girlfriend, and took the war into her own hands.
“I didn’t just fight. I led from the front. People love to call me propaganda—but they forget I was a woman with blood in my veins and a fire in my chest. I wasn’t going to sit back and grieve while others fought.”
“I’ve had enough of grieving. It’s time to fight.”
“They said I should mourn quietly. Instead, I bought a tank and named it Fighting Girlfriend. I wanted to show them what a widow could do. What a woman could do. I wasn’t just there to drive a tank—I was there to rewrite the rules.”
“I want revenge. I will not sit back while others fight.”
“You want to remember me? Then don’t box me in. I was a warrior, yes—but I was also a leader. And I’ll be damned if I’m forgotten.”
And then there’s Davina Smith Spotted Elk, speaking of her grandmother and Big Mountain. She shared something that’s stayed with me ever since:
“My umbilical cord was buried here at Big Mountain and when I pass on this is where I will be.”
It’s a Navajo tradition, one that ties you to the land from the moment you’re born. That kind of connection—to place, to heritage, to something bigger than yourself—is powerful. It reminds me that standing up for what matters is as much about remembering where you come from as it is about fighting for where you’re going.
That’s what I’m trying to do with this project. Every time I write about these women, every time I challenge the idea that leadership, strength, and brilliance belong only to men, I’m choosing to do something. I’m choosing to push back against centuries of erasure. Because these women existed. They mattered. And they still do.
For me, this isn’t just research. It’s personal. It’s about proving, over and over again, that women have always been leaders, warriors, and visionaries—even when history tried to forget them. And it’s for my daughter, too. I want her to grow up knowing these names, these stories. I want her to understand that she comes from a long line of women who dared to lead. And if she chooses to change the world, she’ll know exactly whose shoulders she’s standing on.
As Eleanor of Aquitaine once said:
“Trees are not known by their leaves, nor even by their blossoms, but by their fruits.”
Legacy isn’t about how things look. It’s about what’s left behind.
And in her words:
“A woman may command with empty hands for she is free to use such weapons as she will. Let her choose words, for darts wound faster than a sword.”
Words like these—sharp, enduring, fearless—are the foundation of everything I’m building here. And I won’t stop telling these stories until they’re no longer overlooked, no longer erased, no longer forgotten.
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