Identity, Inheritance & The Misunderstood Virtuous Woman

I watched this video today that stopped me in my tracks.

Faithlabz Proverbs 31 Warrior Not Checklist

And if I am honest, the countless times I sat as a conservative Christian woman hearing the “virtuous woman” of Proverbs 31 read aloud, shared, taught and admired. What I often unknowingly heard was this:

Become this ideal woman.

As young girls, desperate to belong, perhaps many of us absorbed a quiet message:

Be good.
Be chosen.
Be married.
Build the ideal home.
Serve well.
Keep faith.
Do more.

And somehow, maybe then, you will be enough. But if I am honest, for years Proverbs 31 felt less like encouragement and more like comparison.

As I became a mother and wife, I found myself avoiding it.

Because the more I read it, the more I felt like I was failing. This woman felt impossible. Was she a metaphor, an unreachable standard.
so polished while I felt undone.

And somewhere along the way, I began to believe my strength was a flaw.

The fact I could juggle so much somehow made me feel less worthy of being deeply loved, as though needing less, carrying more, enduring quietly somehow made me “good”

Yet exhausted.

And if I am honest, Mother’s Day can feel layered too, yes, there can be joy, deep love. and gratitude.

But for many women, there can also be an invisible ache.

The emotional load.
The mental remembering.
The unseen service.
The quiet comparison.
The wondering if we are doing enough.

And for some of us raised within conservative Christian spaces, perhaps there was also an unspoken understanding of womanhood we quietly inherited;

Be nurturing.
Be gentle.
Serve well.
Keep the family together.
Have faith.
Don’t struggle.
Don’t complain.
Be grateful.

And somewhere along the way, many women learnt to carry so much while quietly doubting themselves.

To question their worth.

To feel guilt when overwhelmed.

To confuse depletion with goodness.

To believe rest needed earning.

To think struggling somehow meant failing.

Then today, I learnt something I had never truly seen before, the “virtuous woman” in Proverbs 31 in the original Hebrew is:

Eshet Chayil.

A woman of valor.
A woman of strength.
A warrior woman.

And suddenly, I could no longer read her the same, because maybe she was never meant to shame us.

Maybe she was never meant to represent polished perfection.

She was meant to reflect resilience.

A woman carrying much.

A woman stewarding much.

A woman loving deeply.

A woman who is wise, grounded, strong and human.

So as I reflect on this outlook of her, I see her not dissimilar to who I am today, in the messy and the busy. In the exhausted and the doing, because if I am honest, so many women I meet are already carrying invisible battles.

Not the ones seen outwardly.

The inward ones.

The ones inherited.

The ones quietly passed down through generations, not always through words, but through observation.

A grandmother who learnt to stay quiet and keep the peace, endure.

A mother who learnt to hold everything together and keep everyone happy. Don’t fall apart.

And now a daughter sits carrying pieces of both, trying to mother differently.

Love differently Be differently.

Yet carrying the constant hum beneath the surface:

Am I enough?
Am I too much?
Why does this feel so hard?

Perhaps what many of us inherited was never identity, but adaptation.

Because somewhere survival quietly became personality.

The woman who cannot rest.

The woman who over-functions.

The woman who anticipates everyone’s needs.

The woman who masks exhaustion with capability.

The woman who smiles while silently drowning.

The woman who controls because unpredictability once felt unsafe.

The woman who becomes agreeable because rejection felt unbearable.

The woman who learned to perform worthiness.

And today’s world does not always help and social media quietly whispers:

Be gentle, but not too soft.
Be natural, but beautiful.
Be present, but productive.
Be selfless, but thriving.
Heal… but quickly.
Mother intentionally… but perfectly.

And so many women are left masking.

Masking exhaustion.
Masking grief.
Masking nervous system overwhelm.
Masking resentment.
Masking shame.

Because somewhere shame taught us:

If they really saw me, maybe I wouldn’t belong.

So we curate.

We perform. We compare. We strive.

And perhaps without knowing, we begin mothering not from safety, but from fear.

Fear of failing.

Fear of repeating patterns.

Fear of becoming what hurt us.

Yet what if the invitation was never perfection. and what if Proverbs 31 was never asking women to perform…

But to remember?

Because the woman of valor does not feel fragmented by fear.

She feels rooted. Wise. Grounded.

Capable without losing tenderness, strong without hardening and prepared without anxiety ruling her. She is not shrinking and not proving or performing and maybe healing begins here:

What did the women before me need to become to survive?

And…

What no longer belongs to me?

Perhaps grandmother survived through silence and the mother survived through control, resulting in the daughter surviving through masking.

But survival is not failure.

It was wisdom for a season and the question becomes:

Is it still needed?

Because maybe we were never meant to carry motherhood from shame or perfection and performance.

Maybe healing begins with understanding the beliefs we inherited, gently asking:

Does this still belong to me?

Because sometimes what we need most is not fixing, but support.

Space to be seen. To regulate. To process.

To reconnect with ourselves beneath the pressure, the masking and the expectations, for the women trying so deeply to break cycles while still healing themselves.

Maybe the greatest gift we can offer the next generation is not perfection

But permission.

Permission to feel.
Permission to repair.
Permission to rest.
Permission to be fully human.
Permission to be whole.

Maybe this is what breaking cycles looks like, not blaming the women before us.

Honouring them. Understanding them.

And choosing, gently:

The story changes with me.

And perhaps this Mother’s Day, instead of asking whether we measured up, we pause to honour the battles no one saw.

If this resonates, you are not alone in it. At Soulroots Therapy we have created a space for women like myself, navigating inner battles, inherited identities, and the quiet pressure of holding so much. You are welcome to book a discovery chat with us when it feels right.