THE GOOD GIRL DILEMMA

(Respectfully breaking the mould)

So here I am. 44 years old. Still wearing the sparkly, slightly suffocating crown of... “The Good Girl.” Let’s get something straight though — It’s not like I was boring. Oh no. I was fun, I was funny, I was a little naughty (ok, a lot naughty — just strategically naughty). But I was still the Society-Certified™ Good Girl. You know — the one who was fun within limits. Charming, but not loud. Smart, but not opinionated. Cute, but not too flirty. Basically, the girl next door with a self-imposed moral police hotline in her brain. No boyfriends. No shots. No drama. No smoking behind the school bathroom with the “cool girls.” I even bunked school once... but I told my mom. That’s right — I was the kind of rebel who informed her parents before rebelling. Childhood? Woke up on time. Drank that trauma-inducing glass of milk (with a dramatic gag).

Wore ribbons tighter than my schedule. Shoes so white they had their own glow. Bus stop greetings so cheerful, I deserved a Nobel Peace Prize for morning civility. And that image? It stuck. It followed me into my twenties. Into marriage. Into adulthood. Even then, no sass. No raised voice. No ‘I need a break’ moments Because good girls understand, they are meant to always be understanding Good girls adjust. But here’s where it gets weird. Now, I look around at my school friends — the ones who did it all. They broke rules. They partied and kissed the wrong boys ( and sometimes the right ones) They went on wild trips. The detentions, the heartbreaks, the hangovers…

And they’re fine. Actually, better than fine. Empowered, expressive, happy, unfiltered. They’ve lived. They’ve laughed. They’ve… gone to therapy and come out sparkly. Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking, Was all my gold-star goodness actually holding me back? It’s not like I regret my choices. Not at all. I made them consciously. I believed in them. But maybe I also made them with one eye on the imaginary scoreboard society keeps flashing in front of us. And somewhere along the line, being the “Good Girl” stopped being a title — and started becoming a trap. Because sure, being good gets you praise. But it also gets you boxed in. Talked over. Taken for granted. Assumed to be the one who won’t fight, won’t argue, won’t mind. Basically — society saw the red ribbons and thought, “She won’t make noise.” And honestly? Sometimes I didn’t.

Now, with a daughter of my own, here’s the real question: Do I raise her to be a “Good Girl” like me? Or do I raise her to be a wild, opinionated, glorious firecracker who won’t care if someone’s shoes are white? Because this world? It’s going to come for her anyway — with or without the ribbons. So maybe she should show up with sparkles in her hair, dreams in her eyes, and absolutely no interest in being palatable. I don’t want her to be reckless. But I do want her to be bold. I want her to be kind — yes. Respectful — of course. But I also want her to know she can say no. That she can speak up and still be ‘Good’ That her worth isn’t tied to her ability to be agreeable. Because maybe the problem isn’t with being ‘good’. Maybe it’s with how we define it. So yes, I am still the Good Girl. But now?

I’m the Good Girl with a backbone. The Good Girl who occasionally raises eyebrows. The Good Girl who’s rewriting her rulebook. A little naughty. A little loud. A little late — and totally okay with it. Because this Good Girl? She’s not done. She’s just getting unapologetically started.

Signing Off…..

Ani