Power wasn’t made for women like us.
As Arab women, we’re often taught to fear power. Or to silence it. Or to borrow it carefully, as if it’s something breakable that doesn’t belong to us. We see power used to control, to punish, to dominate. We’re warned that too much of it will make us unlovable, unfeminine, unsafe.
And yet, we lead.
In homes. In movements. In silence. In shadows. In the spaces between permission and resistance. We lead even when we’re not allowed to call it leadership.
But what if we stopped borrowing language and models that were never meant for us? What if we built our own definition of power? What if our authority didn’t have to hurt anyone — including ourselves?
Unlearning the Hierarchies We Inherited
From childhood, many of us are conditioned to obey. To keep the peace. To avoid shame. We watch as power is modeled as force: fathers shouting, teachers punishing, leaders speaking over others. We internalize that power equals distance, fear, and silence.
When we do rise into positions of influence, we’re expected to imitate that model. Be tougher. Louder. Less emotional. More “rational.”
But what if leadership could come with empathy? What if authority didn’t mean becoming what once hurt us?
The Quiet Power of Feminine Leadership
I’ve watched Arab women lead revolutions from their kitchens. Build peace at family gatherings. Mediate between generations with no title, no platform, no spotlight.
Their power is quiet. Persistent. Soft like water but strong enough to break stone.
This is the leadership we’re not taught to see. This is the authority that doesn’t wound.
It comes in forms like:
- Active listening instead of domination
- Building consensus instead of demanding obedience
- Creating space for others to speak, not speaking over them
- Holding contradictions without rushing to control
This isn’t weakness. It’s revolutionary.
Power as Care, Not Control
The best leaders I’ve met don’t lead with ego. They lead with care.
They know the weight of being trusted. They know when to speak and when to step aside. They honor emotion as intelligence. They understand that dignity is more important than authority.
And when they hold power, they hold it with accountability and humility, not as a weapon, but as a responsibility.
This is power that doesn’t extract. It nourishes. This is leadership that centers the collective, not the self.
Rewriting the Story
We need to rewrite the stories we tell about power:
- It doesn’t have to be loud to be strong.
- It doesn’t have to be aggressive to be effective.
- It doesn’t have to mimic patriarchy to challenge it.
As Arab women, we are already leading. The world just hasn’t caught up to our vocabulary yet.
So let’s write it ourselves. Let’s teach leadership as relationship, not rank. Let’s design spaces where influence is shared, not hoarded. Let’s raise girls who don’t fear their own voices.
Final Word: The Authority of Presence
Sometimes the most powerful person in the room is the one who speaks last. Or the one who listens most. Or the one who says, “I don’t know, but let’s find out together.”
That’s power too.
We don’t have to lead like the world taught us. We can lead like we live. Like we heal. Like we love.
Because when power doesn’t hurt, it becomes something else entirely: It becomes freedom. It becomes home. It becomes ours.
