When I was a little girl, I received a number of messages about what it meant to be a good girl and, eventually, a good woman.
My mother was particularly concerned with teaching me how to be ladylike. Being ladylike meant keeping my voice down, not being too boisterous, and having good manners. Later, I was told no man wanted a woman who was “out there in front,” a warning not to draw too much attention to myself. The message was clear: A woman should know her place, and that place was generally somewhere in the background assisting someone else.
My father had a different message. Whenever we parted, we would kiss goodbye, and he would often tell me, “Be sweet.”
I understood it as his way of sending me out into the world with a reminder to be a good person or maybe to stay as sweet as he saw me. But I also remember questioning it. Something about “Be sweet” felt vaguely constraining, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. I know he said it to my sister and me, but I wasn’t sure whether he said it to my brother, so I asked him. When Daddy said goodbye to him as a boy, did he say, “Be sweet,” or something else? “I think, be sweet,” my brother replied. When I asked what it meant to him, he said, “Be good? Do the right thing.”
Maybe that’s all my father meant. If he said the same words to his son, perhaps “be sweet” was simply his way of saying “be good.” But words don’t land in a vacuum. My brother heard a call to do the right thing. I heard it alongside every other message I was absorbing about how a girl should be, and in that chorus, “sweet” meant something narrower. Why “be sweet”? Why not “be courageous,” “be kind,” or simply “be good”? Being good can encompass many qualities, including integrity, compassion, and courage. Sweetness carries a particular connotation, one closely tied to traditional expectations of femininity. And that raises the question of what we’re really teaching little girls when we encourage them to be sweet, to be good girls, to be nice.
I want to be clear that my parents never taught me that being sweet or ladylike meant remaining silent when something was wrong or when I felt unsafe. Quite the opposite. We were taught to be alert to danger, to protect ourselves, and not to be afraid to remove ourselves from uncomfortable or potentially dangerous situations. Nevertheless, I find these messages interesting because they reflect broader societal expectations about how girls and women are supposed to behave.
Of course, these messages weren’t unique to my family. On a societal level, many girls are conditioned from an early age to believe that being agreeable, accommodating, compliant, and pleasant are desirable feminine qualities. Assertiveness, competitiveness, and even aggression, on the other hand, are traditionally associated with masculinity.
And because women have historically been taught that being attractive and likable is important to their success, particularly in relation to men, they may learn to suppress qualities that could make them appear intimidating or difficult.
This isn’t just confined to romantic relationships. It can affect how girls relate to teachers, authority figures, and eventually employers. In some environments, girls even learn that displaying their intelligence can make them less attractive to boys. Speaking up in class, knowing the answers, or outperforming male classmates may come with social consequences.
I was fortunate to spend my formative educational years in single-sex schools, where we were encouraged to be intelligent, academically successful, and intellectually curious. We didn’t have to worry about whether demonstrating our abilities would make us less appealing to boys. Not every girl has that experience.
For some, the lessons begin early: Don’t be too smart. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too ambitious. Don’t make other people uncomfortable.
And those nice little girls often grow up to become nice women. Niceness has a price. It shows up in our paychecks, in our safety, and in how much of our lives we feel entitled to claim as our own.
The Professional Price of Niceness
The conditioning doesn’t disappear when women enter the workplace. In fact, it can have significant professional and financial consequences.
Research on gender and professional advancement has examined differences in self-promotion and willingness to pursue opportunities. Some studies suggest that women face greater social penalties for self-promotion (Rudman, 1998; Moss-Racusin & Rudman, 2010), while men may feel freer to put themselves forward (Exley & Kessler, 2022). These are tendencies, not rules, but they raise an important question: how much talent goes unrecognized when women are discouraged from making their accomplishments visible?
And in the professional world, advocating for yourself is essential. If you want a promotion, you often have to make your accomplishments visible. If you believe you deserve a raise, you need to be willing to ask for it. And if you’re running a business, you must be able to articulate the value of your services and stand behind your fees.
As a consultant, I know how important this is. Organizations sometimes engage in what we call scope creep. You’ve negotiated a contract, established the deliverables, and agreed upon compensation. Then the client begins requesting additional work beyond the original agreement.
Sometimes, as a business owner, you may decide to accommodate a reasonable request. But you must also be willing to say, “No, that falls outside the scope of our agreement,” or negotiate additional compensation. If you’re more concerned with being nice than protecting the value of your work, you can easily find yourself doing more than you agreed to for the same amount of money. And that’s not good business.
There is also a double standard in how assertiveness is perceived. In his work on organizational leadership, Patrick Lencioni emphasizes the value of productive conflict: teams need to debate ideas openly, sometimes passionately, to arrive at better decisions (Lencioni, 2002).
Yet women who engage in that same passionate debate may be perceived as aggressive, hostile, or difficult. We’re expected to advocate for our positions, but apparently we’re supposed to do it with a smile on our faces.
Showing frustration, irritation, or anger can carry professional consequences that men engaging in similar behavior may not experience. For African American women, this double standard can be particularly damaging because of the persistent stereotype of the “angry Black woman.” An African American woman expressing herself assertively or passionately may find her behavior interpreted through both gendered and racial stereotypes.
The result is that women may learn to moderate not only what they say but how they say it, continually managing other people’s perceptions rather than simply expressing themselves. And that takes energy.
When Being Nice Becomes Dangerous
Perhaps one of the most troubling consequences of conditioning girls and women to be agreeable and avoid confrontation is the potential impact on their physical and emotional safety.
Consider the early stages of sexual harassment. A coworker begins making inappropriate jokes. An acquaintance becomes overly familiar. Someone repeatedly touches a woman’s shoulder or back in ways that make her uncomfortable.
She may recognize that something doesn’t feel right, but hesitate to speak up. She doesn’t want to make a scene. She doesn’t want to embarrass anyone. She doesn’t want to be accused of overreacting or misinterpreting someone’s intentions.
And that hesitation can create opportunities for someone who is deliberately testing boundaries. A person who gets away with one inappropriate touch may attempt another. Someone whose sexual comments go unchallenged may become increasingly explicit.
This does not mean assertiveness can prevent every assault, nor does silence make a woman responsible for someone else’s misconduct. But when a person is testing boundaries, speaking up early may interrupt an escalating pattern.
Women need to know that they have the right to say, “Don’t touch me.” They have the right to tell someone to back up, stop making inappropriate comments, or leave them alone. And sometimes that means making a scene.
Whether on public transportation, in a crowded nightclub, or in the workplace, women should not feel obligated to prioritize another person’s comfort over their own physical boundaries. Of course, the safest response depends on the circumstances. Sometimes confrontation is appropriate; other times leaving or seeking assistance is the better choice.
The point is that being polite should never take precedence over protecting yourself.
When Women Refuse to Be Silent
We need only look at the recent sexual assault allegations involving members of a Cornell University fraternity and the public reaction to the woman who brought those allegations to see how deeply these expectations remain embedded in our culture.
Rather than focusing exclusively on the allegations and the available evidence, some public commentary has turned toward questioning the woman’s credibility, appearance, and motives. Megyn Kelly’s reported remarks about the woman’s attractiveness are particularly troubling. “I’m just going to be honest, she’s not the most attractive gal,” said the media personality. “She’s extremely beefy in her arms and her legs.” Kelly went on to suggest that the young woman should be grateful for the attention (Media Matters, October 5, 2026).
What does a woman’s physical attractiveness have to do with whether she was sexually assaulted? Very little. For decades, researchers have recognized that sexual violence is not driven by attraction (Lisak & Roth, 1988). It is driven far more by hostility toward women, entitlement, and a desire for power and control (Malamuth et al., 2021).
And then there’s all this concern about ruining these young men’s reputations and futures. But why is that responsibility being placed on the woman who came forward? If these men engaged in the conduct they’re accused of, their own actions jeopardized their futures, not her decision to report them.
Anyone accused of a crime deserves due process. Allegations must be investigated, and guilt should not be presumed. But due process does not require vilifying the person who makes a report.
To me, this reflects the same message women have been receiving since childhood: Don’t make trouble. Don’t embarrass anyone. Don’t make people uncomfortable. Be nice. Even when you’ve been harmed.
The Heroine’s Quest
Remember that place in the background, assisting someone else? For many women, that’s where the good-girl conditioning finally settles: in the expectation that caretaking is our primary job and our time belongs to whoever needs it. Many of us have been taught that putting ourselves first is selfish, even when we are pursuing ambitions of our own.
I know this struggle intimately. For years, I’ve tried to negotiate between the life I want to live and the expectations placed upon me. In the language of the Heroine’s Quest, I’ve tried to keep one foot on the path of adventure while keeping the other in the Ordinary World. I explored this struggle more personally in my essay, “When Fulfilling Your Mission Means Breaking the Rules.”
But time and energy are finite. I have work I want to accomplish, books I want to write, things I want to create, and a mission I want to fulfill. Every hour I spend meeting someone else’s expectations is an hour I cannot devote to those pursuits.
There is a real opportunity cost to compulsory caretaking. When a woman’s time is treated as a free commodity, the resources she needs to support herself, develop her talents, and pursue her ambitions are diminished.
And if her time isn’t already allocated to a husband, children, or some other recognized responsibility, it may be treated as available. Apparently, if you’re not taking care of someone else, you must have time to spare. But why is that someone never you?
I’ve come to recognize that I cannot spend the rest of my life negotiating with a system that expects me to subordinate my mission to other people’s demands. Systems that benefit from compliance generally have little incentive to surrender those benefits voluntarily.
At some point, the heroine has to stop fighting for permission to leave the Ordinary World and answer the Call to Adventure. That doesn’t mean abandoning everyone she loves. Helping others is also part of the journey.
Companions on the Journey
One of the essential stages of the Heroine’s Quest is the Return with the Elixir: bringing back something of value to share with others. But the heroine must have the opportunity to undertake the quest before she can return with anything at all.
Dorothy, in The Wiz and The Wizard of Oz, meets the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion along her journey. Each is seeking something, and she chooses to help them. But she doesn’t abandon her own mission. She invites them to accompany her to see the Wizard.
And they help her, too. They support and protect her as they overcome obstacles together. Their relationship is reciprocal: each pursues something important while helping the others along the way.
None of them insists that Dorothy abandon her quest to attend to his needs. They accept the help she freely offers while supporting her mission. That help is her choice, not an obligation imposed on her.
That’s very different from a heroine continually summoned back to the Ordinary World to meet someone else’s expectations. How can you move toward your destination when you’re constantly required to turn around?
Batman answers the Bat-Signal because protecting Gotham City is the mission he has chosen. Batman answers the Bat-Signal, not a call from his mom.
Now, admittedly, these heroic tales often conveniently eliminate the parents, thereby relieving the hero of certain familial obligations. But the point remains: the hero or heroine must distinguish between a call aligned with their purpose and a demand reflecting someone else’s expectation of their availability.
That doesn’t mean we stop caring about others. It means recognizing that our lives belong to us, and we have the right to decide how we will use them.
For women rewarded for compliance, that can be a radical realization. We don’t have to wait for permission to pursue our own missions or spend our lives negotiating with people who benefit from our willingness to put ourselves last.
When we tell children to be good girls or boys, what are we usually asking? We’re asking them to behave, follow instructions, and do what they’re told. In other words, we’re asking for obedience.
But being obedient is not the same as being a good person. A person can be obedient without possessing integrity, compassion, or a sense of justice. Conversely, someone can challenge authority, refuse to comply, and make other people uncomfortable while acting with tremendous integrity.
Both boys and girls hear messages about obedience, but girls often face additional expectations about being sweet, pleasant, and accommodating. Those qualities become intertwined with our understanding of what it means to be a good woman.
And if sweetness is genuinely part of our nature, as I believe it is part of mine, we don’t have to give that up either. But we can also be assertive. We can be ambitious. We can speak up when something is wrong. We can say no. We can get angry when anger is warranted. And we can pursue our own dreams without apologizing for making them a priority.
Because ultimately, being a good person isn’t about obedience. It’s about integrity, compassion, and respect, including respect for ourselves.
You can be a good person without being a good girl or a good boy.
And perhaps it’s time we stopped trying so hard to be good girls and started giving ourselves permission to become the heroines of our own stories.
