by Dr. May Ikeora-Amamgbo
There is a particular kind of heartbreak that does not happen loudly. It does not announce itself through dramatic endings or visible collapse. It happens quietly, almost invisibly, in the life of a girl who once spoke freely before she learned to measure herself against the comfort of others.
You can often tell when it begins.
A girl who once answered every question in class suddenly becomes “too quiet.” A child who danced carelessly in the living room becomes aware of how her body moves. A girl who once interrupted conversations with confidence starts apologising before she speaks. Somewhere between childhood and womanhood, many girls begin the slow and careful process of shrinking.
Not physically. Spiritually.
And what is frightening is how normal this process has become.
Girls are taught very early to become aware of themselves in relation to other people’s expectations. Be polite. Be agreeable. Be careful. Be modest. Be nice. Even confidence in girls is often tolerated only when it remains palatable. Assertiveness is admired until it becomes inconvenient. Intelligence is celebrated until it becomes intimidating. Ambition is attractive until it begins to compete with traditional comfort.
So girls learn quickly. They learn how to reduce themselves just enough to remain accepted.
Sometimes it begins at home. A girl watches her brother move through life with freedom while she is taught caution. He is allowed anger. She is taught composure. He is encouraged to explore. She is reminded to behave. Over time, she learns that survival often lies in softness, silence, and self adjustment.
Sometimes it happens in school. Boys are described as confident while girls displaying the same traits are labelled difficult. Girls become hyper aware of being “too loud,” “too emotional,” “too ambitious,” or perhaps the most dangerous label of all, “too much.”
And perhaps that is where shrinking truly begins. In the fear of becoming too much for a world that has grown comfortable with women being less.
What makes this even more complex is that many girls are praised for shrinking. The girl who never complains is called mature. The girl who takes care of everyone else is called responsible. The girl who suppresses her emotions is described as strong. Yet beneath many of these compliments lies emotional adaptation, not emotional health.
Some girls grow up carrying burdens they were never meant to hold. They become caregivers before they fully become children. They manage emotions that are not theirs. They learn to read rooms before they learn to understand themselves. By adulthood, they are highly functional, deeply dependable, and quietly exhausted.
The world often rewards this version of womanhood. The accommodating woman. The endlessly self sacrificing woman. The woman who gives until there is barely anything left of herself.
But something important is lost when a girl learns that love must be earned through reduction.
Because shrinking rarely stops at childhood.
The little girl who learned not to speak too loudly often becomes the woman who struggles to advocate for herself in boardrooms. The girl taught to prioritise everyone else’s comfort becomes the woman who feels guilty for resting. The child who learned to apologise for existing too boldly becomes the adult constantly negotiating her worth.
This is why raising girls requires more than protection. It requires permission. Permission to take up space. Permission to be curious. Permission to fail publicly without shame. Permission to have boundaries without being labelled difficult. Permission to become without constantly editing themselves for acceptance.
And perhaps this conversation matters now more than ever because we are raising girls in an era of relentless visibility. They are growing up under the pressure of performance, comparison, and digital perfection. They are watching women curate identities online while quietly questioning whether they themselves are enough offline.
So the work becomes intentional.
We must raise girls who understand that kindness and confidence are not opposites. That softness is not weakness. That ambition is not arrogance. That their voice is not something to apologise for.
More importantly, we must raise girls who know that shrinking is not the price of belonging.
Because the world does not only shape girls through cruelty. Sometimes it shapes them through repetition. Through subtle correction. Through silence. Through the quiet reward system that praises women most when they are easiest to contain.
But a girl should not have to disappear to be loved.
And perhaps healing for many women begins the moment they realise this. The moment they stop asking themselves how to become smaller, quieter, easier, and instead begin asking a different question entirely.
Who was I before I learned to shrink?
Because somewhere beneath the performance, the pleasing, the perfectionism, and the fear, she is still there. The girl who laughed loudly. The girl who trusted herself. The girl who had not yet confused visibility with danger.
And maybe the real work of womanhood is not becoming someone entirely new.
Maybe it is finding the courage to return to her.
One light at a time.
