Lioness Within Me

April is here—

or actually, it was. Now it’s May, and with the last two months feeling like a rollercoaster ride, I didn’t get to post my April blog. Mommyhood (and all the other hoods) took over. So, I’ve decided to merge my April daughter post with May’s mama-land reflections.

This month, I’m blending what I had planned to write in April—about my daughter’s birthday—with what I want to reflect on in May, a time when we honor the strength of mothers, women, and the legacies we carry and pass on.

Back to the story…

April has me thinking of my daughter’s birthday and the story behind her name.

When my husband and I narrowed down names and Aria came up, its meaning stood out to me: Lioness. Shining brightly. I chose it with intention, knowing I wanted her to carry the strength, courage, and resilience that a lioness represents. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how much she would have to live out those qualities—even before she was born.

She fought to be here.

I remember one incident at work that became so intense it almost didn’t feel real. A serious threat was unfolding. I was visibly pregnant—and yet, I had to lead. I remember holding my belly so tightly, tracking my breath, doing everything I could to stay calm and protect not only those around me, but her, my daughter growing inside me. Myself and others were nervous—how could I lead through an emergency while expecting? But there was this stillness inside me. A quiet strength. A gut feeling that she would be okay. That we would be okay.

The second moment came like a tidal wave. I was seven months pregnant when I received the call—my mother had passed. We had just spoken about baby shower plans. She pushed me on our last call to add more things to the registry. And then she was gone.

I wanted to run to the hospital. I couldn’t accept the news. But in that very moment, something told me: If you leave now, you’ll lose her. I had already lost one enormous part of me—I couldn’t lose my baby too. So I sat in my mother’s living room and wept.

I had nothing left to give—but somehow, she did. She stayed put. She held on inside me. She endured what I could not. She lived in my body while I mourned the woman who had given me life.

People warned me: Be careful with how you morn. The grief is too much. You might lose her.

But I felt her—steadfast, strong, unshaken.

She grew.

She thrived.

And now, if you’ve ever met her, you know—she is a lioness in every way.

Fierce. Fearless. A tiny advocate who speaks her mind and stands her ground.

(Though yes, she definitely needs to work on compromise!)

She inspires me.

To be Fierce.

To be Fearless.

To question whether I’ve kept my own roar on mute.

Because lionesses aren’t just wild animals—they’re symbols of instinct, strength, nurturing, and protection. They lead. They endure. They survive.

And in this month where we celebrate mothers, I want to say this:

It’s okay if you’ve felt far removed from your strength.

It’s okay if life has dimmed your roar.

I’ve been there.

But if my two-year-old can channel her inner lioness through birth, loss, and life, then so can we.

So to the women who feel tired, forgotten, or silenced…

This is your reminder:

You are still a lioness.

Your strength might look quiet. It might look broken. But it is still yours.

Arise. Fight. Roar.

Even if the roar is soft at first—let it come back to life.

Happy Birthday, Aria.

Thank you for reminding me who I am and what’s inside of me.

And to every woman reading this:

I hope you remember too.

With love,

Gesai