I know we’re nearing the end of Women’s History Month, so please forgive the late post. Life has been moving fast, but I couldn’t let the month pass without celebrating one remarkable young woman—my beloved daughter, Malaika.

Her name means Angel in Swahili, my native language. It was her father who chose it, and from the moment she arrived, she’s lived up to her name. Malaika has always been an easygoing child—kind-hearted, thoughtful, and rarely giving us the “pre-teen drama” we all hear about.

As many of you know, I didn’t grow up in the United States, so the culture around kids and sports has always fascinated me. I’ve often been amazed by the way some children are enrolled in competitive sports before they can even tie their own shoes, and how committed they (and their parents) are; — hours of practice, and endless tournaments. There’s even that famous quote/rule: “It takes 10,000 hours to master a skill.”

By the time Malaika turned 8, I started to wonder: what sport is her sport?

Like many little girls, she took ballet and dance classes. She also had swim lessons—not for competition, just so she could feel safe and confident in the water. But we hadn’t found the thing yet.

In middle school, she got a taste of a few different sports: volleyball, basketball, and lacrosse. She’s always been tall for her age—she’s now 5’7” at just 12 years old—so I thought maybe, just maybe, sports would be a natural fit.

Fifth grade was what I like to call her “exploratory year.” By sixth grade, she decided to drop basketball and try something new: acting. She played the role of the Evil Queen and absolutely owned it. Unfortunately, she missed lacrosse season due to illness and being out of school for a while.

Then came summer—and something clicked. She asked to attend a pre-season volleyball camp. Two weeks of intense drills, team bonding, and skill-building lit a fire in her. Since then, she hasn’t put her volleyball down.

That commitment I’d been waiting to see when she was 8 finally emerged at 11. And the worry I used to feel slowly melted away. She’s now fully immersed in volleyball. We even joined a private club so she could play competitively. She still has a lot to learn—and, as I like to joke, 9,000 out of the 10,000 hours of practice left to become a master—but she’s 12. Time is on her side.

Malaika has taught me so much. She’s shown me that children bloom in their own time. She’s taught me patience and reminded me that parenting is not a race—it’s a journey. I celebrate Malaika this Women’s History Month. My strong, kind, curious, and resilient daughter, my Angel.

“Here’s to strong women: May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.” – Unknown