Finding Her Voice in Male-Dominated Spaces
How a mother's wisdom shaped a female soldier's journey to earning respect and leading with purpose in a male-dominated military.
Finding My Voice: Lessons in Leadership From the Army
As a veteran of the United States Army, I had to find my voice in a male-dominated profession. What helped me find that voice were the words my mother spoke to me when I was about eight or nine years old.
Sitting in my mother's gold, high-backed chair in her bedroom, she looked at me and said, "Starr, you are a pretty girl."
Then she leaned forward, looked me directly in the eyes, pointed her finger at me, and firmly declared, "But you will NOT use your looks to get what you want—you will use your brain!"
As a little girl, I didn't realize it, but she was teaching me how to stand at the position of attention. Her words demanded stillness, focus, and respect. I simply nodded my head and replied, "Yes, Mom," making sure she knew I heard every word.
Earning Respect in the Army
Years later, when I entered the Army (1989–2006), those words became part of my mindset. During those years, women represented only about 19% of the force compared with 81% men. I learned that earning respect from my male counterparts required excelling in the areas where many male soldiers evaluated female soldiers: physical fitness, military appearance, and technical competence.
Now, I will admit that as a young private, I had to learn how to channel my feminine walk into a soldier's march.
I vividly remember our unit marching about four blocks from one Kaserne to another in Germany. Everyone was in step, the cadence sounded sharp, and we looked great. Completely unaware of my own form, I was happily marching with my fingers stretched out and my arms swinging as though I was strolling through the mall instead of marching in formation.
My arms were supposed to swing approximately nine inches forward and six inches backward, with my hands cupped and thumbs down during the high step. Instead, I looked like I was taking a casual walk.
My noncommissioned officer quickly corrected me.
I never made that mistake again.
My Voice Had to Be Earned
As I progressed through the noncommissioned officer ranks (E-5 through E-8), I understood that my voice had to be earned.
Physical fitness carried as much weight as technical proficiency. If you appeared out of shape or couldn't keep up during a run, earning respect became an uphill battle.
Running was never my strongest event, but I stayed physically fit, consistently passed every Army Physical Fitness Test, maxed my push-ups and sit-ups, and demonstrated perseverance during every unit run.
Appearance also mattered. I took pride in wearing a sharply pressed Battle Dress Uniform (BDU)—properly fitted, not too tight and not too loose. My boots were shining, my uniform was inspection-ready, and my hair always met Army regulations with a neat bun.
When I showed up, people noticed—not because I sought attention, but because I represented excellence.
Most importantly, I mastered my job. I studied regulations, learned policies, took notes from experienced leaders, and never stopped learning. If I didn't know an answer, I researched it until I did.
Because I was intentional, my consistency eventually earned the respect of the male soldiers around me.
Did my looks ever influence someone's first impression? Perhaps.
But it was never because I depended on them. My mother's words remained deeply rooted in my heart.
I found my voice, earned respect, and led with the confidence of Jesus throughout my Army career.
