Two days ago my niece gave birth to a lovely healthy baby girl. I have not seen her in person, but I enjoy gazing at pictures of her tranquil sleeping face. There is nothing more beautiful and hopeful than seeing a new, unscarred human being. She is pure potential, an antidote to the world’s troubles. She is named Radley after my deceased father, whose name was Bradlee. My husband saw a picture of Radley and mistook her for a boy. An amusing text thread among my family members followed, assuring Radley that it’s okay if she eventually chooses not to be a girl.

As I write this it is International Women’s Day. Over the years I have thought a lot and written a lot about what it means to be a woman. This has been the subject of most of my fiction: how women carve out places for themselves in a culture that disrespects them, spurns them, abuses them, and generally regards them as second-class citizens. Mary Ann Sieghart sums up the plight of women succinctly in her new book The Authority Gap: Why Women Ares Still Taken Less Seriously Than Men and What We can Do about It. “All of us—to a greater or lesser extent, and often without realizing it—tend to expect less of women, listen to them less attentively and feel uncomfortable with them in positions of authority.” Who can honestly dispute this after having seen how Hillary Clinton was treated when she aspired to hold the most powerful political position in the world?

When I was young I was angry about this inferior status of women. I fought for the right to abortion, and I believed the world would be better off if we were all androgynous. I wrote a play about that which had a small production in New York. Years later I am still angry—or angry again?—but I have made peace with being a woman.

I would, given the choice, still prefer to be endowed with the XX chromosomes, part of the homogametic sex. I have come to believe that women possess special powers in body, spirit, and intellect. Our innate power to create and nurture new members of our species—even among those of us who are infertile or choose not to bear children—has far-reaching implications for how we approach the world. We are given to thinking about what conditions will enable our progeny and fellow species members to thrive. We tend to prefer harmony to conflict. We are often the members of society who attend to teaching, helping, healing so as to improve the overall wellbeing of society. When we lead we tend to do so by building community, supporting one another and creating conditions for problem-solving and creativity. It goes without saying that not all women are like this. There are some women who, in order to acquire power and status, emulate male styles but, in my experience, this is not the choice most women make.

In the years I have spent on Earth—which are quickly adding up—I have found that most women have a magical spark that I want to connect with, an understanding of the invisible forces at work in the world, the mirror neurons that connect us, the conversations happening in the roots of trees and among all natural creatures, the possibilities in the world we have not yet discovered. In any room full of strangers I am likely to gravitate to the women. To initiate a conversation with another woman is usually seamless. Unlike conversations with men, there is an assumption that we women all stand on the same level, with equal power. I don’t have to worry about other women lecturing me. Ease is easy to come by.

I grew up in a family dominated by women: grandmother, mother, aunt, sisters. Other than my father there weren’t many men around until my sisters and I married. Everyone loved to sing and some could harmonize. The sound of women’s voices singing represents, for me, supreme happiness.

Now my two sisters, four nieces, our partners, my son, and I are welcoming little Radley into the world with great excitement. I worry about the world she is entering, but I am hopeful that she will have the skills to navigate whatever happens. I hope she enjoys the magical qualities of being a woman. And, if she decides to transition down the line, or identify as male, I hope she retains a vivid memory of the joy and special power of being a woman.

Happy International Women’s Day (belatedly) and Happy Women’s History Month. Someday, maybe the hegemony of women will makes such celebrations obsolete.