What does Virago mean?
Some words carry more history than they let on.
Virago is, today, an insult.
Look it up in a modern dictionary and you'll find something like: a loud, overbearing woman. A scold. A shrew.
It has been used for centuries to silence women who speak too directly, lead too confidently, or take up too much space.
But that is not what Virago means. That is what Virago became — and there is a significant difference.
In ancient Rome, Virago was a title.
A woman of extraordinary strength, courage, and bravery. A woman who stood as an equal among men — not by diminishing herself, but by the force of who she was. Intelligence. Valor. Presence.
It was a word a woman could earn. It meant she stood as an equal among men — not by diminishing herself, but by the force of who she was. Intelligence. Valor. Presence. These were the qualities that earned a woman the name Virago.
It was not given lightly. And it was not an insult.
I wasn't willing to take the internet's word for this. So I went to the source — a professor in the Classics Department at the University of Washington. I sat down with her, and she pulled every reference to Virago from the Latin texts of ancient Rome. Every usage. Every context.
What she found confirmed what I had hoped: the original meaning was one of celebration. Of recognition. Of a woman being seen fully and named accordingly.
Why I took it back.
Somewhere along the way, the word was turned. A title that once honored women who led became a slur used against them. Loud. Abrasive. Too much.
I find that telling. The qualities that earned a woman honor in ancient Rome — speaking with authority, leading with courage, refusing to shrink — became, over time, the qualities used to dismiss her.
I don't think that's fair. And I'm not interested in accepting it.
Virago Coaching is, in part, an act of reclamation. A decision to take the word back, restore its original meaning, and plant a flag for every woman who has been called too much, too direct, too loud — and who knows, in her bones, that those were never insults at all.
What it means for the women I work with.
The leaders who find me are often navigating a particular kind of tension. They are accomplished. They are respected. And they are also, quietly, aware that they have spent years managing how they are perceived — softening edges, modulating tone, making themselves easier to receive.
The work we do together is, in part, about releasing that. About leading from the fullness of who you are rather than a carefully edited version of it.
That is what Virago means to me. Not loudness for its own sake. But the courage to be fully yourself — in the room, in the role, in the work.
That was worth something in ancient Rome. It is worth something now.
Ready to lead as your full self?
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