Our True Identity: Daughters of the King
True Freedom Begins with Knowing We Are Daughters of the King
True freedom begins when we have the conviction that we are daughters of the King — that we belong to Someone greater, to something far more beautiful than what this world can ever think of offering us.
This truth has been sitting heavy on my heart these past two weeks. I’ve been reflecting so much on what it means to live out our motherhood from the truth of our identity — that before we were mothers, before we were wives, before we ever held a baby in our arms or carried the weight of responsibility, we were first and always daughters.
And not just any daughters… but daughters of the King.
I’ve been pondering how deeply our experience of being little girls — from the time we were conceived, to our earliest memories, to our teenage years — shapes the women and mothers we become. So much of who we are is influenced by the way we were loved, spoken to, and seen. And sometimes, if we’re honest, there are wounds there. There are moments that marked us — some positively, but others that left scars we may not even realize we carry. And unfortunately, our hearts often replay the negative ones more than the good.
When we don’t bring those places of our story to God, the world is more than ready to fill in the gaps with its own version of “truth.” It whispers lies like: You’re not enough. You should be doing more. You’re only valuable if you’re seen or productive. And before we know it, we start living from a place of striving instead of resting — trying to earn love, instead of receiving it as daughters.
In one of my episodes I talk a bit about resting in God and how we need to be taking a time to pause and reflect. I invite you to listen to it here.
But here’s the reality: we were never
meant to earn love — we were created for it.
“I am loved even here. I am chosen even now. I am seen by the One who made me.”
The Catechism tells us that freedom is “the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act” — in other words, freedom means living in truth (CCC 1731). Real freedom isn’t doing whatever we want; it’s choosing what is good, beautiful, and true — and that starts with knowing who we are.
When we forget that we are God’s daughters, we become enslaved — not in visible chains, but in invisible ones: comparison, self-doubt, fear, resentment, exhaustion. But when we begin to believe again that we belong to a loving Father who delights in us, that’s when peace begins to grow back into our hearts. That’s when our souls breathe again.
And yet, even when we know this truth, we still fall. We are not only marked by our fallen nature or by the traumas of our past — we are also wounded by the moments when we give in to temptation, when we sin, when we fall short of the love we desire to give. It can be discouraging, especially when we’re trying to walk with God sincerely and still find ourselves stumbling over the same weaknesses.
There’s a moment in The Chosen that has stayed with me — the episode where Mary Magdalene returns to Jesus after having fallen back into her old habits. She is ashamed, broken, and afraid even to look at Him. You can see the pain in her face — that sense of “I thought I was past this. I thought I was better than this.” And yet, when she finally approaches Jesus, He doesn’t reject her. He simply welcomes her back.
I know it’s just a show, but that moment captures something so true about our own journey. There are times when we fall so deeply into shame that we can’t even lift our eyes toward Heaven. We hide, we avoid prayer, we stop believing we’re worthy of returning. But Jesus always waits. He doesn’t see our failures as final — He sees the effort, the desire to begin again.
And that’s what matters: not perfection, but perseverance.
Inspiring Saints: Let’s Read About These Woman
If we strive each day, even in the smallest steps — a short prayer when we’re tired, an act of patience when we’d rather react, a humble “Lord, help me do better” when we mess up — we are on the path of sanctity. That’s how the saints did it. They didn’t wake up perfect; they simply kept saying “yes” one day at a time, even after they fell.
Look at St. Joan of Arc, young and courageous, who believed God had chosen her for a mission that made no sense to the world. Her confidence came not from pride, but from her daughterly trust: “I am not afraid; I was born to do this.”
St. Thérèse of Lisieux — so small in the world’s eyes, yet so great in God’s. She found her identity not in accomplishments but in being loved. “It is confidence and nothing but confidence that must lead us to Love,” she said. She lived as a little child resting in her Father’s arms — and that simple faith transformed the Church.
Then there’s St. Maria Goretti, barely twelve years old, who chose purity and forgiveness even in the face of violence. Her courage came from knowing her worth as a daughter of God was not negotiable.
And how could we not think of Our Lady, the perfect model of daughterhood? Mary’s fiat — her “yes” to God — was rooted in complete trust in her Father’s love. She wasn’t afraid of what she didn’t understand, because she knew the One who asked.
Or Mary Magdalene, whose heart was healed by Jesus’ gaze of mercy. She was no longer defined by her past, but by the love that set her free.
And St. Catherine of Siena, who burned with boldness and truth, reminding us even today: “Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.”
All these women lived as daughters before they lived any other title — and from that identity flowed their mission, their holiness, and their strength.
The world will keep trying to rob us of this truth. It will tell us that faith is outdated, that motherhood holds us back, that womanhood must prove itself, that our worth lies in how much we produce. But the more we give power to those lies, the more we drift away from the life God created us for — a life of freedom, joy, and deep purpose.
As mothers, when we begin to heal our daughterhood, we begin to mother differently. We nurture with tenderness, not perfectionism. We give space for our children to be imperfect and still loved — because we’ve experienced that same love ourselves. And if we’re not mothers yet, or if our motherhood looks different than we imagined, that same truth still stands: the world needs women who live fully as beloved daughters. Women who radiate trust, who bring gentleness to the chaos, who stand firm in truth without losing compassion.
Because the world doesn’t need more noise or more pressure — it needs women who know whose they are.
True freedom isn’t found in independence, but in belonging. It’s the freedom that lets us say, “I am loved even here. I am chosen even now. I am seen by the One who made me.”
So today, I just want to remind your heart — and mine — that we are not forgotten. We are not defined by what we’ve done or what we lack. We are beloved daughters of the King.
Let’s walk with the courage of Joan, the confidence of Thérèse, the purity of Maria Goretti, the surrender of Mary, and the boldness of Catherine.
Let’s live as daughters who know their Father, because when we do — we not only find true freedom, we also become the light the world is desperate to see.
Pause & Reflect
Take a quiet moment with your journal or in prayer, and invite the Holy Spirit to speak gently to your heart.
When I think about being a daughter of the King, what emotions rise in me — peace, doubt, resistance, comfort? Why might that be?
How have the experiences from my own childhood — both the joys and the wounds — shaped how I live my motherhood or womanhood today?
What is one small, intentional step I can take this week to live more freely and confidently in my identity as God’s beloved daughter?
