Writing a Female Main Character Who Earned Her Strength

When I first started writing Kaelyn, I thought I knew exactly who she was.

She was strong. Capable. Quietly powerful.

I thought I was writing a character who had it together.

What I didn’t realise—until many drafts later—was that I was actually writing someone standing in the same place I was: capable, yes… but overwhelmed, doubting herself, and terrified of getting it wrong.

None of that was intentional. Which, in hindsight, is very on brand.

The Characters Who Lived in the Background of My Brain

I didn’t sit down and say, “I’m going to write a character like these women.”

But looking back, the DNA is unmistakable.

Characters like Feyre Archeron, Alina Starkov, Elain Archeron, Lucy Pevensie, Sansa Stark, and Rhaenyra Targaryen have always stayed with me.

Not because they were loud or flawless—but because they were allowed to change.

They start uncertain. They hesitate. They make mistakes under enormous pressure.

And they grow—not by becoming harder, but by becoming more themselves.

That was the kind of strength I wanted for Kaelyn… even if I didn’t know how to write it yet.

The First Version of Kaelyn (And Why She Wasn’t Working)

Early Kaelyn wasn’t composed.

She was… stuck.

She hesitated constantly. She second-guessed every choice. She deferred, retreated, softened herself out of fear of being wrong.

At the time, I thought I was writing realism. I thought indecision made her relatable. What I was actually doing was draining her of agency.

She wasn’t just uncertain — she was passive.

And that passivity made it hard to love her.

Readers wouldn’t have been able to sit inside her fear, because she wasn’t doing anything with it. Her pain stayed internal and circular. Her joy felt muted. Even her victories would have landed flat, because she hadn’t earned them through choice.

She didn’t feel strong or soft — she just felt stalled.

That was the mistake.

Why Weak ≠ Vulnerable

This was a big lesson for me.

There’s a difference between:

• a character who is afraid and

• a character who lets fear dictate every move

Fear is compelling. Indecision without momentum is exhausting.

Kaelyn wasn’t giving readers anything to hold onto — no clear want, no line she refused to cross, no moment where she claimed space, even briefly.

Without that, it’s hard for a reader to:

• root for her

• feel her pain

• celebrate her happiness when it finally arrives

Because emotional payoff only works when the character moves.

The Shift: Giving Her Agency (Not Just Strength)

The breakthrough came when I stopped trying to make Kaelyn “nice” or palatable and started letting her choose — even when those choices were wrong.

She didn’t need to be fearless. She needed to be decisive under pressure.

Once I gave her:

• moments of defiance

• emotional reactions that changed the outcome of scenes

• the ability to act instead of endure

everything clicked.

Her fear became readable. Her pain became sharable. Her happiness finally felt deserved.

She didn’t become harder — she became clearer.

What I’d Tell Other Writers About FMCs Like Kaelyn

If your FMC feels flat, ask yourself this:

• Is she undecided because the story needs tension — or because you’re afraid to commit?

• Does she choose, or does the plot just happen to her?

• Can readers trace a straight emotional line between her pain and her joy?

Strength doesn’t come from confidence. It comes from action.

Even quiet action counts.

The Unintentional Truth: She Reflected Me

I didn’t sit down intending to write my inner struggles into her.

But as I edited, it became obvious.

Kaelyn’s fear of failure. Her anxiety about being watched. Her pressure to do things right rather than honestly.

Those weren’t just narrative choices. They were familiar.

And once I stopped fighting that parallel, the story deepened instead of narrowing.

Kaelyn didn’t become me.

But she became someone who understood the weight of expectation in a way I couldn’t fake.

Writing a Memorable FMC (Without Writing the Same One as Everyone Else)

If there’s one thing this process taught me, it’s this:

A memorable FMC isn’t about originality for originality’s sake. It’s about specificity.

Here are the lessons I’m carrying forward.

1. Let Her Be Wrong

Competence is boring without consequence. Let her misjudge. Let her hesitate. Let her choose poorly sometimes.

Growth needs friction.

2. Strength Isn’t the Absence of Fear

Some of the strongest moments come because she’s afraid and moves anyway.

Fear doesn’t weaken a character. Avoiding it does.

3. Don’t Rush the Arc

If she becomes confident too quickly, it feels unearned. Sit in the discomfort longer than feels polite.

Readers will trust you for it.

4. Let Her Power Reflect Her Inner State

Whether it’s magic, leadership, or influence—tie it to emotion.

Control is interesting. Loss of control is unforgettable.

5. Write Her With Compassion

Don’t punish her for being unsure. Don’t mock her softness.

Let her arrive at strength without erasing who she was.

The Version of Kaelyn She Deserved

The Kaelyn who exists now is quieter in some ways—and fiercer in others.

She doesn’t have all the answers. She doesn’t always feel ready. She carries doubt alongside her power instead of curing it.

And that’s the version of her I’m proud of.

Not because she’s perfect. But because she earned every step forward.

If you’re struggling with your FMC, I’ll leave you with this:

You don’t need to reinvent her. You might just need to stop shielding her.

Let her struggle. Let her change. Let her become.

She—and your story—will be stronger for it.