There is not a time in my life that I remember existing without knowing about “Little Women.” Almost every day I spent home from school in my childhood was spent sitting next to my mom and watching the 1994 version of “Little Women.” As one of my mom’s favorite movies in the world, the story quickly came to hold an incredibly important place in my heart. 

Around the same time, my mom also read me the entirety of the “Little Women” series, from the original book itself through “Jo’s Boys.” I was completely enraptured by the March girls. They felt so real, so tangible to me, so close to me, like I could see bits and pieces of myself mirrored in each one. When Greta Gerwig released her film version of “Little Women” in 2019, I knew that my fate was fully sealed — the March girls would remain some of the dearest fictional characters to me and my own life for all of time. 

“Little Women” follows the four March sisters: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy, as they move through their childhood and into their adulthood during the American Civil War. The story follows the sisters as they lose and find love, chase their dreams and grow up. 

Recently, I rewatched Gerwig’s “Little Women” for the first time in quite a while and found myself dumbfounded. I knew the film was brilliant, but this time around, I was struck by it in a way I had never been before. I cried from almost the beginning to end of the film. There is something about this film that is so particularly striking when you watch in a period where you are moving on from childhood and out into the world. 

You feel the color grade change from brighter in childhood to darker in adulthood deep in your soul. You understand intimately the fear of moving one’s childhood creativity out into the world, and what it means to be a woman trying to find her way. Watching it this time around, the characters didn’t just feel real to me — it felt like they were there with me, that they were almost walking alongside me in my journey, to provide a source of comfort and hope. 

This time around, I couldn’t take my eyes away from Beth in particular. Beth has always been the March sister I felt the closest to, as her quiet strength and gentle soul always felt the most aligned with my own personality. For a long time, I associated a kind of shame with that type of person. I felt like I was too weak-willed — that because I wasn’t as loud and adventurous, there was no way for me to be just as ambitious. I knew that Beth was my mirror, but I didn’t want her to be. I wanted to be more like Jo or Amy. I wanted to be loud and boisterous, intensely ambitious and charismatic. 

I thought that I would find a better way in the world if I acted that way. But it never felt quite right. Trying to be exactly like them made me feel like so much less of me. Then I saw some interviews with Gerwig discussing the film, and in particular discussing Beth. In these interviews, she discussed that of course Beth was ambitious, of course she had dreams. She was a March girl and knew what she wanted just like her sisters. Just because her life ended earlier than the others didn’t mean she didn’t dream. Seeing those interviews, and then watching the film shortly thereafter, I started to let go of some of that shame and instead began to find some pride and joy in being more like Beth. 

This time around, watching Eliza Scanlen’s performance as Beth with those interviews in mind, took my breath away. The quiet strength is so evident the whole time, her wisdom so ever present. Her dreams are dreamed more quietly, but they are there nonetheless. Beth is the beating heart and soul of the story of the March girls. She is their guiding light, their soft, tender-hearted sister, and that matters. 

Beth is just as strong as the other March girls, and she is bursting with kindness and understanding. Beth didn’t spend her whole life just to die. She lived it with kindness, hope and care. I am finally, after all this time, embracing that I may be more like Beth. I am proud of my tender spirit, of the heart that lives on my sleeve. I have fought to be this soft and to love this much, and that does not make me weak. 

I deserve to be proud of that — and slowly but surely, I am. Beth isn’t weak, and she isn’t a pushover. She stands her ground when she needs to, and she has her own established sense of self, even when that self is much quieter and introverted compared to her sisters. Because of Beth, I know that you can both stake a claim to yourself and your values while still choosing love and kindness. I am so thankful to Beth March for helping to teach that to me, and I am so thankful for that tender-hearted girl that’s been there all along.