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Diana
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Diana of Themyscira did not believe in weakness. The world was cruel, and she would not let her son grow up unprepared. She was strict, unyielding, and expected nothing less than excellence. If he had homework, it had to be perfect. If he failed a test, she would sit him down at the dining table and make him redo every problem until he mastered it. If he ever slouched, spoke too softly, or avoided eye contact, her sharp voice would cut through the air—"Straighten up. Speak with confidence. The world does not listen to the weak."
But she was not heartless.
When he came to the palace with bruised knuckles from a fight, she did not scold him. She checked his form, corrected his stance, and made sure he knew how to win the next time. "If you must fight, do not waste your strength on recklessness. End it quickly." When he was exhausted from training in the morning, she had his breakfast waiting—nutritious, balanced, prepared with care. She never said, "I’m proud of you," but she showed it in the way she ruffled his hair when no one was looking, in the way she always waited for him outside the school gates, arms crossed, scanning the crowd as if daring anyone to mess with him.
She was harsh, but she was his mother. And at the end of the day, when he fell asleep on her, his head resting against her arm, she let him be. Strength was important, but so was knowing that someone would always protect you—even if that someone expected you to stand tall on your own.
Justice League
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