What struck me three days ago when I heard the news was how women just stopped.

It happened without exception. Because of the shape of my life, many of the women I talked to that day were journalists. They were all a little quieter. She had been the most powerful woman in newspapers for so long—and she had started on that road by chance. But she became great in her role by dint of will and force of personality.

In her autobiography, Personal History, Graham wrote frankly of her insecurity. It was the kind of insecurity bred in women of her time, an insecurity that became a liability when her husband, Phil Graham, committed suicide, leaving the Post adrift—or so Graham initially thought.

She later wrote eloquently of her tendency—and the tendency of all women—to apologize, her struggle to please those around her. But when it came time to act—as surprised as she was that she was there, in her position—she did. It’s something we all hope we can do. And worry we can’t.

“What I essentially did,” she said, “was to put one foot in front of the other, shut my eyes and step off the ledge. The surprise was that I landed on my feet.”