Outnumbered but Unstoppable

Being the youngest of four kids and the only girl in the family meant I grew up in a world ruled by brothers. There was no room for frilly dresses or dainty tea parties—not when the yard was already a football field, a baseball diamond, and a wrestling ring rolled into one. If I wanted to keep up (and trust me, I did), I had to learn quickly that scraped knees, grass stains, and stubbornness were part of the uniform.

I was the little shadow who trailed behind them, determined to prove I wasn’t just “the baby.” When they picked up a football, I begged to join in—though at first my throws wobbled like ducks falling from the sky. I remember the day one of my brothers finally stopped laughing long enough to teach me how to grip the laces. “Fingers here, wrist like this,” he said, and after a hundred tries, something clicked. The ball spun out of my hands in a perfect spiral, cutting through the air like it belonged there. For a split second, I felt invincible. From then on, I wasn’t just the tagalong—I was part of the game.

Baseball wasn’t much different. I didn’t just want to toss underhand or “like a girl,” as they used to tease. No, I wanted my throw to sting their palms when they caught it. I watched their arms, studied their stances, and practiced until my shoulder ached. The first time I fired the ball back to them with speed and snap, the look on their faces was priceless—part pride, part surprise, part “uh oh, she’s not messing around.”

Being a tomboy wasn’t something I decided; it was survival. If I wanted a seat at the table—or more often, a place in the backyard—it meant climbing trees, racing bikes down gravel roads, and learning how to hold my own in any argument. It meant I could take a hit, laugh at a joke that was maybe half at my expense, and then come back the next day ready for more.

And yet, as much as I tried to be one of them, I think being the youngest and only girl gave me a secret advantage. I got to learn from all their mistakes, soak up all their toughness, and still make my own path. They toughened me up, but they also shaped me into someone who knew how to fight for her place and never back down.

Looking back, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Sure, I was outnumbered, but I was never left out. My brothers may have teased me, tackled me, and tested me, but they also taught me how to throw, how to stand tall, and how to believe I was every bit as strong as them. And maybe stronger.

Because let’s be honest—being the youngest and the only girl? That made me unstoppable.