Rugby family means showing up. It means 6 AM drives picking up teammates for summer lifts. It means four and a half hours round trip in a car so old it only plays the radio, windows down, sharing gas station snacks and terrible jokes. It means believing in girls who didn't believe in themselves yet, recruiting them not just to fill a roster but to build something real. Rugby family means being your own student section because who shows up for rugby games, much less the girls' one? It means screaming ourselves hoarse from the sideline and celebrating each other because if we don't, who will? It means being kickass contact sport players who hit hard and tackle harder, but still caring about how our braids look before kickoff. It means offering to push hair out of the face of the girl across from you pre-scrum, an act of friendship in the middle of a brutal match. The rugby family is proof that we can be fierce and feminine, that strength doesn't require us to abandon softness. Rugby family is what happens when a group of high school girls becomes a sisterhood. It's the gold medals around our necks and the state championship cup hoisted high, but it's also the way we held each other through a season that tried to break us. It's what came from sitting on the sideline with a concussion, watching my team play without me, and realizing that loving them meant trusting them to win without my hands in the game. For two years and four seasons, I've captained my team. I've received awards: State MVP, Coaches Award, Players Choice, Forward of the Season, the Captain's Award, but none capture what it feels like to lead these girls. Leadership isn't standing above; it's standing among. It's running drills beside them, failing impact tests and crying in frustration, then showing up to practice anyway because they need to see that resilience isn't perfection, it's showing up even when watching them run the bronco hurts more than running it ever did. My rugby family taught me that service isn't a transaction. It's sacrifice. It's hosting bonfires and sleepovers, planning bonding events, and caring so deeply about connection that you make it your mission to turn athletes into sisters. It's the quiet work of building culture: the early mornings, the long drives, the belief that love and effort can forge something unbreakable. In college, I hope to find that same kind of family, whether in a D1 program or a club team. I want to be pushed, to grow as a player and a leader, to learn from women who've been in the fight longer than I have. I want to play alongside people who understand that rugby isn't just a game, it's a proving ground for grit, loyalty, and heart. But my hopes stretch beyond my own playing career. One day, after I've served my country in the military, I dream of coming home. I want to settle back in Tennessee and coach the Father Ryan girls' rugby team. I want to be for them what my coaches were for me. I want to teach the next generation of girls that they are capable of more than they know, that family isn't just given, it's built, one practice, one drive, one act of love at a time. Rugby family means fighting for something greater than yourself. It means believing in each other and showing up because the people beside you are worth it. That's what rugby has given me. And that's what I hope to give back.