The Only Girl in the Game
Resilient by Design
In our feature story in a heartfelt reflection on her formative years, Carmen Jones delves into how being the lone girl in a boy-dominated neighborhood wasn't just a circumstanceāit was a crucible that forged her character. Carmen is the editor of our Which Doctor segment. Each article will feature relatable stories, practical advice, and reflections on resilience as a cornerstone of health and wellness. Experiences serve as a powerful tool to inspire, motivate, and educate about overcoming challenges. Whatās yours?
Off Script In the wake of New Orleans' devastation, our hearts are now further burdened as we witness the Los Angeles community endure their own tragedy.
The Only Girl in the Game: Stories of Strength and Growth
Growing up as the only girl in a neighborhood full of boys shaped me in ways I am still unpacking to this day. My childhood was filled with the rough-and-tumble joys of climbing trees, racing bikes, wrestling, and playing sports. It was a life that thrilled me to my coreāa world of athleticism and competition that fueled my spirit and built my resilience.
I didn't care much for tea parties or playing dress up; I preferred the adrenaline rush of a good street game or the satisfaction of scoring baskets playing pick-up ball. Because I carried my load in whatever we were doing, the boys embraced me in their inner circles and saw me as their friend and peer, and I wore that badge with pride.
Of course, the adults in my life didnāt always see it that way. Many of them, particularly the older women, would gently (or not-so-gently) suggest that I should be more ladylike.
āWhy donāt you help in the kitchenā theyād say, or āA girl shouldnāt be out there getting dirty.ā
But I had no desire to be inside. I wanted to be outside playing with my brother and his friends. I wanted to be in the thick of it, challenging myself, proving my worth, and reveling in the freedom that came with being fast, athletic, and bold.
One memory stands out sharply in my mind. I was maybe nine or ten years old, out riding bikes with the boys on a summer afternoon. We were zipping down the street, laughing and shouting, when an older man in a car pulled up beside us. He called out, offering us sweets and urging us to come closer to the car. Something in his tone made my stomach tighten. My friends and I exchanged a quick, knowing glance, and without a word, we scattered like birds startled into flight. Our parents had drilled into us the importance of staying away from strangers, and that day, their warnings saved us. Looking back, I shudder to think how easily things could have turned out differently.
That moment taught me not only the value of vigilance but also the power of communityāhow we looked out for one another, even in the most casual, unspoken ways.
Amid all this, I found inspiration in Jane Kennedy.
She was a revelation to meāa stunningly beautiful woman who broke barriers, not just in beauty pageants but also as an athlete and a trailblazer. She was proof that you didnāt have to choose between strength and grace, between being competitive and being feminine. Her success made it feel a little more possible for someone like me to exist in the fullness of who I was. She was my reminder that I didnāt have to fit into a narrow mold of what a girl should be. I could be both fierce and elegant, both tough and tender.
Resilient by Design
Today, as I reflect on those formative years, I realize how much they taught me about resilience. They taught me to trust my instincts, to push through societal expectations, and to embrace my passions unapologetically. They also taught me that heroes like Jane Kennedy matter. Seeing her break through barriers gave me permission to imagine a bigger life for myselfāone where I could lead with my competitive spirit and still be embraced for all that I am.
I carry those lessons with me now, as a health educator, coach, and advocate. Theyāre woven into the fabric of how I approach my work and how I encourage the young people I mentor. Whether Iām in a classroom, on a field, or writing for my Substack community, Iām reminded of the little girl I wasāthe one who didnāt let anyone tell her what she couldnāt do.
And every time I push through a challenge or help someone else do the same, Iām grateful for the resilience that grew from that scrappy, competitive, bike riding, Ali - watching childhood.
The haunting echoes of Katrina resurface as we witness Los Angeles burn. Each news alert, each desperate call from family and friends, stirs memories of that familiar helplessness and fear of the unknown. While many may have to turn away from the overwhelming TV coverage, we cannot turn away from those in need. The uncertainty that grips Los Angeles families today mirrors what we experienced during Katrinaāand now is the time for us to channel our understanding of that pain into meaningful support for our LA neighbors in crisis.
