Big Girl Panties Diaries : Entry: 74 — The Sister Who Holds Us Together (With Gummy Bears, Hugs, and Fierce Love)
This one’s about Anna.
My beautiful, whip-smart, fiercely capable 12-year-old who has been my rock since the day her sister got sick. She is the most mature preteen you’ll ever meet—too smart for her own good and completely unafraid to negotiate her hourly rate (in writing) when she helps me out. Around here, we call it “playing personal assistant,” but make no mistake: she’s the boss.
She builds. She fixes. She cooks like a gourmet chef. She organizes closets, meal preps, and does household chores with the efficiency of someone twice her age. She’s also the official family dog trainer, which means our four-legged friend listens to her better than she does to me. (If Anna had a whistle, I’d probably sit when she told me to.)
Anna has witnessed more than most adults do in a lifetime. She’s sat through emergency room visits, heard scary test results, and joined countless doctor appointments—not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She’s carried the quiet weight of stepping in when Hailey couldn’t, always helping, always doing more. On Hailey’s worst days, Anna will put together a little care package—snacks, dark chocolate, a funny card—because she knows her sister needs more than medicine to feel better.
Sometimes I forget she’s only 12. She carries herself like a mini-CEO, but then I’ll catch her curled up with a stuffed animal, and I’m reminded—she’s still a little girl who’s had to grow up too fast. She might negotiate like a lawyer, but she still insists on gummy bears for road trips and sings Taylor Swift at full volume when she thinks I’m not listening. And when she’s not organizing my life or befriending the friendless, she’s probably FaceTiming three people at once while baking cookies and blasting music loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
Her superpower is her kindness. She’s told me before that her strategy for making friends is to look for the shy kids—the ones standing alone—and make them feel welcome. She’s been doing this since she was little. At age three, she walked up to a little girl who only spoke to the teachers and made a friend. They’re still friends today. Another time, an Asian mom stopped me in Target to tell me how sweet Anna was to her daughter, who didn’t speak English very well. That’s just who she is.
Anna’s also an extrovert in a house of introverts. Hailey and I recharge in the quiet; Anna brings the energy in the door with her. In families, in friendships, and in workplaces, that “bridge person” matters more than we realize. They connect people who might otherwise stay in their own corners. They carry the culture.
The funny thing is, leaders often overcomplicate “engagement.” They’ll throw money at initiatives, host big events, roll out shiny recognition platforms. But you can’t outsource genuine care. Inclusion starts in the small, consistent moments most people overlook. Anna’s “find the shy kid” approach works in boardrooms as well as playgrounds.
Our rescue dog Ash (see Entry #4: Sit, Stay, Panic) taught me about patience and trust—but Anna’s the one who lives it daily. She’s the reason Ash learned to relax around people. She didn’t force connection; she built it, moment by moment.
Here’s what she’s taught me: Leadership is less about managing tasks and more about making space—space for people to feel seen, valued, and safe enough to show up fully. You don’t need a title to do that. You just need the willingness to notice who’s on the edges and the courage to walk over.
The truth is, the glue in a high-performing team isn’t always the person with the title. It’s often the one who makes sure people feel seen, included, and cared for—whether they’re the new hire still finding the coffee machine or the veteran navigating a silent struggle.
Big Girl Panties Rule: Inclusion doesn’t happen by accident—it happens when someone makes the first move to make others feel welcome. Be that person.