Open Letters

At sixteen, I was a junior in high school, lacing up my sneakers for the track team, chasing personal bests and a sense of purpose. But my older sisters, let’s call them Frances Ligas Tobia and Vivian Ligas Normandea, had other plans. Fresh out of the house and living their college lives, they’d swoop back in like self-appointed bosses, demanding I quit track to focus on grades. To them, my B’s and C’s during track season were a failure. To me, they were part of a bigger plan—one they didn’t understand. This is the story of how I set boundaries, trusted my gut, and proved them wrong

Frances and Vivian were in their early twenties, thriving in college, and full of that big-sister energy that felt more like control than care. They’d visit home, glance at my report card, and lecture me: “Drop track, or you’ll never get into college.” My grades dipped slightly during the season—quarter grades, mind you, not semester grades—but I knew colleges only cared about the final transcript. I’d pull my grades up by spring, like clockwork. But they didn’t trust me. Instead of showing me how to study smarter, they threatened to tell Dad, who only seemed to notice me when they stirred the pot. Their solution? Quit the one thing that made me feel alive

I wasn’t just running laps; I was learning discipline, teamwork, and grit on that track. I’d read studies—yes, I did my homework—that showed sports would boost a boy’s grades. Track wasn’t the problem; it was my outlet. I also knew Dad wouldn’t care, not with them in the house (They were his pride and joy). So, I drew a line in the sand. “I’m staying on the team,” I told them. No shouting, no drama—just a quiet refusal to bend. They huffed, they lectured, but I held firm. I wasn’t dropping track to please them.

By the end of the year, my grades were solid—B’s. Track season didn’t ruin me; it shaped me. I’d learned to manage my time, push through exhaustion, and tune out doubters. My sisters eventually backed off, maybe because they saw I wasn’t budging, or maybe because they had their own lives to live. Colleges didn’t blink at my transcript, and I proved to myself I could balance both worlds. Setting that boundary wasn’t just about keeping my spot on the team—it was about claiming my right to decide what mattered to me. My inspiration for today’s post came from strong successful male’s video today. Sometimes it is not your girlfriend or wife but your sisters.

Takeaway for Readers (Call to Action)
We all face people—family, friends, or bosses—who think they know what’s best for us. Sometimes, they mean well; sometimes, they just want control. Setting boundaries isn’t about being stubborn; it’s about trusting your own path. What’s one boundary you’ve set to protect your dreams? Share it with me using #bornloser—I’d love to hear your story.