For a long time, I thought being “too much” was the worst thing I could be. Too loud, too intense, too opinionated, too emotional. Those words echoed so often that I stopped questioning them and started believing them. I learned to pause before speaking, to replay conversations endlessly in my head, to wonder if I had crossed some invisible line that everyone else seemed to understand except me. I started to think that maybe the strongest version of myself was also the version that needed the most fixing—and that belief followed me into BBYO.

When I first stepped into leadership within this organization, I cared deeply—sometimes more deeply than I knew how to contain. I threw myself into everything. I spoke my mind, showed up with energy, and aspired to make things better, bigger, more meaningful. While some people saw that as passion, I was aware of the subtle reactions, the moments when I felt myself being read as “a lot.” I tried to find a balance: strong but not overwhelming, confident but still likable, present but not domineering. That balancing act was exhausting because it wasn’t about leadership, it was about perception.

Over time, I realized the very traits I had tried to soften were the ones that made me effective in the first place. The willingness to care openly. The instinct to speak even when it would be easier to stay quiet. The ability to take up space without apologizing for it. The more I leaned into those parts of myself, the more I saw the real impact I could make—not just in what I was building, but in how other girls around me began to show up: a little louder, a little bolder, a little less afraid of being seen.

There’s a quote that gets repeated often: “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” For a long time, I thought it was just a catchy saying, something inspiring but not demanding. In BBYO leadership, I’ve come to understand it differently; not as a slogan, but as a challenge. Because if you look at Jewish history, the women we remember were not the ones who made themselves easier to accept.

Esther stepped into her role afraid and hesitant, within a system that gave her visibility but no security, yet she spoke when it mattered. Deborah led decisively in a role never designed for a woman, expanding what leadership could look like. Miriam refused to stand quietly in the background; she took up space, led with presence and emotion, and made herself visible when it was demanded. These women led not because it was easy or comfortable, but because something inside them refused to stay silent. 

From the moment a girl joins this order, she is treated as someone whose voice matters, whose vote carries weight, and who is capable of leadership. In BBG, we elect our leaders, write constitutions, debate, challenge, lose, win, and keep going. BBG does not simulate democracy, it practices it. Sitting in a room full of teens debating ideas that matter, knowing that what you say can shape the future of your chapter or region is not just exciting—it’s formative. It’s why I aspire to study political science and pursue a life in politics: because BBG taught me that my voice belongs in spaces that have historically excluded women.

I think of Ruth Bader Ginsburg often, not just as a Jewish feminist icon, but as an individual who forced her way into systems that didn’t make space for her. Ruth believed in the possibility of change, and she didn’t shrink herself to belong. She stayed, persisted, and made it easier for other women to follow in her footsteps. That same idea exists in BBG, on a smaller but equally meaningful scale. Every time a girl speaks up in a business meeting, runs for a position she isn’t sure she’ll win, or leads in ways that don’t fit the expected mold, she is expanding what leadership can look like.

The turning point for me wasn’t a single moment, but a gradual decision to stop treating “you’re too much” as an insult. I started to realize something powerful: being “too loud” meant I was unwilling to stay silent when it mattered, being “too intense” meant I cared enough to invest fully, and being “too much” meant I would not shrink myself to make others comfortable. Leaning into those qualities didn’t make leadership easier, but it made it more authentic to who I really was—and more importantly, it allowed other girls to see themselves in it.

A few days ago, a freshman in my region reached out to me. As Regional N’siah, I’ve had the privilege to impact so many girls this past year and watch them fall in love with BBG the same way I have. She wrote to me a few days after my final convention, and to say that her words touched my heart would be an understatement. However, one part of the letter stuck out to me, and I feel like it really resonated with the message I’ve tried to convey in this article: “I realized why I felt so drawn to you, it was because of how much of myself I see in you. The way you hype everyone up and just want people to have fun is incredible. A lot of the time, I feel like I’m one of the only people in my friend group with that kind of energy and excitement. But watching you made me realize I’m not alone, and it helped me see that I want to be a leader like you. I felt this kind of connection that I haven’t really felt before. Just you being yourself has been so inspiring. I wanted you to know how much of an impact you’ve had on others, especially me.”

That’s why the role of young women feels so vital today. We are not just stepping into positions of power; we are shaping what leadership looks like for the next generation. Every time we show up fully, speak without filtering ourselves, or refuse to let labels define our limits, we expand the space for others to do the same. As Esther’s story reminds us: “Who knows, perhaps you have come to your position for such a time as this.” Leadership is never accidental. What we do with the opportunities we are given matters. 

So if anyone has ever told you that you are too loud, too emotional, too intense, too ambitious, too much—know this: those words are never a measure of your capability, they are a reflection of someone else’s discomfort. The qualities that make you “too much” are the same qualities that make you powerful. And the future will not be shaped by girls who learned how to be smaller, it will be shaped by those who refused to.