Golf has been a huge part of my life ever since my dad first took me to hit balls at the range when I was a little girl. It’s really all I’ve ever wanted to do, but the game hasn’t always embraced me in return. I remember the first time I was made to feel different. I was 18 and had earned a spot on the co-ed U.S. Junior World Cup team. We were set to compete against the Canadian Junior team in Scotland, and I was the only girl to qualify for either team. During our visit, our coach arranged for us to play the Old Course of St. Andrews and take a private tour of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club. I was young, but I understood the storied history of St. Andrews, and I was psyched. But this was 2000, and the R&A hadn’t yet admitted women. My dad, who accompanied me on the trip, was hopeful I’d be allowed to take the tour. But once in Scotland, our sponsor informed me I wasn’t allowed inside the R&A, even for a private tour. He said my dad could go, but I’d have to wait outside. Of course, my dad didn’t leave me alone. He instead tried to make the day as special as he could by taking me to see Old Tom Morris’ gravesite and some cool castles. I won all my matches that week and left Scotland feeling triumphant except for the lingering sting of being excluded. It turned out to be the first of many incidents I’d encounter in golf that left me doubting myself as an equal in the game.