I stood there in shock - frozen, trapped in the numbing pain. I felt nothing, but knew there was a deep wound that would eventually radiate throughout my body. “I have to get out of here,” I thought to myself. I staggered out of the door, and slowly, painstakingly stumbled to my car. I sat in the car for a moment, debating whether I was fit to drive. Gradually, I gathered myself and left the crime scene. I drove in silence, processing what just happened. I was mad. I was mad that this was how it was going to end. “I don’t want to go out like this,” I silently cried. I got home and walked heavily into my room. I stared at myself in the mirror, seeing memories of my life like a montage in a movie. I saw the first time I went to volleyball practice as a tiny nine-year-old. I saw the first time I served the ball over the net, after hours of painstaking disappointment. I saw the moment I made my middle school volleyball team and started every single game. I saw the first time I made a successful overhand serve. I saw the moments I made my high school junior varsity (JV) and varsity volleyball teams. I saw us win game after game. I saw all of this in an instant. Then, in a moment, as a senior, I learned that I am more than what I can do on a volleyball court. I am stronger than I think and worth more than I can ever know.

     I was good enough to make the volleyball team because of how much work I had put into volleyball. I started playing volleyball with my dad when I was eight years old, and I quickly fell in love. I promised myself I would play every year in middle school, on the JV team my freshman and sophomore years, and on the varsity team my junior and senior years. So, I played at my local recreation center in the fourth grade, but I was horrible. From birth, I have been un-athletic, weak, and slow. I had to work harder than anybody else on the team. So, I poured my life into volleyball. I worked out when I could, and I practiced when I could. I played rec ball for three years, each year getting slightly better. The first year I played at the recreation center, I couldn’t serve underhand, but with continued practice, my last year I had the best underhand serve in the league. In middle school, I made the school team, started as a first-year player, and was the best setter and passer. I was also the best server. I played the entire game, every game, every year, and by my eighth-grade year, I could serve overhand very well. In my freshman year, I made the JV volleyball team. I even got the libero position, the most important defensive position. However, in a new setting with older and stronger girls, just like previous years, I had to work very hard to earn my spot. Even though I was barely allowed to serve and play, I worked extra hard at practices, and eventually, I earned my JV coach’s respect. During my sophomore year, I was determined to get the playing time I knew I deserved. That season, I played at least half of every game, sometimes the whole game, and was a designated server. Then, for my junior year, I was determined to make the varsity team, after all, that’s what I promised myself all those years ago. I stood out at practice, doing extra drills and excelling in plays, and I made varsity. I was so good, that I took an important position on the back row, serving and passing for a three-year varsity veteran senior. I even had the fourth-best serve in the entire region. While it sounds like my volleyball career was all sunshine and rainbows, it wasn’t always as perfect as it seemed.

     My volleyball career was riddled with struggles in connecting with my teammates. They ostracized, belittled, and basically blamed me for any failures. In my eighth grade season, half of the team liked me, and the other half didn’t, including the coach. Despite the coach saying I was “slacking off at conditioning” I ended up making the team, but that didn’t mean that the season was a breeze. I was continually ostracized by girls throughout the season. 

     My high school teammates continued this abuse, continually blaming me for any mishaps.  My freshman year was very similar to my eighth-grade year, some teammates liked me, others didn’t. However, this year, it didn’t bother me as much. I had a strong group of friends that made any passive-aggressive bullying worth the pain. And honestly, most of my teammates acted fake to me anyway, so I wasn’t even aware of their disdain. But, I knew my JV coach didn’t like me. I missed one serve in one game and I wasn’t allowed to serve again until the season’s end. Meanwhile, she let people serve who missed every single time. My sophomore year was slightly better, however, I still faced adversity from my JV coach.

     However, the real beginning of the end of my volleyball career started with an invitation to Clemson University’s summer volleyball camp. One would think a collegiate program invitation would be good; however, this week proved 72 hours of pettiness. Although I enjoyed playing drills during the day, the nighttime allowed drama to ensue. One girl barged into our dorm and cussed us out. Apparently, she thought we were “talking smack about her” when, in reality, no one was. Then people started choosing sides. I was quickly blamed even though I had no idea what was going on. When the new season started, everything was already off to a rocky start. Although I made varsity, my teammates still considered me inferior. Every time something went wrong, it was my fault. Every time I looked in any direction, someone was giving me dirty looks. Every time I picked up a whispered conversation, it was about me - and it wasn’t good. They slowly chipped away at my heart, soul, and mind every day. Not only did I have to carry my own insecurities, but I was a target of their insecurities, the pallbearer of their failures. I started to hate volleyball and myself. They were all so horrible to me, and I had never been at a lower point in my life than I was that season. After the season’s last game, I cried all the way home because volleyball was finally over, but I knew with God’s guidance I could persevere through any struggles. Although I strongly debated not trying out again, I decided I would play for one last year, my senior year. I conditioned over the summer and I felt more and more confident in my abilities. I knew I was going to have a great senior season. The promise I made to myself nine years previously would be fully fulfilled. I would play on the middle school team, junior varsity and varsity teams. But deep down, I still knew. The varsity coach doesn’t run tryouts objectively. I read the list of names of people who made the team five times before I walked out. It was the first time in six years my name wasn’t on that list.

     The absence of my name on the team list sparked new adaptations and new endeavors in me and my life. However, most change begins with pain. I drove the fifteen-minute journey from school alone. Two minutes into my trip, I started crying. Five minutes into my trip, I started screaming. I felt so defeated and betrayed. I lost a piece of myself. When I got home, I didn’t look or talk to my parents. Not that they would be disappointed in me, but my dad was the one who taught me how to play volleyball. I couldn’t face him. I sat in my room for hours processing the fact I would not be playing volleyball my senior year. But in the silence, I found solitude. Until that night, I ran away from my problems and the feelings they evoke in me. I struggled with mental health and had been dealing with anxiety for the previous two years, so I learned coping mechanisms and how to keep things in perspective. I handled not making the team better than I had handled anything else in my life. I didn’t run from the problem, I faced it. I processed every single thought and feeling that arose. I spent nine years giving my everything to volleyball; it took one weekend to move on from volleyball. While I felt hurt and cheated, I also felt free and at peace. A huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. Volleyball had become so stressful and it wasn’t fun for me anymore. My experiences completely demolished the joy and confidence I once got from volleyball. I was free to do what I wanted. And what I wanted I did - I joined cross country. I had wanted to run cross country for three years, and I finally could. Cross country wasn’t easy, but every time I wanted to give up, God gave me a reason to persevere. I quickly moved up in ranking, making the varsity team after the first race I ever ran. God showed me why I was placed in cross country and not volleyball. I made so many friends after just the first week, and I got to run with my favorite coach who truly believed in me. He encourages me and lifts me up; he creates teams with positive atmospheres. I felt more fulfilled from one week of cross country than I did in the majority of my volleyball career. Now, I am much happier than I would have been, and although I am still dealing with a lot in my life, I can dedicate more mental power to the situations at hand instead of a high school volleyball season.

     I used to think volleyball was my whole life. I thought I had to be the best in order to be liked and gain respect. I thought if I didn’t make the volleyball team, my life would be practically over. In retrospect, I see this is far from the case. I am stronger, happier, more confident, and I feel more love and respect than I ever could in volleyball. Not making the volleyball team was the best thing that could happen to me.