It’s just another volleyball tournament like every other weekend but something turned out different. The JO season is almost done and I’m finishing my eighth-grade year of volleyball. I got bumped up to playing 15-year-olds with some freshmen and two girls from my grade. I played early this morning then reffed like normal. After a break, warm-ups started on the court and we played our first set. Determination and perseverance filled the court and stands as we won. One more to go.

We took a slight break looking at next positions and who’s in. I was out, being libero I was waiting to be substituted in when my person hit back row. Super excited, yet anxious. I feel this every time and it never gets old. I was sitting analyzing the game next to Coach. He looked ready and proud but still on edge, for the game was only halfway done. This left me feeling a bit nervous since one wrong move and the game could be thrown. The whole team felt like we could take them again and that we surely will win. I watched as we gained points and cheered “A-C-E ace!” and said “ It’s okay, let’s get it back. Right here, right here!” when we lost the point.

The ball was back for us after playing out an amazing volley. My person stepped back to serve and I was ready to explode. She makes it, I wait, she fails, I’m in. The serve wasn’t there, the whistle blew and my feet were on the court fresh and energetic. All I could think was, “ Okay, let’s go. You need to get this ball, good pass like every day in practice.” Points were exchanged and I rotated to my last position in the back row before I get substituted out. It wasn’t going to be a quick couple points or a full round of serves as expected.

This position lasted point after a point all not for us. I was being wrecked, the serves all directed at me. I couldn’t judge the ball or even where I was on the court. Was I on the outline after shuffling back? Should I touch it or let it go? It felt like hours of misery and failure letting my team down and the other team win. My mother was with me that day because she loved to watch me play, but I couldn’t even look up at her. I could hear my team say it’s alright but my coach wasn’t happy. I made the wrong move and we for sure had lost the game. No matter what game, how many points, or if no one cared, when I mess up it devastates me. I take it so deeply that I would cry if someone even looked me in the eyes. That’s what made it hard when he called it.

My coach had one timeout left after our first set against this team and he took it. I was shaking knowing it was all on me. We fell into the sideline grabbed water bottles and listened to him yell his favorite line, “You shot yourselves in the foot!”. The disappointment was written across his face all because of me, and I knew it. I didn’t want to look at him so I constantly drank water trying to hold back the tears. We just needed one good pass, that’s all. He said my team should help me to know if it’s in or out. I had the thought it wasn’t all on me now, but my failure shouldn’t be put on others.

The whistle blew telling us the timeout was over. We were back on the court playing once more. Here comes the serve, I needed to listen to my teammates and look around. The ball was fast and on the floor again, I messed up. My coach came to my side on the edge of the court telling me what to do. I think this was scarier than the timeout because he could continue to yell at me and tell me how much I messed up without a time limit. “ That was three feet in! Move back.” it had honestly scarred me. The put-downs that they think help and the knowledge they try to give that is already implanted in my head keeps distracting me. This game wasn’t fun for anyone, besides the winning team. One more point until it stops and we all know we won’t make a come back when it’s 24-12. The serve was on the floor and the final point was scored ending the game.

The pain didn’t stop after we left the court because now we had time to talk. My team never once told me off, but my coach told me every single step I did wrong. He was a good, friendly guy and proceeded to tell me it’s okay, but the scarring pain inflicted on myself because I lost the game wasn’t okay. I didn’t join volleyball and still haven’t after my eighth-grade year because I continue to remember and lose myself at the thought of a volleyball game. I have somehow learned one thing through it that I appreciate greatly. Once the game is done it is done. It’s okay to reflect but there was a reason behind what happened, so there no need to beat yourself up because of it. Once the reason for it happening is clear, moving on is simple. Keep pushing and searching for the reason no matter what it takes because living with heart aching regret can only way down the future ahead.