If you read my Get To Know Me post, you've already had a small glimpse into my journey as an elite athlete, but that just scratches the surface. This story is one of resilience, one of patience, and one of learning the importance of believing in yourself when no one else does.
I started playing softball for my local league as early as four years old. In my city, we had a division called "Mini Gals" for the girls who were still too young for the 8 & Under division. When I was 9, I decided it was time to make the switch to fastpitch softball, and started playing for my first travel organization. At this point I was just playing for fun, and to be with my friends. Together, we grew up and moved onto middle school, where we all prepared ourselves for the upcoming middle school team tryouts.
7th Grade
In order to prepare myself for the tryouts, I decided to try out my first hitting lesson - something that many of my teammates had been doing for some time. I distinctly remember walking out of the facility after that lesson and thinking "that's something I would definitely do again", so, I told my parents that I wanted to continue with lessons. I had one more session prior to tryouts, and then it was off to the races. The day of tryouts came, I was satisfied with my performance, and had fun with my teammates on the field.
Two days later I got a phone call.
Followed by an email, telling me I was not selected for the team, and good luck trying out for the track team.
I was one of only two girls from my travel team who would not get to play on the middle school team.
At 12 years old, I was faced with the decision to commit to training, or explore life's other options - my parents supported either way, the decision was entirely mine. I sat with both possibilities for a while, but the only thing on my mind was how badly I wanted to go down to my garage and hit.
So I did. I decided this would be the beginning of my story, not the end. The beginning of quite a story it was.
I started spending nearly every day at the facility, taking lessons and catching bullpens. When I wasn't at the facility, I was asking my parents to take me to an empty field so I could keep working.
By the time the summer rolled around and I was playing travel ball tournaments with my team once again, I had improved to a noticeable extent. Everyone was talking about it, including the coach of the middle school team (who assisted the travel team). He apologized.
8th Grade
Around the time I turned 13 I decided that I was truly serious about playing softball, and that I wanted to play in college.
I was spending even more time at the facility, sometimes heading right there after being picked up from school, changing on the way. Sometimes, this meant doing my homework in a nearby Panera while I had a break in between sessions, or even in the waiting area alongside the parents. I started lifting weights at a local, athlete-centered gym and noticed an even bigger difference.
I loved it all.
When it was time for the middle school tryouts once again, I had far surpassed all of my teammates. I landed myself the position of starting catcher, and hit in the clean up spot. I had the time of my life. Just before the state semifinal game, I partially tore a ligament in my knee. This was the first time I had ever experienced injury. Luckily, an MRI determined that I would not need surgery - so with physical therapy and the help of a brace, I played shortstop in the championship game. In case you're wondering, we lost.
Unfortunately, I knew that if I really wanted to play Division 1 college softball, I would have to leave my local travel team. I earned myself a spot on the top, nationally ranked, travel team in our area. I decided I would finish out the year with my current team, and move on in pursuit of my goals.
When I told the coaches of my local team, I expected to receive congratulations and be applauded for all of my efforts. I thought that the coaches who had called themselves mentors would be happy to see a player move on in search of opportunities at the next level.
I was wrong. They were mad, and for the remainder of the season treated me poorly. This was a hard concept for a 13 year old girl to grasp.
Grade 9
At the same time I started high school, I started with my new travel team. It was a whole new world, and I had to relearn even the most basic of fundamentals. We had 4 hour practices, 3 days a week, each of them at a field over an hour drive away. Being on this team meant lots of late nights, lots of soreness, and lots of homework done in the car to and from the field.
I still loved it. I had a goal, and I was playing with girls who had already achieved my dream. I was listed on a roster with girls from all over the northeast, who would go on to play at schools all over the country. I was in awe for quite some time.
On the first pitch of my first at-bat in our first tournament, I was hit by a pitch. I took my base, getting hit happens pretty frequently in softball, and I was taught that it didn't matter how you got on base as long as you did. In this particular instance, it hurt a bit more than usual, and I had a feeling that something was off - but I continued playing.
I continued playing for another month, and watched as I started to lose ability. I told myself that I was weak, and that I was being a baby about my injury. Eventually, I was limping uncontrollably - and was finally told by my coach that I needed to see the athletic trainer at Disney's ESPN Wide World of Sports in Orlando, FL. After 3 tests and about 10 minutes, the trainer told me my leg was decidedly broken.
I played a few more innings after the diagnosis, but was forced to take myself out of the game.
Upon beginning my return to play, I noticed that something still was not quite right. I was unable to run without pain, and my physical therapist decided it was time that I returned to see the doctor.
I headed up to Boston Children's Hospital, where after a series of tests, including a CT, MRI, and SPECT scan, it was determined that I had an osteochondral defect, and would need surgery to repair it.
While all of this was happening, I had tried out for and made the varsity softball team at my high school. Just a few weeks after making the team and starting my first, and only, 6 games at catcher, I would have to tell my coaches that I needed surgery.
On April 25, 2018, I had a bone graft to repair an osteochondral defect in my ankle that I had caused by playing on a broken leg for over a month. I blamed myself for years, but at just 14 years old I was so afraid of letting my new team down or appearing weak that I tried to "suck it up" and tough it out.
Sucking it up had cost me a surgery, and an entire season of play. Later I would find out that it would cost me my spot on the team too.
Grade 10
Still recovering from surgery, I spent most of my time in physical therapy and the gym as I began to integrate myself back into practice with the team.
While I was injured, they had brought in another catcher. I knew that I was playing catch up, as they had been playing and practicing while I was recovering and rehabbing.
In an attempt to aid my recovery process, I decided to try my hand at distance running. Surprisingly, I found some enjoyment in it, and saw it as a way to de-stress and make time for myself. As the goal oriented, thrill-seeker I am, I set my sights on running a half marathon, 13.1 miles, exactly 13 months and 1 day after my surgery. I did.
I still wasn't cleared to participate restriction-free in practice, and I struggled to allow myself to let loose, as I was still nervous to re-injure myself. This got me yelled at quite a bit. Tough love is common in sports, but when the love part is absent, it can be really difficult for young athletes to process.
The organization was run like a business - it was a business. When one athlete was no longer of use, they were replaced. I was no longer needed, and I recognized it. This was the hardest lesson I had to learn.
My anxiety got out of hand. I was worrying days in advance of practices, and struggling to focus in school because all I could think about was how I needed to perform for four hours straight at practice later that day, or later that week. One of my most vivid memories is of waking up at 4am on a day we had a 6pm game, and sitting on the floor of our hotel bathroom sick to my stomach. I was unable to properly fuel myself for games because I was too anxious to eat before a game, no matter what time it was at.
I knew I needed help. I began working with a sports psychologist. I tried to develop coping mechanisms, but nothing could control the anxiety. During one session, I was asked whether changing teams was an option, and very quickly I said no. I realized that it had been engrained in me that this team was the only way I would ever achieve my dreams of playing in college. At the time, I was convinced that if I wasn't on this team, D1 college ball was off the table, so I said no.
After the summer season, I had accepted that I was no longer needed on this team. That didn't make it any easier when, in a conference room of our California hotel, it was confirmed. I was not asked back to the team. Regardless of the fact that I had seen it coming, at just 16 years old I was convinced that I had disappointed everyone who had ever helped me. I was terrified to tell my mom, who was waiting back in the room. My parents had spent so much money to provide me the opportunity to play with this team. My dad had taken on two full-time jobs to afford the travel and the fees. My coaches back home had put so much effort into helping me and I felt as if I was unable to hold up my end of the bargain. I sat in the stairwell of my hotel, completely distraught, until I built up the courage to tell my mother.
Spoiler alert, she wasn't mad. She had seen how much I was struggling, and only wanted to see me happy again. It had even strained our relationship, and we both felt some sort of relief that it was over. For those who are unaware, extreme levels of stress can affect a woman's menstrual cycle, I hadn't had a period in 3 months. I got it back the next day.
On that same day, I received a call from another coach who had heard the news. I had met this coach once or twice, but didn't know him. The first thing he told me was that he believed in second chances, and that he wanted to give me one. He told me that he wanted me on his team - it had been a long time since I had heard that.
Still, I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue playing softball at all. After a few days of thinking, I decided I wasn't ready to close the door on something I had done and loved for 12 years.
I said yes.
Grade 11
I started practicing with this new team, and immediately I felt a difference. It was no longer the end of the world if I bobbled a ground ball, or overthrew a base. My new coach told me that he understood that I was hard enough on myself already, and that he didn't need to add to that. He didn't need to yell at me, he knew that I was capable of making a correction on my own.
One of my most prominent memories is from a late night practice when I was taking ground balls at second base and made a diving play. I got up and immediately got back into line, nothing more. My coach stopped practice from across the field, looked me in the eye, and said, "You can smile, you know. You just made a great play". I took a breath, smiled, and accepted the high fives from my teammates.
I went on to have the best season of my life. I found the fun in softball again. I enjoyed every minute of practice, and every second of the games. I watched as my personality began to return, and relearned to joke around with my teammates. And while I was at it, I garnered the attention of multiple college programs.
Just a few weeks after our last tournament of the fall, I verbally committed to play Division 1 softball at Seton Hall University.
Unfortunately, I was injured in only our second tournament of the summer season. I had fractured one of my vertebrae, and once again found myself in physical therapy. The season was then cut short due to the COVID-19 Pandemic, and I had unknowingly played my last game for the coach who gave me my second chance. He would not be coaching the following year, and I would be forced to say my hardest goodbye.
When I thanked him for everything he had done for me, he left me with a reminder that he would forever be proud of me. I still re-read the conversation when I need to. I am so grateful for every second I spent with that team, if not for them, I would have hung up my cleats for good on that day in my California hotel.
Grade 12
My final year of travel ball, I played on a team with many of the same girls, but it was not the same.
I had a successful fall, signed my National Letter of Intent to Seton Hall, and generally enjoyed the game. However, come summer, I started to experience shoulder pain as early as our first tournament. At first, it was no big deal. I took ibuprofen and continued to play like I knew how. But, as the season progressed, I started to lose ability - and I had memories of my first year.
My inability to perform angered my coach, despite knowing that it was due to an injury. He started to resent me because I could not be of use to him. He told me that the team needed me, and in order to avoid feeling like I let them down, I got a cortisone shot in my shoulder and flew out to California for our last tournament.
I flew out to California to play very few innings. I had endured a cortisone shot and delayed treatment by over two weeks for this tournament only to be treated as a nuisance.
I had my MRI just two days after returning from California, and it confirmed that I had severely torn my labrum. Five days after the diagnosis, I had surgery to repair the tear.
Eight days after surgery, I moved to New Jersey to start college, unable to play softball.
Today
Living entirely on my own, rehabbing with staff I had just met, starting classes in a sling, and being a college softball player who couldn't play softball was one of the most challenging experiences of my life.
I struggled with fighting frustrations with my own body, and once again worrying as though I was going to fall behind.
What was the difference?
Despite only having just met me, my new teammates and coaches went out of their way to make sure I still felt included. I had a dedicated training staff who helped me through these frustrations and my coaches showed a genuine interest in my progress, celebrating even the smallest of achievements.
I worked as hard as I knew how, driving over two hours to practice with the team that the coach who gave me my second chance now coaches while I was on Christmas break. Just before returning to New Jersey, I was given the all clear by my surgeon, and am beyond happy to say that I have been able to re-integrate myself into practices - this time with an outpour of support and positivity from my coaches and teammates.
My journey has been long, it has been bumpy, it has been trying, rewarding at times - devastating at others. Despite the adversity I have faced, It has made me who I am, and that is a person that I am incredibly proud of. It is a person who is more than how she performs, and she knows that. A person who is using her experiences to help others. A person who is excited for what the future has in store.
Now, I am grateful to have another four years to play this sport. Four years to finally have the experience I always wanted, and make every earlier version of myself so proud, I know they would be - after all, I am living their dream.
Signed,
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