In the past few weeks, I’ve been busy with school and work and honestly, things have been pretty good. Hope is alive and well (especially following the inauguration and vaccine dissemination), I’m looking forward to a future that isn’t limited by COVID, and I finally am getting my hands on a hoodie that is strangely harder to come by than most. This is the first time since beginning the blog that my absence has been more positive than negative, so I’m feeling less apologetic this time around. That being said, I’ve been living my routine, cruising contentedly through pandemic life, so I don’t have much in terms of an update (monotony is sometimes comforting and nice, okay?)
The other night as I was watching Netflix and my mind was drifting, I was reminiscing on my time playing soccer in college, remembering both the good and the bad. Today, I want to share my experience with the culture shock of transitioning from a high school soccer player to a collegiate one, as well as the thoughts and feelings that came with it, the lessons I learned, and the reminders I shared with my teammates as a captain and upperclassman in the years that followed.
I’ve mentioned it before, but Maine isn’t known for being a state that mass produces highly skilled soccer players. Many of us end up traveling to other states to play club or playing up with older age groups to both be challenged and get more recruiting exposure. Soccer was something that came easily to me, but I worked hard at it. I would spend hours in my driveway listening to music and juggling. I destroyed the backboard of our basketball hoop because it doubled as a “wall” when I was shooting at our swing set (the goal). I wrecked sneakers from the constant scuffing on the pavement. And occasionally, I’d have to chase the ball down the road when I misjudged a touch. Passion is arguably what set me apart from peers, with skill being a byproduct of that passion.
I’ll never forget getting to the practice fields for the first day of preseason at Slippery Rock and having Jessie (my coach) separate us into 5v2’s post warm-up to get us moving a little more before we started fitness testing. The minute we started playing, I was terrified; I was way out of my league. The speed of play that these girls were playing at (also fueled by nerves for testing) was faster than anything I’d ever experienced. I can still see it and remember that feeling and thinking, “Oh shit, I don’t belong here.” Later I would find out that it’s not unusual for freshman to need a year to get used to the speed of play, the physicality, and the demands of college soccer. But even though you hear that, you don’t think it’ll be you.
What’s amazing is that my team at Slippery Rock was made up of the best of the best from our respective homes. High school soccer wasn’t super skilled in Maine, more of it just being a matter of who was more physical and how cohesive your team was no matter the makeup (highly skilled or not). I was excited for the next level, but I was also prepared to not be the best. I’ve always preferred being the middle of the pack, because it means you’re doing well, but you still have other players that you can learn from and be challenged by. Being the best is stagnant and often leads to cockiness, boredom and frustration.
Throughout my four years, I watched a lot of girls struggle with no longer being the star. Some took that struggle in stride and adjusted to their new role on the team. For others, that wasn’t the case – they were frustrated and confused, which led to feeling isolated from the team or disliked by the coaches. My path to success was not linear – sometimes I would be improving rapidly, other times plateauing, or worse yet, regressing. What kept me from being destroyed by the thought that I wasn’t good enough was the support of my teammates and communicating with my coaches. One day I realized (largely with the help of Haley) that I was there for a reason. My coach was smart, honest and knew what she was doing, and she chose me. When I came to that realization during the struggle sophomore year, I took a deep breath, changed my mindset, and got to work.
Just like every other mental reframing I’ve done, that change wasn’t easy. It’s a constant reminder to yourself that the world isn’t against you, your path doesn’t always look like others’, and that your teammates and coaches just want you to succeed. A lot of people get stuck on that last one, specifically with their coaches, because it can feel that sometimes they’re working against you. But they’re obviously not (they brought you there for a reason, remember?) and it’s easy to project your frustration with yourself onto them, because that’s what it comes down to: you’re frustrated and disappointed with yourself, it’s just easier to blame them.
Sometimes it can feel like Us vs. Them, with “Us” referring to the team and “Them” being the coaches. You can get mad that they’re not playing you or pissed that you have to do fitness again, but you all have the same goal – to win. I’ve always been a team-first type of person – often to the frustration of my parents – and that mindset enabled me to see the bigger picture even when the one right in front of me wasn’t favorable. I think that’s all leadership is, just being okay with the fact that some things will be at your expense for the better of the team. That can look like a million different things: being okay with less playtime, taking the fall for something, always answering your phone, standing up to your coaches no matter how uncomfortable it is, or just taking the time to advocate for teammates.
I told my coaches in an end of season meeting my freshman year that playtime never mattered to me (again to the frustration of my parents), I just wanted to make the most of my time on the field. If I played 90 minutes but didn’t help create a goal, it was a waste. If I played only 15 minutes, but managed to score, I was satisfied. I redefined what a successful collegiate career meant and according to my standards, I had a pretty damn good one. I didn’t start on my senior day, but I got to assist a goal and scored the massive comeback, game-winning goal with a single minute to spare, with my entire family on the sidelines for the first time. It was pretty sick. Yet, if my definition of success was starting, that day was a failure…
Whether you’re excited to start your collegiate career, you’re still in it, or it’s over, consider how you’re measuring your success. What’s most important to you? I wanted my leadership to matter, I wanted to win a championship, I wanted to score bangers, and I wanted to travel abroad with my team. I was lucky enough to accomplish all of that, but it was also my perception and framing that made it so. It can be so hard to feel like you’ll be successful when you spend most of your time on the bench – I know, I’ve been there. But if you’re willing to put in the work and be honest with yourself (and probably ask for some help from your coaches), you’ll get there. So, yes, I was out of my league on that first day, but I persevered and reaped the rewards in ways I never could have imagined.
Great leader; super player; a person who cares more about others than herself. This is a time for people like her who work for the greater good.