I Didn’t Think I’d Make It Through That Season

Growing up, I can honestly say I was never the kid who regularly attended church. I went with my grandmother a time or two, and with my pawpaw a time or two, but nothing consistent. Church was never really a routine in my life.

The funny thing is, the time I probably needed God the most was during those years I spent going to club volleyball practice.

I believed in God, but I couldn’t have told you the journey Jesus went on or the sacrifices He made for me. I used to feel embarrassed that I didn’t know the Bible the way some of my friends did. My family was God-fearing, and family reunions even began with a full mass, but faith wasn’t something I truly understood for myself.

I didn’t really come to know Jesus until I entered my twenties. And when I say that, I mean I didn’t truly understand His path, His purpose, or His story. I didn’t know why He chose the disciples He did. I had no idea the criticism and adversity He faced.

What I also didn’t know was that His life—and the journeys of those who followed Him—would one day help carry me through some of the hardest seasons of my life. Through relationships. Through growing up. Through trying to find my place in this world.

For so long, I never understood my purpose. When life got hard, I would ask myself why I was here to stay in the challenge instead of running from it. And maybe the hardest question of all was why I felt like I had to face it alone, even though I was surrounded by loving friends and family.

These questions went far beyond my job. They touched every part of who I am—being a woman, a daughter, a friend, and simply a human being trying to figure it all out.

Eventually, I had to pick up the book that tells the stories of people who were called to something bigger than themselves. People who were given purpose even though they weren’t perfect. In fact, they fell short time and time again.

And somehow, reading those stories began to teach me something I had never given myself before: grace.

Maybe, I thought, if I had the courage to truly get to know Jesus, I might begin to understand my own purpose too. But that meant discipline. That meant forgiveness. That meant sitting in the middle of the storm and believing He wouldn’t let me drown.

And there have been so many moments in my life when I truly felt like I was drowning.

Moments where I wondered, what if my parents can’t pull me out?
What if my friends’ supportive words aren’t enough?
What do I do then?

In my late twenties and early thirties, I started reflecting more deeply on life.

Would I ever get to be a mom?
Why am I really in coaching? What am I actually searching for?
Do I always run when things get tough?
Why do I stay in situations that take away my peace?

Around that time, I started attending church alone. No one asked me to. No one pushed me to. It was something I chose on my own.

For the first time, I wanted a relationship with the Lord. I wanted to understand His story—not just hope that He understood mine. I’ve always believed that if you want a real relationship with someone, you have to know their story too.

Little by little, I started picking up the Bible my mom gave me for Christmas.

And little by little, the story began to unfold.

I learned about a man who was perfect and still criticized. A man who knew what his fate would be, yet still walked that path because he believed we were worth forgiving.

I learned that His sacrifice meant I didn’t have to be perfect. I just had to lean on Him.

The anxiety I have carried for years—the one that sometimes makes me feel ashamed or worthless—reminded me of Moses. When God asked him to lead the Israelites out of slavery, Moses was terrified. He doubted himself constantly. He questioned whether he was capable.

And yet, time and time again, God still chose him.

Or maybe my feeling of sinking and “drowning” looked more like Peter—who actually walked on water toward Jesus but began to sink the moment fear crept in.

For someone who once relied heavily on worldly things to get through life’s storms, I somehow found my way to Jesus.

His story.
His sacrifice.
His words.
His grace.

They slowly guided me toward strength.

Sometimes in this world, we become so focused on worldly things that we take our eyes off Him. I know I do. I get consumed with things that won’t matter in the end.

What do people think of me?
Am I doing a good job?
Am I a good person?
Am I worthy of the role I’ve been given?

In coaching especially, I sometimes lose sight of my purpose. I start trying to prove myself—to show that I’m tough enough, capable enough, worthy enough. As if I need some trophy to validate my value.

But sometimes I feel like God gently wakes me up and says, “We’ve got work to do.”

And if I can remember that He already sees my worth—even through all my faults (and I have many)—then that is enough for me.

I was the girl who didn’t go to Sunday school growing up.

And I’m still proud of how I was raised.

But I’m also the girl who found Jesus when it felt like there was nobody else.

I’m living proof that God had a plan for me the moment I entered this world—even before I knew His name or His story.

I’m the girl who weeps… and then remembers she’s a fighter.

I’m the girl who makes mistakes and falls short every single day, but still has the courage to pray that God wakes me up tomorrow so I can keep walking the path He placed before me.

I still don’t know exactly why I’m on the path I’m on.

But I’m learning that God equips us with everything we need to withstand whatever storm lies ahead.

So coaches, I leave you with this:

What if our greatest moment isn’t winning a championship?

What if our greatest moment is teaching our athletes that they are strong enough to withstand the storms life will place in front of them? Teaching them to stay brave even when victory feels impossible to see.

Or teaching them to stand confidently on their own—because one day they may have to walk alone for a season.

Maybe our purpose as coaches isn’t to prove to the world that we are worthy of the role we’ve been given.

Maybe our purpose is to remind the people we lead that they are already worthy too.

And maybe the most important thing we can teach them has nothing to do with the scoreboard.

Because one day, they might find themselves in a moment where they feel like they have nobody.

And when that moment comes, I hope they remember that there is strength in something as simple as a prayer. A quiet prayer can lead you to open a Bible. And when you begin to read, you learn His story—and the stories of so many others who struggled, doubted, failed, and still found purpose.

You begin to realize that this world is beautiful not because it is perfect, but because it isn’t.

Even in the parts of ourselves we think are broken… the mistakes we wish we could erase… the fears we carry quietly… we are still worthy. Worthy enough to be forgiven. Worthy enough to be loved.

When you think there is nobody, there is Somebody.

Faith isn’t always easy. It takes discipline. It takes patience. It takes choosing to believe even when the storm around you feels overwhelming.

But the beautiful truth is this:

None of us ever have to walk that path alone.