Coaches; people tend to love them, hate them, or feel both at once. For me, one coach redefined what leadership, trust, and connection looks like, and in doing so, reshaped who I am. Her name is Summer. In June of 2020, I picked up a lacrosse stick for the first time. Despite years of playing sports, I struggled in ways I hadn’t before. I couldn’t catch or throw, and my asthma made every drill feel heavy. But there was always a voice cutting through my frustration: encouraging, yet firm. Coach Summer never let me sit in failure. She pushed me to try again, even when improvement felt impossible. After two months, she asked me a question: “Would you want to play lacrosse?” Everything in me wanted to say no. But there was something in her tone that made me pause. She believed in me before I had done anything to earn it. So, I said yes. That decision marked the beginning of a relationship that would profoundly shape my life. By the time tryouts came around, I still struggled, but Summer’s belief in me had not wavered. When the team needed a goalie, I volunteered quickly, mainly to avoid running, but also because I knew I could thrive there. She took a chance on me, placing me in a position that required resilience, focus, and confidence. At the end of tryouts, the team voted for captains. I didn’t expect to be chosen, so when I received a message congratulating me, I assumed it was a mistake. When I called her, she simply said, “I added you because I believe in you.” That moment shifted how I saw myself. Summer didn’t choose me because I was the most skilled player, she chose me because she saw potential in my character. She taught me that leadership is not about perfection; it’s about accountability, effort, and the willingness to grow. That lesson became reality quick during our first game. We were losing badly, and I took it personally. By halftime, I was overwhelmed, frustrated, and in tears. Summer pulled me aside, not to criticize my performance, but to challenge my mindset. She reminded me that as a leader, I had a responsibility not just to play, but to remain composed. In that moment, she gave me more than advice, she gave me a framework for handling adversity. I began to understand that leadership requires emotional discipline and the ability to show up for others, even when things feel out of control. As the season continued, losses piled up, and our confidence began to fade. After one particularly difficult game, our team had a conversation about whether we even wanted to continue. We decided: if not for ourselves, we would finish the season for Summer. That decision changed everything. We pushed harder, supported each other more, and just days later, we won the first game in our program’s history. As the final buzzer sounded, my teammates celebrated, but I found myself running toward Summer. Even then, she resisted taking credit, redirecting the moment back to us. That was who she was. She demanded accountability, while leading with humility and care. She took the time to understand us beyond the field, seeing past our guarded teenage exteriors. What many didn’t know at the time was that Summer was fighting her own battle. She had cancer. While guiding us through a challenging season, she was navigating one of the most difficult periods of her life. Yet she showed up fully, pouring energy into our growth, consistently putting others before herself. Summer didn’t just teach me how to play a sport, she modeled what it means to invest in people. She showed me that meaningful connections are built through trust, honesty, and showing up, even when it’s hard. Because of her, I approach relationships differently. I lead with encouragement, just as she did for me. I take the time to understand people beyond surface-level interactions. As a mentor, I strive to see potential in others before they see it in themselves, as she did for me. Summer’s belief in me changed how I view my own capabilities, but more importantly, it changed how I connect with others. She taught me that the most meaningful relationships are not built on convenience, but on consistency, empathy, and a genuine commitment to helping others. If I can offer even a fraction of what she gave me, I know I am building the kind of connections that truly matter.

“You play lacrosse?!” I’ve heard that question more times than I can count, usually followed by a pause, a raised eyebrow, or quiet curiosity. For a long time, that reaction bothered me. Now, I understand it as the very thing that makes my story worth telling. Growing up as an African American girl in Detroit, the expectation of who I was, and what I should do, felt predetermined. Sports, like many things, came with an unspoken script. Because I was tall and on the heavier side, with asthma, my “options” seemed limited: basketball, softball, or dance. I tried all three, seeking for something that felt like mine. Nothing quite did. Then came my junior year. Cut short by a global pandemic, like so many others, I found myself stuck in stillness. My routine disappeared, my asthma worsened, and my motivation faded. Days blurred together, and I felt increasingly disconnected from my body and my sense of purpose. Until one unexpected message changed everything.“Would you want to play lacrosse?” It came from a classmate I barely knew. I was hesitant as I hadn’t played a sport in nearly a year, and COVID was still a high threat to my health. Nevertheless, that summer, I picked up a lacrosse stick for the first time and quickly realized I had no idea what I was doing. Despite years as a softball pitcher and catcher, I struggled to throw and catch. Every missed pass felt like a personal failure. As someone who holds herself to high standards, the slow progress was frustrating. Still, I kept showing up. What began as a way to stay active slowly became something more: a new challenge, a new community, and a growing version of myself. At the end of the summer, I was asked again, “Would you want to play lacrosse?” This time, I almost said no. I convinced myself they just needed another player to fill space. So, I said yes again, not realizing how much that decision would shape my future. Tryouts were difficult. Managing asthma while learning a new sport felt overwhelming. Until one practice, my coach mentioned the team needed a goalie. Before she could finish explaining, I volunteered immediately. That season, we made history. We were the first women’s lacrosse team at our high school, the only predominantly Black team in the state of Michigan, and the only girls’ lacrosse team in Detroit. Every game we played challenged not just our skills, but perceptions of who “plays lacrosse”. Lacrosse didn’t end with high school, it followed me to college, where I became a walk-on starting goalie at one of the few HBCUs with a women’s lacrosse team. There, I saw more diversity in the sport than I ever had before. Still, the question remained: “You play lacrosse? Interesting.” Over time, I stopped hearing that question as doubt and started seeing it as an opportunity. Lacrosse didn’t just make me different, it gave me a platform. It taught me resilience, pushed me beyond my comfort zone, and showed me the power of representation. Now, when people ask that question, I answer with confidence. Because every time I do, I challenge assumptions and make space for the next girl who looks like me to pick up lacrosse without hesitation. “You play lacrosse?” Yes. And that’s exactly the point.