I loved everything about this game. Just seeing the net up in the gym could give me a high. I was the girl who had a passion for the game like no other. I was the varsity teammate who sat on the bleachers with my headphones in and paid attention to every set, pass, and spike of the JV game while I waited to warm up for ours. I was the teammate who watched our matches on video after they were finished continuously to see what we did wrong and what we could fix. I was the teammate who watched NCAA games to see what plays they did, and what we could do. I was also the teammate who sat on the bench and never played.

Every practice, I did everything I could to be a part of that drill, no matter how hard it was. I was always early for practice and always stayed late. I lived for the open gyms in the summer and on the weekends. I would beg my teammates to get started early and warm up with me. I gave 100% during six on six because I knew that was the only playing time I would see in that gym. Because I knew no matter what I did, I would still be the teammate who cheered for the game, instead of being a part of the game.

I had many coaches growing up. I have played this sport, and other sports for longer than I can remember. They all continued to encourage me and were always there to help me with anything that I needed. I would ask my coaches for help if I should do this better, or this better. I was always trying to get better. I had the desire to be the best that I could be.

They said I was great. I was the player that it didn’t come naturally too, I was the player who worked hard to get where I was, and that was something to be proud of. Every game, I remember being cheered for. “Man, you have a killer serve.” They would say.

I could serve fifteen or twenty points in a row. And every serve, just got a little better. I remember seeing the big smiles on my coaches’ faces when I was on five in a row and the ball still wasn’t returning. I loved running into the timeout ecstatic because the other team was just so pissed. I loved when my coaches said, “Do it again. Let's finish this.”

These coaches were the coaches I admire. The coaches that loved to coach and loved to teach passion for the game. These were the best coaches.

Now as there are great coaches everywhere, there are some players in this world who get stuck with bad coaches. Notice how I said players and not teams. This is because you liked the team, you just decided to go against one player, that player was me. You were the coach that no matter what I did, it was never good enough. No matter how hard I worked, how fast I ran, how hard I served, or how perfect I passed it was never good enough for you. You were the coach who made me hate this game.

Once I hated the game, there was no turning back. It was nearly the middle of the final season. Why didn’t I quit, you say? Because a true teammate doesn’t quit on their team. I spent that whole season sitting and watching. Sitting and watching and cheering as loud as I could for every point and every player.

I mean, It wasn’t their fault you didn’t like me. I watched you pull up sophomores and juniors to play in a spot I was very capable of playing in. I watched you have trust in them when you had no trust in me. I still loved the game then.

I still got excited when the serving began. I still jumped out of my chair and yelled in excitement when my team had a great hit. I still loved to practice. I still loved to drive two hours on a bus for a tournament I knew I wasn’t going to play in. I still worked my butt off every day to make you proud. I still came to practice early and left late for you to see I was giving the effort you wanted. I still loved the game.

Then I realized I would never be good enough for you. I realized I could do everything you wanted, and it wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t have to tell me I wasn’t good enough for you, your face every day; your disappointed looking face every time you glanced at me said it all. I was good enough for everyone else, I just wasn’t good enough for you. The day I realized that, that’s the day I started hating the game.

It was almost like giving up, but I didn’t. I stuck with it, I still worked hard for my team. But gradually, I became a cheerleader instead of a player. I still participated in every practice, I still helped my teammates improve, I still wore my jersey every game. But I just didn’t care anymore. I stopped loving this game. And I blame you for it all.

I remember shedding tears after all the games my parent’s struggle making it to just to watch me play, and seeing their sad faces when I didn’t. I remember my senior night game the most. That is the last game for seniors on their home court.

That is supposed to be the most memorable moment of their high school athletic career. I remember playing in one rotation of mine. And I remember you subbing in a sophomore to take over my spot for the rest of the game. I was heartbroken, but I couldn’t show it. I didn’t do anything wrong, that I thought, I didn’t lose a point for us, I believe I actually gained some.

You just hated seeing me do well, because when I did well, you knew you were wrong for not letting me play.

After all of these years I just want to say to you: Making me feel worthless to your team, doesn’t want me to work harder for you. And remember, when I continued to work hard every day. It wasn’t for you. It was for my team. I was committed to my team, but I was not committed to you.

Telling me that If I did something different I would get more playing time. But then when I did that something it wasn’t good enough. I spent my second half of the season heartbroken after every practice, but I tried not to let you see the pain I felt, because that was a sign of weakness and would only give you a chance to treat me worse.

But some days I just couldn’t hide it. The days that you would pull me aside just to tell me how much you didn’t like how I played, but just loud enough for everyone to hear. Humiliating me in front of my team, those were the days I couldn’t hold back.

Those were the days you wanted me to walk out and leave, but instead, I just fell apart in front of everyone, I left the gym, got myself together and came back, and that look on your face knowing you didn’t defeat me, made me feel a little better. When my parents asked me why I didn’t play, or why I got subbed out after one mistake, I said no words. Because I didn’t have an answer for their simple question.

You made me feel like nothing.

You made me feel like I had no ability to play this game even though everyone else knew I did. After that last game, on the bus ride home I thought to myself. I wished I was your one and only. I wished I was the one and only player you treated this way. I hoped you would never treat another player the way you treated me.

But I also wished you would have never treated me like this. I wish you would have made me love the game more. Instead, you made me hate everything about it.