Getting subbed out halfway through my volleyball game hit me like a slap to the face. It wasn’t that I felt like the coach thought I was bad at the game. It wasn’t that I felt like I was better than everyone else and this was a massive blow to my ego. It was because my much taller teammate, who also plays my position, arrived late. As I walked off the court, I felt a familiar feeling. I was hit with the reminder that I lacked something most people in my position had: height. But as much as my height impacted my performance on the court, I wouldn’t realize for a long time just how much it would help me.

I first started volleyball because of my mom. When I was 12 years old, I sat surrounded by old photos of my mom with her volleyball team and I felt as if I was destined to follow in her footsteps, but as I joined more clinics and camps, I continued playing volleyball because I found a love for the thrill and the community that came with it. It had become a part of who I was, of my identity, and it was a place where I had found friends and a confidence in myself.

But moving to the Bay Area came with challenges. Volleyball is extremely competitive, and I was building from the ground up, surrounded by people who had been playing longer than I had. So making it onto the junior varsity volleyball team for MVHS was a huge achievement. As my parents hugged me and my friends congratulated me, I felt like nothing could go wrong. I felt like I was unstoppable, until I realized that I wasn’t as tall as I needed to be. 

I had been playing in the earlier games — games that didn’t really matter — but when the games got more intense, I barely played. When I was on the court, it was obvious I was at a disadvantage. I couldn’t shake off the shame when every play reminded me just how much my height took a toll on my performance. And while I was putting so much focus into trying to improve my hits and blocking, I neglected working on defense like passing and receiving. Because of that I started thinking I was a bad volleyball player, not just that I lacked height, it felt like a stab to the heart to realize that my struggles were inevitable. But as the school season continued, I realized that even if I was at a disadvantage, I could still try to make a difference. So with my mom’s help, I started training: going to the gym and working on increasing my vertical, going to more camps over the summer and working on all the skills I lacked. Slowly but surely, I started noticing a difference. I was jumping higher when I was at the net, I was receiving stronger serves with more accuracy and I was faster and more confident on the court.

At one of my tournaments, I realized just how much I’d actually improved. I was playing defense for opposite, and the hitter on the other side jumped up, form flawless and hit the ball directly at my chest. In the split second where the ball was flying at me, I knew I was stuck in a situation that every player feared: not knowing whether to take the ball with my arms or my hands. But right before the ball hit me, I turned and moved back an inch, just managing to take the ball with my arms all in the span of a single second. It was a shock to me — as someone who was used to receiving a hard driven hit and not being able to get the ball up and keep it on the court. When our game ended and I was watching the video of that pass that my mom took, I felt a pride in myself that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

In my life, I had never played so well. I realized just how much volleyball, and my challenges with my height, had done for me. I had learned that I can improve my performance on the court despite my height, and find ways to push past it. I had found a resistance in myself and a confidence that I never experienced before. It has given me resilience in other aspects of my life, like pushing through school work and setbacks in track and field. When I get mad at myself for falling behind in classes, I channel that anger into a drive to push as hard as I can and to get ahead academically. When I feel like I’m about to crumple to the ground on my last lap at a track and field meet, I grit my teeth and push harder, telling myself to finish the race and not give up. 

When I now stand on the side of the volleyball court, wondering why I even continue to play, I remind myself of the little girl who had fallen in love with every up and down of volleyball, and I get back onto the court and I play with more confidence than I ever knew I had, despite being shorter than most of my team. Because I now know that through everything I had been through, I am worthy to stand on the court.