“Stop making the same mistakes over and over again! You've been playing this sport since you were 7, you should have everything perfect by now.” The voice in my head yelled at me saying why I keep on making the same mistakes. Having the little person in my head saying I have to get everything right all the time; the amount of pressure I can put on myself is enough to crush me like a bug under a shoe. One wrong move and all the work I just did to break that bad habit goes down the drain.

Ever since I started playing volleyball as a little kid, I've wanted to play in the big leagues. Maybe even go play at the Olympic level. But the stress of perfectionism is like being in a box and having to fit perfectly into it. I try everything I can to fit perfectly into this one space with 4 sides, but I can't. I feel the disappointment rushing in like a thundering waterfall. If I do one thing wrong it could all go down. One wrong move on a side of a cliff could end in tragedy. There's always a heavy weight on my back to be worrying about. “Every day I walk into practice the mindset that I'm going to get better”. That's what I wish I could say I do every day. That's a goal I want to achieve but with the little person walking on my shoulders all the time. Wanting

me to do everything right. They get into my head, crawling into my ears. My eyes are as dark as the night, making me worry about every little move I make. 

Hearing the sound of hands contacting the ball. The loud boom I hear when someone gets a good hit. Seeing the ball hit your arms after getting an amazing dig. The sound of my teammates cheering me on. Seeing the gym floor, and the bright school colors on the walls. The white-lined net. The sound of shoes hitting the ground makes a squeaking sound. Walking into a game-like setting feels like an adrenaline rush. I want to just go out and play my best. But having that little weight on my chest that can grow and grow while I warm up and the little things I do wrong can start to feel like concrete bricks, one by one stacking on my back until my legs snap. Having all that weight on me already from the game not even starting yet can be very frustrating and exhausting. So I already feel like the slowest-moving sloth out there. But I have to shake that all off because the game is where it matters. 

I'm on the endline. The announcer is calling everyone's name one by one in numerical order. The silence everyone hears when they play the National Anthem. That's when you know it's getting real. Once all the events are done, I hear the people yelling and shouting while the ref blows his whistle, signaling to run to shake the other player's hands.  My team gets in our positions on the court getting ready to win the first point of the game. The feeling of that little person slowly going away as I get more comfortable with the game, but you never know when It can strike back like a little bee you never even knew was there. Ready to sting you, making the feeling come flowing back.