Faith in the Trenches: What I Learned from Playing for a Bad Coach

I still remember the sting of her words like it was yesterday.

“You’re like having five players on the court instead of six.”

That’s what my freshman high school coach told me. Loud enough for the gym to hear, but quiet enough to make it personal. She didn’t yell or throw clipboards—but somehow, her brand of coaching still found a way to break players down instead of building them up.

She wasn’t even a volleyball coach. She was a cross-country coach who took the stipend to “help out” with the freshman volleyball program that year. And in all fairness, I’m not sure she had any ill intent, but what she lacked in volleyball experience, she made up for in a painfully misguided approach to leadership. She didn’t know how to coach without cutting someone down. Encouragement was absent. Confidence was undermined. I walked off the court most days wondering if I’d ever be good enough.

So I get it now—years later—when athletes tell me they’ve been in that same place. They’re the ones who feel invisible. They’re picked last, or picked only to be punished. They’re the ones who wonder why their coach seems to dislike them. They’re the ones who feel like they have to prove themselves over and over, and yet it’s still never enough.

But let me tell you what happened next…

I went on to play club volleyball that same year under a coach who saw something different in me. Coach Danny believed in me, encouraged me, and—maybe not surprisingly—is now a youth pastor. He didn’t just shape my game. He helped rebuild my heart. And thankfully, that freshman year wasn’t the end of my story.

I came back for my sophomore HS season determined to do better—hoping things might change. And they did. A new coach stepped into the JV role, and almost immediately, she said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“You know, the coach from last year told me you were the last player she selected—but I want you to know you were actually the first I chose this year.”

That one sentence told me everything I needed to know. It was never about my ability. It was about that coaches inability to lead with wisdom, care, or purpose.

Years later, I would go on to coach college volleyball for 13 years. I’ve sat on benches that coach every level of play—from the athletes who dream of D1 scholarships to the ones just trying to make the high school roster. I’ve experienced real success, real failure, and all the moments in between. But one thing I’ll never forget is how it felt to be told I wasn’t good enough.

That’s why I lean in with such empathy now.

When a freshman tells me her coach barely speaks to her, I remember. When a player says it feels like she’s invisible on the court—like she isn’t even there—I remember. When a kid gets cut and starts questioning whether God gave her this dream by mistake, I remember.

I’ve been cut. I’ve been doubted. I’ve been underestimated. And still, here I am.

One verse that comes to mind when I reflect on that season is from 1 Samuel 16:7: “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” This verse isn’t about sports, but the principle applies. Coaches don’t always get it right. They evaluate skill, stats, attitude, and effort—but sometimes they miss the heart of a player. And sometimes, they miss how damaging their words can be.

But God never misses. He sees what others overlook. He calls what others dismiss. His evaluation always leads with truth and grace.

If you’ve been on the receiving end of a coach’s harsh criticism or cold indifference, you’re not alone. I’ve been there. And while it may feel like it defines your story—it doesn’t. That one season, that one coach, that one opinion—it doesn’t get the final say.

You still get to write your story.

You still get to grow.

You still get to rise.

And maybe one day, you’ll turn around and use that pain for a purpose just like I do now.