Cheerleader

Sometimes I wonder where personality ends and learned habits begin. Did God knit together even the way I think, or has free will and circumstance shaped me into someone beyond His original design?

These are the kinds of questions I don’t think we’ll fully understand on this side of Heaven. Did God choose every step I’d take or does He just know what I’ll choose? Does He intervene only in the big moments to keep His providential plan intact? I’ve wrestled with that tension, especially as life has constantly shifted in ways I didn’t expect.

One of those shifts happened during my time as a college athlete.

I played soccer for Virginia Tech and played a position where you typically either play all 90 minutes or none. My freshman year, I played every minute of every game. I felt like I had arrived. My confidence was high, and I believed I’d earned that spot through sheer hard work and grit.

But when I look back now, I realize that there was more at play. It was the height of COVID. The team was rebuilding. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I still worked hard, but it wasn’t only about that.

Then came sophomore year. A new freshman came in and she was solid, composed, and talented. From preseason, it was clear she was going to challenge for my spot. I didn’t panic because I’d been a starter before, and I assumed I’d stay one. But after one off game, I got subbed out and stayed out for a majority of regular season play. Game after game, I sat on the bench, watching someone else play the position I once thought was mine.

It shook me. Not just my confidence on the field, but my confidence in myself.

That season revealed something I hadn’t realized before: how deeply my identity had become tied to performance. Sport had subtly taught me this truth: If you’re not the best, you’re replaceable. That mindset didn’t stay on the field. It bled into friendships, relationships, and career goals. I started to believe I had to prove my worth constantly or risk being forgotten and discarded.

Lately, I’ve noticed how that belief still lingers. Without soccer, I no longer have something I’m “the best” at. I don’t stand out like I used to. I’ve caught myself trying tons of new hobbies and trying to present a version of myself that looks put together, successful, and “enough.” That same drive that once helped me succeed now fuels insecurity and doubt.

But something changed in junior and senior year.

As I processed the disappointment of losing my starting spot, I began to find something deeper. I started to realize that my identity in God was more important than my identity as a soccer player. Slowly, my perspective shifted. My focus moved from proving myself to building something meaningful with the people around me. I leaned into the community of our team, not just as teammates, but as sisters. Loving each other well became more important than playing every minute.

I began to cheer loudly and wholeheartedly for the center back who had taken my place. I watched her thrive, and it became beautiful, not because it was easy, but because I truly wanted what was best for our team. And then something even more beautiful happened: she did the same thing when another center back came in after her. The culture we built was one of uplift, not competition. We celebrated each other. We showed up for one another. We created something rare: a team that loved one another no matter what role we played.

That principle, to uplift others regardless of your own position, has stayed with me ever since. I’ve learned empowering those around you is far more impactful than any position of power or privilege. Life is miserable alone but joyous and rewarding together.

And so I circle back to that question. Who am I, really? If I’m not a starter, not a soccer player, not “the best” at anything—do I still matter?

I’m learning, slowly, that maybe God’s design for me is to be unconditionally loved as a person and to love others unconditionally. That I am really good at loving others and seeing the best in them. Cheering those around me on in life because we all need encouragement and love.

I’m also learning that identity, the one found in God, doesn’t shift when the lineup changes or the applause fades. It doesn’t depend on minutes played, titles earned, amount of money made, job title, or level of degree earned.

I still wrestle with doubt and insecurity, but I’m beginning to believe that worth doesn’t come from performance. It comes from being truly known by God and still chosen. And now, I carry with me the joy of choosing others too.

Deep questions of life!