Early Detection Saves Lives

I have a confession to make.

For many years, I thought "Breast Cancer Awareness Month" to be... somewhat redundant. Is there anyone out there who doesn't know breast cancer doesn't exist? Do we need to tell more people about it every year? What about childhood cancer? What about all the other underfunded and under researched cancers that don't get any national recognition whatsoever?

.Almost 2 years ago, that opinion would be quickly and radically challenged.

October 2016

Life was pretty normal in the days and weeks leading up to October 31, 2016. My Mom was due for her annual mammogram, but her primary care doctor reassured her that it wasn't really necessary according to the new guidelines ; she was a low risk patient, being that she was young and had no family history of breast cancer at all. She had already had many annual mammograms and all of them had been perfectly normal. "Technically" the guidelines called for only biennial mammograms. But because her insurance still covers an annual mammogram, my mom thought "I might as well...."That split second decision and that appointment Halloween day would soon change the course of our lives forever.You see, that year's mammogram was the very first one to be far from normal.

Late November: the biopsy

After a suspicious looking mammogram and a follow up to primary care, a biopsy was scheduled for the end of November. The biopsy later confirmed what no person wants to hear: cancer. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

December: initial consultations 

Originally, the recommendations were all encouraging. At her first appointment with the surgeon, my mom was reassured that the tumor was small and that there was no immediate rush to start treatment. He assured her that this was common, that her case was nothing special, and was fairly certain that she would be able to be "cured" with just surgery and maybe some radiation treatments, too. With this information in hand, and knowing that my sister's wedding was just 2 short months away, my Mom opted to schedule her surgery for just after the new year, postponing treatment in order to be fully available to our family during the Christmas and wedding celebrations. She was able to celebrate Christmas at home with all 3 of her kids, 2 in laws, and a beautiful Grandbaby. Just 5 days later she was overjoyed as she watched my sister marry the man of her dreams.

January 9: surgery 

Before we knew it, the joyous celebrations were over and it was time to tackle this beast head on. It was officially surgery day. Everything went as planned, thank God, and in just a few hours my Mom was on her way home to rest and recover. Technically, on this day, the cancer was gone.

Late January: test results

After what felt like an excruciating wait, pathology reports were in and it was time to meet with Oncology. The margins were clear, and thankfully so were the lymph nodes. But this is what none of us expected - yes, this tumor was indeed small, but it was a beast. In fact, the tumor was characterized by pathology as a Grade 3 (high grade) - the most aggressive a breast tumor can get. 

February: more tests; more waiting

Because of the grade 3 distinction, the oncology team was no longer convinced that radiation would be my mom's only upcoming battle. The beginning of February was full of waiting and wondering as the tumor was sent off for additional testing. More information was needed to determine what the next few months would entail. Of utmost importance - HER2 testing and Oncotype DX - which would indicate her specific risk of recurrence (or the chance that her cancer would come back). This in turn would help my mom and her medical team determine if chemo was indicated. Because even though technically the cancer was removed and gone, she still had the next 40 years to plan for.In general, an oncotype "score" of anything less than 18 indicates low risk and means that chemo is not likely to be a helpful part of post-surgical treatment. A score between 19-30 is more of a "grey area" - there's no strong research to support that patients who fall in this area will reap noticeable differences in their prognosis with or without chemo. A score of 30 or higher means that the risk of recurrence is HIGH, and the benefits from chemo are likely to outweigh the risks and side effects.During this time, it felt like every day was 100 hours long - just waiting for the phone to ring and praying every day that the results would bear some good news. During this time, I prayed relentlessly for a low score. I begged God. I asked all of my friends to join me in boldly praying for a number lower than 10. I had never in my life wanted such a specific answer to prayer. Less than 10, please, just be less than 10.In the meantime, my Mom met with a radiation oncologist to discuss her options for radiation. There were 2 options presented: Traditional external beam radiation, which would last for 7 weeks, or Brachytherapy, in which radiactive pellets are sent directly to the cancerous site. While this requires two visits per day - radiation is complete after just 5 days. Thankfully, an ultrasound showed that my Mom was in fact a candidate for brachytherapy. One piece of good news....Finally, after many delays, the genomic testing was completed and the results were in.Her2: positive.Oncotype: 28.GULP. Technically, we were within the 'grey area' but just barely....I still remember the phone call from my parents. I remember the way my heart pounded and my mouth went dry. They didn't even mention the number at first, just that there were no more decisions to be made. My Mom's mind was made up as she announced the bravest decision she'd hopefully ever have to make: Chemo was officially a go.

Late Feruary: radiation

Finally, towards the end of February, it was time for radiation to begin. Unfortunately, contrary to our initial hopes, it was no longer the only treatment that loomed ahead. Radiation came and went quickly with no complications (other than the fact I got in a serious car accident on my way to pick up my mom and take her to the cancer center. seriously, God?!) My mom was required to be at the radiation clinic twice a day and live with a device implanted in her breast, which of course is no small feat, but at the end of the week, she was DONE. Radiation: CHECK.On to chemo.

March - May : Chemo

First came an overwhelming meeting with a chemo educator and plotting out all that would be required over the next few months: pre-chemo labratory tests to check blood counts, twice daily temperature checks to monitor for fevers, post-chemo Neulasta injections, multiple 5-day oral steroid courses, at home nausea medications (to be taken on a strict schedule), and of course the actual chemo infusions themselves. The packet of necessary precautions we were given felt thick enough to be its own dictionary. For starters: no fresh flowers. no fruits and vegetables. no contact whatsoever with sick people. no leaving the house at all during "low count" days. limited visitors at all times. No traveling. And the list goes on.....Required education: completed.Prescriptions: filled.Daily checklist: made and color coordinated.Chemo infusion appointments: scheduled.It was time for the first round of chemo.I have to say - I will always be incredibly proud and amazed at the way my mom marched into that cancer center on that day and voluntarily received her first dose of IV chemo. It wasn't "required". The days leading up to this, she felt perfect. She had no symptoms. The surgery had indeed made her "cancer free". But chemo? It came with more side effects and scary realities than she probably even realized. She knew she was in for a rough couple of months. She knew how sick she might get, and how much of her freedom she was giving up. But I will always remember the words she said to me with tears in her eyes when I asked her if she was sure."I plan to be there at your wedding, Sarah. I want to hold your babies. I want to play with my grandkids. I'm going to do this"All things considered, my mom's journey through chemo was relatively uncomplicated. Aside from one terrible bout of chemo-induced colitis, a necessary change of chemo dosing, and a few fever scares leading to prolonged Emergency Room visits, chemo came and went without any major complications. Fatigue and hair loss were her most prominent side effects, and luckily the at-home nausea medications did their job.

Fast forward to October 2018: remission

It has been almost exactly 2 years to the day since my Mom went in for that "optional" mammogram. In those two years, in addition to every day life, my mom has attended and enjoyed her daughter's wedding. She has been there for 2 Christmas mornings. She has shared countless laughs with her granddaughter. She has supported a daughter through pregnancy and helped her navigate life with a newborn. She has supported me through a career change and helped me navigate my own chronic illness. She has been there for all of us, in ways I can't even describe.Looking at all of this in retrospect, it is so easy to see how drastically different this experience could have been. I get tears in my eyes every single time I think about what might have happened if my mom waited until the next October to go in for a mammogram; and because of this, I now know how important awareness is, and I am here today to tell you shout from the rooftops that

Early detection saves lives.

Even after the mammogram, knowing exactly where the tumor was, none of my mom's doctors could feel it from the outside. It hadn't grown large enough or spread far enough to cause any noticeable symptoms or pain. A self exam would have never discovered the tumor until it was far larger. An abnormal mammogram reading was the one and ONLY thing that led to her early diagnosis and treatment - and, in my honest opinion, it is the one thing that saved her life.

Early detection saves lives.

"Check your bumps for lumps". "Feel them on the first". Remind a friend to do the same. See your doctor regularly. Get an annual mammogram after age 40 - no matter how much you dread that appointment. I know that my mom was reluctant to get that mammogram 2 Octobers ago. But I sure am glad she's here to tell me about it.I'd be lying if I said I'd completely left this ordeal behind us. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still scared. Because while her initial breast cancer is defeated, i'm haunted by the fact that it is actually the recurrence of breast cancer which is responsible for most deaths from the disease. In the meantime, I thank God for every day that we get to enjoy together. I thank my Mom for selflessly getting that mammogram; for choosing to battle through chemo so she could be there for us. I pray constantly that recurrence is not a part of our story. And I pray that somehow God can use our story to raise awareness for early detection, and ultimately to bring glory to His name.

Early detection saves lives. 

"Save the tatas"?... Sure. But more importantly, lets fight to save the mothers. the wives. the sisters, daughters, coworkers, friends, and strangers. Because for what felt like an eternity but was really only a brief time, I genuinely feared that I would lose my mom to this terrible beast. And I hope someday no daughter ever has to know that feeling.Never. Again.

Twenty-5: a reflection on the modern quarter life crisis

I’ve never really had any fear of getting older before. I was the girl who counted down the days until her birthday. 18 was exciting and full of opportunity, 21 felt like "FINALLY!", and years 22-24 just felt too good to be true. I have always loved birthdays, and all the love and excitement that surrounded me once a year. That seemed to change suddenly this year - yes, behind all of the "quarter life crisis" humor  lives a huge hidden insecurity about this birthday and what it brings - or more, what it doesn't.I'm about to get really real and raw here, as a way to not only clear my own mind but to potentially help anyone who may read this and relate. I don't think that struggles are talked about openly and honestly enough. I believe that if we are each more raw and real with each other, we will all feel more connected and less isolated in the feelings that we have and the struggles we endure - because nothing is worse than struggling and feeling as though you are the only person who has ever felt that way.I whole-heartedly hope that this does not come across as complaining or being dramatic; rather an honest reflection and opening my heart as to the current season of life I am living and the struggles that are pervasive. I hope that when my friends and family read this they can, above all, see the love I have for them that shines through; because it is this love that has carried me through this season to this point, and it's this same love that gives me enough courage to keep going.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So, as it turns out, being 25 and single, Christian, incredibly modest and naive, and socially conservative can be so ridiculously isolating in our world and society. It's not the norm among anyone I know. It's not celebrated in pop culture. It's certainly not "cool" or "trendy". And our world sure as hell has a way of reminding you of all of that. The sexualization and modernization of our world has led to a perception that your worth is at least partly based on your relationship status or your ability to "get the guy". There is a huge (false) pressure to rush to find "the one", to get married, and if nothing else, an immense pressure to be popular and desired amongst the opposite sex and to have plenty of hook ups - tinder is pervasive and so are the expectations that come along with casual dating. Although statistically we as a nation are waiting to get married later (average age for a woman is up to 27!) we still seem to have sort of preconceived notion of people who are "STILL" single in their mid 20s. Like, surely there is something wrong with that person?! Just a quick google search will bring up headlines like "25 ways to SURVIVE being 25 and single!" "A girl's guide to being 25 and single". And it's not just pop culture, either. It's much closer to home. My parents were married by age 26 , my brother married his wife at 24, and my sister was married at 25. I've recently run into old childhood friends who were a few years and grades younger than I am, who are now married with kids. The token single friends that I met in college or even after have since met their soulmate and are either engaged or happily married. "Girls nights" have inevitably turned into "3 couples plus Sarah nights". So,yeah, as it turns out, turning 25 and being "STILL" single can be a bit of a rough roller coaster. Add that to feelings of career and professional floundering, and you have a recipe for a ROUGH season of life.In my inner circle, (and outer, for that matter) almost all of my friends are successful, professional young marrieds with freaking CUTE kids.  And really, don't take that as a complaint because I chose these people and I wouldn't trade it for ANYTHING. I deliberately chose to pursue friendships with people because of how special they are and selfishly because of what I knew I could gain and learn as a result of surrounding myself with amazing people like them. Because of my work in the hospital and out, I tend to meet people who are not otherwise my "peer". I've always gravitated towards people older than I am, and it has always worked out so well for me. And don’t get me wrong- I’ll sing it from the rooftops ALL day long - I LOVE my tribe. I love my friends, I love their sweet kids, and I love that they are generous enough to share precious moments and memories with me- even though I’m not quite "there" yet. I love knowing that someday when I do have kids I will have the worlds most expert experienced Mom support group watching and  cheering me on. Seriously, just typing that sentence makes me teary-eyed thinking about all of these people that will be there to support me in that season- those who will be there joyfully celebrating with me and reminiscing on these days when it felt so far away and somehow so unreachable.And I really, really love that I am in a position to be there for people- physically. Jumping in the car to drive across town for a last minute play-date. On the doorstep with coffee and donuts after a long night with a young baby. Swinging by with dinner on my way to work when someone is sick or having a hard week. It is completely my love language to do this and so much more for other people, and it blesses me to be able to do so. I love being an extra set of hands and I always hope I am seen as a friend that can be relied on through the best AND worst of times.On the flip side, my friends aren’t in the position or stage of life to have the freedom to do the same, and I wouldn’t in a million years want them to leave their family at home to do so. But there are just some rough nights at work, some anxiety-ridden weeks, and some plain old shitty days where I wish I physically could show up for myself on my own doorstep with a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, and a cheesy rom-com, prepared with a full pep talk, to convince myself that someday it will all work out - and truly believe it.It bears repeating that these relationships are so fruitful and full of blessings in their own right, and wow, are they so breathtakingly special and beautiful. Incredible vacations with the family. Emotional heart-to-hearts and tears shared during nap time. Mindless weekends away at the cabin getting dirty and playing baseball in the woods. Enthusiastic hugs and wet, slobbery kisses from honorary nieces and nephews who really, truly love me. Advice given from those who have already lived through so much, those who have an incredible amount of knowledge and wisdom and those who are patient enough to share it with me time and time again when I need reminding, when I come crawling back in tears. My friends have never done anything but make me feel welcomed and like I fit in, and for that I am eternally grateful. But when the play date is over, the vacation comes to an end, and everyone goes home, I’m left in the quiet and calm to wonder “why not me?” and “when will it be my turn?” I may not even remotely be at the same life stage as so many of my friends and the people I choose to surround myself with. But I am so richly blessed by these people- clear evidence that God knew what he was doing all along.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So no, I may not be where I imagined I would by 25. I was the girl who planned out her wedding long before Pinterest was even a thing. I obsessively played MASH with my grade school friends, fantasizing about our future husbands and children. We played "wedding" more often than any other make believe scenario - I can still picture my tiny self wearing the dress-up veil as I walked down the makeshift aisle. I have a list saved in my phone of baby names that I like for my hypothetical future children. I have a deep rooted desire and passion for foster care and adoption. I "planned" on getting married by 24 and starting a family by 26 (though I laugh at that now.. okay God!). A few years ago, I had it all figured out. I planned on being a full time child life specialist at my dream hospital, I planned on being happy and satisfied both at work and at home. And I certainly didn't plan on having a chronic illness, being dependent on IV infusions, and having to sit out some of life's adventures while I worked my way back to health.It seems, though,that I happen to be in good company with at least some of these feelings and thoughts. My favorite author, Shauna Niequist, wrote an entire chapter in a book about turning 25 and the emotions and struggles that come with it. Here's a short blurb from her words that I love so much, especially now.

"When you’re 25-ish, you’re old enough to know what kind of music you love, regardless of what your last boyfriend or roommate always used to play. You know how to walk in heels, how to tie a necktie, how to give a good toast at a wedding and how to make something for dinner. Your life can look a lot of different ways when you’re 25: single, dating, engaged, married. You are working in dream jobs, pay-the-bills jobs and downright horrible jobs. You are young enough to believe that anything is possible, and you are old enough to make that belief a reality.

Twenty-five is a great time to start counseling, if you haven’t already, and it might be a good round two of counseling if it’s been a while... Unravel the knots that keep you from living a healthy whole life, and do it now, before any more time passes.Don't get stuck. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk. There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness and this is neither. This season is about becoming. Don't lost yourself at happy hour, but don't lose yourself on the corporate ladder either. Stop every once in a while and go out to coffee or climb in bed with your journal. Ask yourself some good questions like "Am I proud of the life I am living? What have I tried this month? What have I learned about God this year? .... Now is your time. Walk closely with people you love, and with people who believe God is good and life is a grand adventure. Don't get stuck in the past, and don't try to fast forward yourself into a future you haven't yet earned. Give today all the love and intensity and courage you can, and keep traveling honestly along life's path."

Wow, inspiring, right!? So where do we go from here? How does the quarter life crisis give way to years of excitement, freedom, and possibility? How do we transition from hopelessness to hope? I think, most importantly, it starts right within our own hearts.I do realize that most of my doubt and insecurity, along with my feelings of inadequacy are self imposed. I don’t think there’s a single person in my life who “expected” me to have accomplished more or to be someone different by age 25 -besides myself that is. For my entire life, I have held myself to a standard much higher than that of what I would ever expect from another person. I expect the best from myself, and anything less results in a flood of anxiety and doubt. I have deep seeded high expectations of myself and clear cut perceptions of what I "should" be doing. I am a perfectionist at heart, the kind of person who thrived in school where success was quantifiable. I was obsessive about grades and measured my success based on my GPA.Fast forward a few years, and I have so many goals for myself that I have failed to achieve - I cheer my friends on from the sideline and watch with joy as the accomplish these things and so much more. My encouragement, merriment, pure joy, and happiness for them is completely genuine, but it would be remiss to talk about the happiness without also acknowledging how painful it can be to be the last one left cheering from the stands.And yes, I will fully admit that deep down, a lack of self worth and self confidence is where a lot of these feelings stems from- and our social media society definitely doesn’t help. We used to live in a world where we compared ourselves only to those around us - at home, at work, and in social circles. We held ourselves to a standard based off of people we knew in real life - but now Instagram has widened our scope and at the same time given us a false perception of others' reality. We now compare ourselves against a highlight reel that has been carefully curated for the public eye. The scrolling seems harmless, but it's only a matter of time before one starts to wonder, "If I looked like them, partied like them, or lived my life the way they do...would I have the things that they have? Would I be happier, more confident and full of joy? Would I have less doubt and be filled with more faith?"I think turning 25 feels extra hard in the context of what my year has been like. I lost my dream job and so many friends that came along with it- and have since felt like the ultimate failure as a result. I feel like I haven’t accomplished enough in my personal life, yes, but also my professional life. I am the girl who graduated high school at 16, had a bachelors degree before my 21st birthday, and was employed at my dream job before I even turned 22. All things that I am incredibly proud of and accomplishments that helped me to feel successful and satisfied. Yet somehow despite all of this I find myself here, on the brink of 25 without much to show for it. I have no trophies to show, no accomplishments to brag about, and no awards to hang on the fridge. I work two part time jobs - sometimes 3 - and struggle to find true satisfaction in the one career I thought I was destined for - the one thing that I relentlessly fought for for so many years.I hope that through all this struggle and strife I am learning a fierce independence that will serve me well, both in the immediate and distant futures. I hope that I am learning to rely more on God and less on social media likes for true inner happiness. I hope that I am learning what life is really all about, learning that comparison will get you nowhere, learning that striving only for quantifiable achievement and success will never win in the end. I hope that I am learning that one of the most important things you can do is to truly love and encourage your own soul. I hope that I am walking the exact path I need to be that will eventually lead me to a happier place - the place I was meant for all along.I pray that right now, God is shaping me to be the woman and wife and mother I will need to be someday. And for the time being, I strive to feel less lonely, less inadequate, less reliant on others for affirmation and validation. I strive to feel more confident in my own abilities, more courageous,  and more loving toward my own self.

In the meantime, I am so consciously aware of and thankful for the many blessings that have been made so apparent to me lately. For the friendships that feel more like family. For the people willing to encourage me when I don't know how to encourage myself. For the friends who are proud of me and who love me without expectation of success. For the shoulders to cry on. For the ones who are willing to point me back to Jesus when I question my own worth. For the friends who refuse to let me wallow, and instead surround me with happiness and joy on the days when I don't know how to find it myself.I hope and pray that I’ll look back someday and realize these weeks, months, and years, as tough as they may be, were critical in shaping me into the beautiful person I was meant to be all along- so, cheers to year 25 and getting just one step closer to the best days of my life..."What sets you apart can sometimes feel like a burden, and it's not. A lot of the time, its what makes you great"

Ain’t it funny how life changes?

I’ve been thinking so much this week about life’s changes and unpredictability.

7 years ago this week, my sister moved to LA to pursue her dream career. I quickly felt lost without her.

4 years ago this week I graduated with my Bachelors degree - at the young age of 20. 

3 years ago this week, I accepted my first child life job and was preparing to head to California- my first time moving away from Phoenix.

2 years ago this same week, I had my last day at that job before moving back “home” to Phoenix- even though it felt way too soon and incredibly conflicting.

I remember so many things about each of these weeks and the emotions that ran wild. As though it was just yesterday, I remember the way I cried as we pulled up to my sister's new LA apartment, because I didn't know how to live apart from her. I remember the feelings of immense gratitude and disbelief I had as I sat next to my 4 best friends waiting for our names to be called at convocation. We had been through so much in the previous 4 years and I was terrified to have to head into real life without them literally by my side each and every day. I remember my going away party before leaving for California early the next morning - as I ushered the last guest out of the door I cried in a way I hadn't ever before. I was excited, but more than that I was physically sick with fear. I remember giving myself a pep talk the next day and basically forcing myself to put the car in reverse and drive away. I remember the tight grip I had on the steering wheel and even remember turning on worship music and praying as I drove out of my parents' garage.And again, just one year later to the week, I remember crying in the same intense way and gripping the steering wheel just as I had the year before, as I backed out of the driveway of my beloved, cozy home in Orange. Through my tears, I waved to my second parents as I drove away, feeling eternally grateful for them, their home, and the way their love had shaped me that year. The night before, I had said goodbye to a ridiculously amazing talented group of people - my CHOC family - and I felt so conflicted, confused, and unsure of my decision. I "joke" now that I cried halfway back to Phoenix, but in all reality it was one of the hardest drives and few hours of my life.  I didn't know it at the time, but these feelings would really only intensify once I had left the state.

When I moved back home 2 years ago this week, I had NO idea the stress and heartache that would follow in the next few years. I knew I would be processing the transition back to Phoenix and mourning the loss of my California life, but I didn’t know I was about to enter a season full of other storms and hard trials. I had no idea that my life would soon revolve around my own medical treatments for a new chronic illness diagnosis. I didn’t know I would unexpectedly lose my dream job and deal with my moms cancer diagnosis in the same year. But I guess I also didn’t know the amount of joy and small moments of happiness that would be scattered in among the mess. I didn't know I was about to meet some of the most influential people in my life or that I was going to gain lifelong friends who soon became more like family. I didn't know I would soon find a church that finally felt like home. I didn't know I was going to learn and grow so quickly at my job and become an integral part of such a respected team. I didn't know I was going to gain so many honorary nieces and nephews to love on and enjoy. Most of all, I didn't know how strong I was about to become as a result of the things thrown my way.I’d be lying if I said I didn’t question any of my decisions. I miss California, I miss my old job at CHOC, I miss my Orange County friends, I miss my cute house, my roommates, my second family,  my favorite local pizza joint, the endless boba tea, and my beach dates with friends. I could go on for days about the number of things and people I miss there. I wonder almost every single day what "could have been" had I made different decisions and stayed at my job, stayed in Orange. Not ever having the privilege of knowing if I made the “right” choice gives me more anxiety than I can even articulate. Once home in Phoenix, I was repeatedly blindsided and left broken and confused- after following what I had felt was a true prompting from God. What was the "purpose" behind living through this pain? Why hadn’t I seen any of this coming? How could all of this happen so quickly and unexpectedly? But maybe that’s the whole point- maybe if I had the ability to see all of this coming I wouldn’t have been brave enough to jump headfirst into the storm.I'm thankful that this week, this year, I don't have any major life changing scary transitions happening - but also recognizing with a new understanding that I may not always see them coming, either. And maybe that's really part of the blessing too - if we all knew how difficult tomorrow and the next day and the next month would be, would we be willing to face the next day at all? Would we be brave enough to keep pressing through if we knew every single tragedy that lie in the near future? Maybe being left in the dark is, deep down, a survival tactic to force us to keep fighting, keep hoping, and keep loving.So this week, this year, I’m striving to be at peace with that- and to focus more on growing as a person than on the specific changes that have occurred and the changes that are inevitably still yet to come. 

“The truth is that teamwork is at the heart of every great accomplishment”

 Well, just like that, it’s come and gone; my first season as an all-star cheer coach is officially a wrap.I had really high expectations for what it would be like to finally be a coach- after all, it’s something I dreamed of for over 10 years before it became a reality. Somehow, though, the past 6 months have far exceeded it all. It’s not just the success of the teams, either. It's not the trophies and medals, the "big moments" of the season that stand out or matter the most to me.

Not at all

.Rather, it’s the little moments in between when girls learn to work together, to put others first, to be proud of their own hard work. It's the moment when an athlete gets a skill she has been working towards for MONTHS (and when her teammates are even more proud and excited for her success than she is). It's girls overcoming injuries, illnesses, and all kinds of adversity, and doing it all with a smile on their face, for the benefit of their teammates. It's girls stepping up last minute, without a second of hesitation, to help with teams that suddenly need an extra person. It's the first-time cheerleader who, on her first nationals trip, is overheard saying to her teammate "this is the best day of my life!" It's the way that the older girls eagerly cheer on the younger ones, completely taking them under their wing and giving new meaning to the words "cheer sister". It's the moment when girls set aside all differences, rumors, drama, and doubt, and trade it in for pure love and admiration for each other. It's the moment when you realize that not only have strangers become teammates, but they've become best friends too. It's the moment the shyest cheerleader of the bunch finally comes out of her shell, because she feels so at home with her teammates and coaches. It's the quiet moments backstage, giving private one-on-one pep-talks to remind the girls of their capabilities. It's the moment in warm-ups when you overhear bases reminding their flyer "you got this. no doubts". It's the team huddles where there is NOTHING but positivity and good energy being spread.  It's the moment when, completely unprovoked and without their coaches, the team gathers to say a prayer; thanking God for one another and the experiences they have shared this year.  It's the moment a cheerleader runs off the stage to hug you and with tears in her eyes says "thank you for believing in me". It's the moment when, as a coach, you realize you just may be as influential and important to these girls as your coaches were (and still are) to you.

At the end of the day, teaching life lessons is so much more important to me than teaching tumbling, stunts, and jumps. If I do anything as a coach I hope it is to equip these incredible girls to be self-assured, optimistic, encouraging, loving, compassionate, selfless, understanding, and overall well-rounded humans. And if that's all I do? Mission accomplished.So, yes, hanging all these first place banners in the gym will feel good. But realizing these girls are far more mature, confident, considerate, and courageous than they were when I met them? That feels even better.I will likely always remember this season full of so many special firsts. My first teams. My first cheerleaders. My first amazingly supportive parents and families who were kind enough to trust me to pave the way for their precious daughters. My first 1st place finish. My first time to choreograph a section of a routine. My first HIT ZERO. My first trip to nationals. My first co-coaches who were brave enough to take a chance on this inexperienced coach (for which I am forever grateful).

Above all, I am a coach that is SO proud of her girls. But no, it's not because they won. It's because of who they became, together, as a family.