I lucked into finding volleyball. 

My athletic career wasn’t planned, nor was it something I was primed for. My parents granted me fairly tall genes with the only athletic inheritance being my father’s aptitude for football, which hardly translates to volleyball. I was a tall beanpole of a child with long limbs and delicate hands. But as I walked into the gym for the first time -- wide eyed and eager -- with my older sister to try out for a school team that I was two years too young for, little did I know I was walking towards my life's greatest passion. 

My volleyball career has spanned over the last 20 years across two disciplines with countless competitions and travel all over the world. From athlete to coach, healthy to injured, and every little thing in between.

As I take a step back and weave through the ins and outs of the inner workings of my life's journey, I can’t help but feel like I was made for this sport. The odds were not in my favour, but for every moment of doubt, hardship and defeat, there was hope, dreams and the courage to pursue.

Being a professional athlete is not for the faint of heart. Countless hours are spent in the gym mastering your craft, perfecting your body, sharpening your mind, building your spirit. The journey is at times a lonely one that can be void of what can be said to be life’s biggest milestones. Graduation ceremonies, weddings, birthdays, vacations, gone in the blink of an eye. I have been away from my family pursuing my dream since I was 18 years old, but in my years growing I learned how to be brave and gain the courage to experience my own milestones.

I was born in Toronto into a loving family. I was supported in my ventures of singing, arts and crafts, and my off-beat attempts at dance. I had dreams of becoming a doctor and running away to get married to my childhood crush Calvin -- I even packed my bags several times. I was defiant in my resolve, laying the building blocks of a strong heart for the years ahead.

When I was five years old, my parents separated, and I went from one of the biggest cities in Canada to one of the smallest in the small town of Errington on Vancouver Island: population 3,500. My mother, sister, baby brother and I lived in the middle of the woods on my grandparents’ property in a small one-bedroom cabin for two years. 

When my parents separated, I would have considered myself daddy’s little girl. I saw the world through his eyes until we moved across the country and I would see him no more. I don’t remember being saddened by the end of my parents’ relationship because I was too young to process it, but I remember being devastated by the loss of the man that I looked up to. Divorce can be difficult for children to manage for many reasons. But for me it was the dimming of my father’s bright light in my eyes that would make me close the door on things that set me apart. 

My mother took on the role of father, protector, and provider for three small children. In Errington as the only visible minorities in the city, we often felt like the outliers. We sheltered, protected and loved one another and gained strength in our solitude. I truly believe there’s no family quite like mine for our character is pure and our love runs deep.

Moving to Victoria enabled us to have more freedom. We lived in low-income housing and for some years on welfare. It was the first time that I had my own room and bed. The experience of moving for the first time as a family into a place that you can call home, a place that is your own, has got to be one of the most gratifying and special experiences. My past has made me incredibly grateful for the things that I have in my life now because there was a time they simply were not there.

What my mother will never giver herself credit for is all of the superhuman feats she accomplished to give us a normal life. She went back to school for a year before landing a job at the hospital. In the early years of her career, she would work the night shift driving home furiously to make sure to put us to bed on her 30 minute break, and when returning in the early hours of the morning she would stay awake until we safely made our way to school. I still can’t fathom the strength that it would have taken to go that route alone, but her strength taught us to be warriors.

For every challenge, iron sharpened iron.

In elementary school I was approached by a teacher to try out for the volleyball team with my older sister. From the moment I started playing it was evident I had found myself, and that sport would show me the way. I quickly outgrew my school team and moved to club. From there I moulded myself into a high-level player and ultimately a provincial and national all-star. I can never thank my school coach enough for his decision to guide me to volleyball. It set my life on an unfathomable trajectory. 

They say that representation matters. And I can attest that it does. I didn’t know anybody that looked like me playing volleyball beyond my sister, Tanisha. While some little girls idolized the Kerri Walsh’s and Misty May’s of the volleyball world, I became enthralled with the power, grace, and presence of my older sister. My mentor, my teacher, my protector. Because of her I always felt included. Because of her I always felt like I mattered. Because she had the courage to brave the sport for me and show me that I belonged. Her presence demanded it. She always made me believe that I could, and so together we decided to lead the way, to show one another that although we may stand out we deserved to be there. Better yet, we could show others the way.

I was laughably 13-years-old when I heard these words. Barely had my foot in the door of the volleyball world before the doubters came trying to determine my personal outcome.

“You’ll never make it. You may have talent, but you lack size and skill. You will never play for Canada.”

The small ounce of fuel to my fire seemed to be all I needed to make it happen. A few months after I heard those words, I received a letter in the mail congratulating myself, along with 13 other young women, for being selected to represent Canada at an international event in Florida.

I used to be ashamed of where I come from and the circumstances I was born into. Most people don’t really know what it means to struggle. And yet, some of the things I grew up being ashamed of are the things that built me to be powerful beyond measure. Being strong becomes embedded in your DNA when being strong is the only option you have. Thrift shopping wasn’t out of leisure, but necessity. There were holidays we didn’t know where the next meal would come from. My family wasn’t afforded the comforts of living beyond our means. Family vacations didn’t exist and in my 30 years, we have yet to go on one. Back to school shopping felt like a luxury. I was so incredibly excited when I got that letter because I knew the opportunities would present themselves if I worked hard enough. 

And they did. Recruitment letters and scholarship offers started making their way to my house. A recruitment trip to Washington State, an NCAA Division I, Pac 12 team. A first-hand experience of what life at a university town could be like. 

I ultimately decided to attend the University of British Columbia to be close to my family as I set off to create my own legacy. 

I had to embrace accepting and embarking on my journey alone as I left for university. The beauty of sport is that it doesn’t matter where you come from. Sport knows scoring points and winning or losing matches. Beyond that, there are no bounds. No matter my questioning of where I might fit in, the volleyball court was always home. As the dream that I saw for myself come to fruition, bigger dreams and goals were born.

When I wasn’t sure of where to go, volleyball gave me the world. UBC built me into a leader as I left with five national titles. From the youth national team, to the junior team and finally the senior Canadian team on a hopeful Olympic journey. I said “Ni Hao” all the way from China at the FISU Games. I welcomed the Canadian team into Russia as flag bearer for a second FISU Games. I ate my way through Italy at a world championship. And I had home court advantage at the Toronto Pan Am Games. 

I saw the gates of Aushwitz during a youth beach world championship. I was sick as a dog in Turkey at the junior beach world championships. I spent two years learning to “sprechen ze deutch” so I could repeat as a German league champion. I found love in Paris at the Eiffel Tower as a vice champion of France. 

I battled through two surgeries on my way to making a comeback as Canadian national champion in beach volleyball. And I learnt how to find my voice as an advocate for women in sport as a coach and mentor.

Sport gave me the courage to believe in myself and envision a path beyond what others could see. 

As a mixed child growing up in a predominately white community playing a predominately white sport, I have come to realize that this life I live was not meant for me. The circumstances we are born into have the potential to dictate the trajectory of our futures. Were it not for a community of stand-up people who believed in me and my dreams and my family, I would have never been able to attend as many camps, tournaments and tryouts while finding success along the way.  Were it not for my abilities in volleyball, I’m not sure I would have been afforded the opportunity to attend such a well-known institution in UBC and be the first person in my family to graduate from university. 

I believe with every fibre of my being I was made for this game. I try to stand tall with my feet firmly planted as a visible member of my community. Not because I want people to remember my name or because I want to win a certain number of medals or awards. But because I want every little boy and girl who falls in love with this sport to believe they can get to this place too and that they too were made for this.