I tell girls to be confident. To just believe they can do it.

Today, belief seems shallow.

I train girls to work. To push their minds and bodies to the limits.

Today, work sounds wasteful.

I teach girls to choose. To choose the words they let have value on their hearts.

Today, words feel powerless.

Because, today, it doesn’t feel as though we have the power to live.

For the female athlete, today is scary. First, we learned of the gymnasts; the Survivors.

Then, Mollie.

Then, Celia.

Now, Lauren.

What do I tell girls now? Girls that ask;

“How am I supposed to play, when I am afraid someone out there won’t let me?”

“How am I supposed to play, when I am afraid for my safety?”

“How am I supposed to play when I am afraid I could die?”

Because all of a sudden, winning doesn’t matter. Living does.

Just last week, I was invited to speak in front of the Iowa State University female athletes. The “Cyclonitas”. The women who lost their friend, their teammate, their peer, their Celia. I wrestled with what I should say. With how I should say it. With how much I should say. Because, how do you speak to someone’s grief? How do you validate her fear, yet give her hope?

The truth? I don’t know.

I don’t know, because some things are just ugly and unfair. In sport, adversity is inevitable. It’s something all great athletes accept. They learn from it, grow from it, conquer it.

But abuse? Death? Murder? This is inconceivable. This shouldn’t be.

I heard a story about survivors from 9/11. That in order to face their fear, they went back to work. Back to the place they fled. The place that was attacked and destroyed. Though they were scared, they chose to go back to work.

Christine Caine says your faith just needs to be one percent bigger than your fear.

And maybe that’s the truth, that confidence isn’t about believing. It’s about deciding.

Deciding to let my faith be bigger than my fear. Deciding that I am not running away from my fear, but facing it. Deciding that even if I am crawling, or carried, or creeping inch by inch, I am getting back up and playing the very thing I know I can play.

Confidence can’t prevent tragedy. It can’t erase pain or bring back what was stolen.

But maybe it can heal us.

Maybe having the confidence to play when we don’t feel confident. To play when it’s unfair. To golf in grief. To run in remembrance. To stand in solidarity. Maybe just that choice to play scared is how we heal. How we become power-full.

When I stood before the Cyclone Women, I was beyond inspired. Not because they said anything. Not because they did anything. But because they were there. Because they made the choice that their dreams were still worth chasing. That their purpose was still worth pursuing. That even though they were sad, shocked, angry or afraid, they were playing. Period. Because that is who they are.

So, what do you say to a female athlete today?  

You tell her you love her.

You train her to believe she is worthy.

You teach her that she has the power to get back up. To face her fears. To Play.

To the women we have lost, to their families and teammates who grieve, may we remember, not how you were taken, but how you lived. Boldly, with passion and purpose. May our Play honor you.

XO, Coach D