What My Daughter's Beach Volleyball Season Taught Her About Struggle

My daughter has been blessed. In all ways, really. But especially in having a relatively easy journey through life.

Academics have always come easily to her, so she's always earned A's. Making friends has always come easily to her, so she's never really had to navigate loneliness. Indoor volleyball came easily to her, so she's often been one of the best players on the team.

Sure, she's learned to work hard and the value of doing so. She's learned that while she processes and retains information easily, if she doesn't review or consistently put in the work, she won't perform well. (Just ask her about her first semester English midterm!)

She's learned that while her friends accept her being quiet, if she doesn't express interest in something, they'll assume she's not and won't include her. (Just ask her about the first middle schools girls' mall trip!)

She's learned that if she doesn't consistently get volleyball reps in, she'll be rusty and her serves won't go over the net. (Just ask her about game three last season!)

She's also a perfectionist. The kind who notices every mistake; holds herself to impossibly high standards; and has spent years learning that hard work matters.

Then came this beach volleyball season.

The First Time Something Didn't Come Easily

This was Ava's second season of beach volleyball, and many of the same girls from last season returned. But something had changed. During the offseason, some of them had joined club volleyball, competed in CBVA tournaments, and spent months getting extra reps. They'd learned the technical side of beach volleyball in a way that only comes from experience. And just like that, Ava wasn't one of the strongest players anymore.

For perhaps the first time in her life, average effort wasn't going to be enough.

At first, it was the usual adjustment period. Every season it takes her a practice or two to get reacclimated to moving in the sand and remembering the differences between indoor and beach volleyball. When she'd climbed into the car sore and frustrated after practice, I'd reminded her that this happens every year. She always felt behind at the beginning and always caught up.

But then she noticed something else. Many of the girls were now overhand serving.

Apparently, this is a pretty big deal in youth beach volleyball. At a certain level, it stops being a bonus skill and starts becoming an expectation. And she couldn't do it consistently. Practice after practice, rep after rep, the ball wouldn't go over the net. She'd listen to coaching, make adjustments, and try again. And still, nothing.

Every practice ended the same way. She'd walk to the car trying not to cry. Then she'd close the door and sob.

The Ride Home

Her preteen mind became convinced that every girl her age had already figured this out except her. She just knew she was falling behind. And she was terrified that she was going to get kicked off the team.

As a fellow perfectionist, I understood how she felt.

So I let her cry. I told her I understood why she was upset. I agreed that it was frustrating. But then I pushed back. I reminded her that good things don't always come easily. That anything worth having is worth working for. And that she has to decide what kind of volleyball player she wanted to become.

Around that same time, we started watching Receiver on Netflix. While the show is about professional football players, I wanted her to see something she doesn't often get to see: what elite athletes actually do behind the scenes. Not the highlights or celebrations. But the work, repetition, sacrifice. and even setbacks. I thought it would help to see the best athletes in the world spending countless hours trying to improve the parts of their game that don't come naturally.

The Shift

Her dad and my husband would occasionally wonder if she was competitive enough, and connecting this to her struggle. But I never did because I understood her.

I recognized her quiet determination, her cautious ambition, and her impossibly high standards. I knew she cared. In fact, I sometimes thought she cared too much.

What I also realized was that she didn't really know how to work at this challenge. Not because she was lazy, but because this was different from many of the obstacles she'd faced before. Success wasn't entirely within her control. If she wanted private training, we had to coordinate it. If she wanted weekend reps, we had to take her. If she wanted additional opportunities to improve, she needed support systems she couldn't create on her own.

So instead of solving the problem for her, I started showing her where opportunities existed.

I pointed out pockets in her day where she could practice instead of scrolling social media or watching Netflix. I showed her beach volleyball accounts with drills and tips. I offered to get her to practice early or let her stay late with her coach. I wasn't trying to force her to improve. I was trying to show her that she had options to do so.

And eventually, something clicked.

Not overnight, and not because someone handed her a perfect solution. Little by little, she stopped focusing on how far behind she felt and started focusing on what she could do about it. She asked my husband to take her out for extra reps on the weekends. She researched a training facility where she could get one-on-one instruction this summer. She asked for more gear. And for the first time, I could see her taking ownership of her development as an athlete.

What I'll Remember

When people talk about the benefits of youth sports for girls, they usually talk about confidence, discipline, leadership, and teamwork. And all of those things matter. But this season made me think about something else.

For most of her life, Ava has been good at things relatively quickly. Not without effort, but quickly enough that she rarely had to sit in the discomfort of not being good at something. This beach volleyball season changed that. She had to walk onto the sand knowing other girls were ahead of her. She had to attempt the same serve over and over again without immediate results. She had to keep showing up while feeling frustrated, discouraged, and convinced she was behind.

And she did. Not perfectly and certainly not gracefully every time. There were plenty of tears on the ride home. But she kept showing up.

When I think about this season, I probably won't remember where her team finished or how many games they won. I'll remember the moment she stopped looking for evidence that she couldn't do it and started looking for ways to improve. I'll remember her asking my husband for extra reps. I'll remember her researching training programs on her own. I'll remember watching her realize that effort isn't proof that you're failing. Sometimes it's simply the process of learning something new.

The serve still isn't perfect. But its gotten so much better! And she's still working on it, aiming for more consistency.

And in a lot of ways, I think that's the point.

Because the most valuable thing she learned this season wasn't how to overhand serve. It was what to do when something doesn't come easily.