The story of the “cracked pot”

Hi all, it’s the end (or coming to the end) of many fall sports seasons. This is the time of year that my body and mind are so used to coming down off of the intense adrenaline of season and reflecting on whether it was a “success” or not. After so many years as an athlete and coach, it’s strange to not be in that rhythm anymore. I remember how hard it was for me as an athlete or coach to see the good things out of a season when the end felt like we fell short or missed team goals. I grew in that so much as a person and coach. Often the beauty of pursuing our goals is the actual journey. But so often perfectionism robs athletes and coaches from seeing this. I hear that in many of you as I chat with you about how the year has gone. I will share a story that I love processing with my clients who are facing feelings of failure on or off the field. It’s the story of the “Cracked Pot.”

There are disputes as to where the story originates. Some say it is a Chinese proverb, others say it comes from India. The version of the story I share here is: The Story of the Cracked Pot.

“A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years, this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. ‘I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.’

The bearer asked, ‘Why? What are you ashamed of?’

The pot replied, ‘For these past two years I am able to deliver only half of my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you don’t get full value for your efforts.’

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion, he said, ‘As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.’

As they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it somewhat. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, ‘Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.'”

When I was a younger athlete I truly believed leadership and influence were gained through the perfect performance. Get the result. My focus on being a great teammate and leader heaped pressure on myself in a lot of ways. As I walked through adult life, I started to experience various cracks — oh no, I’m not perfect! Even I had struggles. It was humbling when I was so often the strong one and hero. We all reach this at certain points in life. There are two ways it often goes: deep shame (having to wear a mask so no one sees how messy our life is and feeling constantly unworthy) or pervasive defensiveness (no one and nothing can get close to our cracks because we are going to live in a narrative that we have no flaws). Both ends of the spectrum are are very unhealthy and relationally destructive. Either to ourselves or others. They also hinder what athletes or coaches can do. We are either beholden to affirmation from others to counter our unworthiness, or mow people down who might expose our flaws.

I didn’t have a vocabulary for any of this until I was becoming a licensed counselor and also competing in my final year as a college athlete. I was in these two bizarrely different worlds. My time during the day as an athlete centered around perfection. Then when I reported to my counseling hours, I was working with people who came to me often “cracked” as a training counselor. Their vulnerability in our sessions allowed great work and growth to happen. We were so often able to see the collateral beauty along the path of brokenness in their life: the “flowers.” Less time was spent focused on how they “failed” in completing their purpose, goal, or task in life. Less effort went into hiding flaws and, as defensiveness melted away, relationships could flourish in a new way. Clients were able to shift to seeing how they achieved and experienced different “wins” along the journey that were often far more impactful and beautiful than what they originally set out to do. Cracks and all.

Athletics is in so many ways a black and white, outcome-based world. You “win” or you “lose,” right? You are “strong” or you are “weak,” right? I have found the answer is yes and no. There is a tension we can hold that is very healthy and doesn’t mean you lose your edge as a competitor. I’ll lose a few of you at this point (“that’s LOSER talk!”) but keep reading! Because you are exactly who needs to read this! I left college athletics because I felt the institutions and media were perpetuating an unreachable standard for many athletes and coaches. I was watching how fused performance in sport was to peoples’ identities. Much of athletics is falling short. Much of it is coping with failure. Much of the value of sport is in the journey itself, less in the destination. Athletes and coaches are also more than their sport. They are humans on a journey, sport being one aspect of life.

Sport is unique in that it exposes “cracks” in us consistently. You can’t outrun it. How many of us have felt like that pot? Will I ever be good enough? Am I a failure? Maybe you are wrestling with this right now? Your athlete friend next to you is getting all the publicity, playing time, and everything looks easy for him or her. Your coaching peer seems to have an easy career full of success and, despite all your hard work, the big career win eludes you and your group each year. Is something wrong with you? Are you behind? Are you a “bad” athlete or coach? Is someone a “good” coach, athlete, or teammate just because they deliver results?

I hope this story encourages you to see your path (and others’) differently. Notice, the cracked pot didn’t get fixed up to feel better :-) How often do we want to eliminate our flaws! We work tirelessly at it in athletics. Show no weakness! Yet, in acceptance of some of our limitations, shame and fear melt away. Who is to say which pot served the more “successful” purpose ultimately? To me, the unforeseen beauty along the paths of life are the most beautiful aspects of it. I could rattle off countless examples of this in my sports life. I had many storybook and fairytale seasons & personal achievements. In some ways though, I have grown the MOST from the ones where setbacks and shortcomings were exposed along the path. I also learned to value people around me (coaches and athletes), not for their perfection, but for every part of them. I found the teams I’ve coached or been on that performed the best, did this best: we knew each others’ shortcomings and embraced them so that we could step up for each other. We didn’t point fingers or weaponize them. Those seasons feel like magic.

I actively worked to cultivate this as a coach, like I planned and strategized our skill development. One of the activities I always cherished with the teams I coached was time we set aside to share authentically about ourselves in front of the group. One of the things players shared were the hardships they had faced. I can’t tell you how many times we were blown away by what someone had faced and triumphed over. Many times we had no idea. The vulnerability bred new respect. We always wrapped up the sharing time with the rest of us speaking encouragement into the person who had just shared. It’s awkward when you first start doing this. Verablizing the good face-to-face has gotten harder for athletes in the tech era. It also reveals how accustomed we are in athletics to giving and receiving criticism, and struggle to receive compliments. Yet in time, teammates often tearfully shared small memories or moments that their teammate had impacted them. Character and qualities were highlighted in the person by coaches and athletes that they often didn’t see in themselves. We started looking for the positive in each other. Noticing it. Honoring it. In teams with the ability to be authentic with each other it was incredibly powerful, even life-changing. So often as coaches we create environments that expose cracks. Yet through this exercise, we were able to give each other a picture of the “flowers” that a person brought into our life without even realizing it. Even in the midst of their flaws or shortcomings, we were able to redirect them to understand they meant so much more to us and we didn’t see them for their “flaws.”

In this season of life after college coaching, I get to do much more of highlighting the “flowers” and less exposing people’s “cracks.” It’s a beautiful part of working one-on-one with coaches and athletes on their mental wellness and identity outside of being a sports hero. The crippling weight of perfectionism and comparison drop off of clients’ shoulders and it is amazing. I get to watch their personal lives and careers soar as a result. It is up there with those miracle wins I worked for and experienced on the field. Very rarely those old tapes can play in my head from the perfectionism I had as a young athlete. Did I “quit” college coaching? Was my coaching career a “failure” because I didn’t win that ever-elusive championship? Am I a “bad” coach? Nope. Not in the least. The journey was exactly what was needed for me to be ready for this season of life. I’m in the spot I’m supposed to be at in every way. My cracks and all. And you know what, I hope you also have the peace of knowing…so are you. I hope you start seeing your flowers along the path. And maybe, just maybe, you will take the time after reading this to point out how someone being just who they are has brought beauty to your life that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

getting personal

My brother texted me the other night asking if I could help watch his kids (my niece and nephews) as they planned for upcoming parent-teacher conferences. Even just months ago, I never would have dreamed that I would be available on a fall evening to do something so simple, yet special, like this.

Life has changed a lot since leaving the familiar rhythms of college coaching and, like any change, there are both feelings of loss and joy, but above all, there is peace

So, I had to laugh reading the text. My memory floated back to something I hadn’t thought about for a long time: parent-teacher conferences when I was a kid and what ALWAYS came out of them. Without fail, my parents would come home and repeat, “Stephanie is a pleasure to have in class. She is kind, diligent, conscientious and has such great thoughts. Wish she would share them more in class.”

I come from this big family, five kids. I’m the fourth. With so much going on, always hosting people and even people staying or living with us over the years, my comfort zone has been the observer role. There was always someone ahead of me in life to watch and learn from. Environment certainly played its part, but as I’ve done more personality work over the years I’ve realized a lot of it also has to do with quirks in my personality. I can be enigmatically private without realizing it.

So, regarding class -- it’s not an exaggeration to say I NEVER spoke in classes, even in college

Raising my hand to give an answer in class just seemed like trying to show I was smart in front of people or wanting attention. I had no interest in either of those. I hated participation-based classes so much so that I even overloaded my classes in college (registering for more than I should take). I developed a strategy: Go to the first week of every class, get the course rubrics to see what the grades were based on, and drop the class that required the most participation. I was all about the classes where grades were based solely on tests. Unlike being on a field, where I pushed myself to the brink daily, academically I settled for coasting. Sadly it worked for me, but I also knew I was missing out on things (because stubbornness always works like that). It robs you of the fullness of things, and usually you can only see that by looking back later in life. It’s the learning that comes from regret.

At some point you have to grow and face things, or risk being stuck, and those difficult growth points certainly came (and still do!)

The irony of all this, one thing that surprised myself and others over the years was that I had a surprisingly strong voice, but it only really came out when speaking on behalf of the welfare of others. It would come out following observing things over time that I felt a strong conviction for, knew were unjust or wrong, or felt could be better for all. That’s the type of voice that can catch people off-guard, I’ve learned. It came out in times I knew there was a person or group that didn’t have a voice or didn’t have the safety to speak for themselves. Those times came after A LOT of listening, learning, experiencing, and observing patterns. They were never knee-jerk reactions. As life has unfolded, one of the things my path has given me is a lot of crossroad decisions and different chapters with varied experiences, so much so that I often forget about many of them until they come up in conversation with someone. I have often had people say, you could write a book about all these things! To me there has never really been much noteworthy, I’ve just taken it a step at a time, being present and observing, not trying to escape or rush through any season of life. About a year ago though, I started feeling called to express just that: if someone with all the limitations, weaknesses, and blind spots like me can grow, and find direction, then anyone can. What has seemed to some like wandering or bouncing around in my life I have always known to be me following a path of faith and looking to serve, wherever that may lead.

This path has included lots of twists and turns, each one preparing me for the next. Most of the growth has come in the waiting, unknown, and the difficult place for any competitive athlete: surrender

There was a time I was told to expect never to make the varsity field hockey team at my high school (which was an accurate assessment at the time by the way!). Somehow, despite only playing high school field hockey, a college coach took a risk on me and I even made a career with this little sport that just kept challenging me beyond my wildest dreams. The path led me to a university I picked for a coach and the culture I felt when I visited. That shifted as my coach left and I questioned if I had made a huge mistake, picked the wrong sport, and thrown away my future. Just as I was close to quitting or leaving, I ran into my old coach in a train station in Rome while I was on a backpacking trip. That day and the spur-of-the-moment addition of a trip to Belgium to stay with her changed everything. The path led me to an engagement and almost getting married in my early twenties. It led me through the agony and grief of walking away from that relationship and the many years invested, learning how to “quit” for the first time in my life. I said goodbye to every dream I thought there was for my life. Little did I know that it made space for more than I could have imagined. The path led me to counseling troubled teens, where I was reminded daily how much resilience humans can have in the face of the unspeakable. I learned the value of looking below the surface and knowing someone’s story. Life brought me to live in a retirement home in my early twenties (it’s ok to laugh, it’s hilarious, and yes I did eat dinner at 4:30pm, sneak ice cream cups at night from the community fridge, and play cards with the seniors). There was a twist where I was hired as a police officer after an intense hiring process of months and hundreds of candidates (yep, this is real). I lived and worked with the developmentally and intellectually disabled, learning that the concepts I had of success, joy, and ability instilled from the athletics world were very limited. These young people had more of those things than many of the most successful people in athletics. I left everything and moved to Chicago to put down roots only to pick up and pack a car for Virginia and a coaching job months later. My car was packed to the brink with no place to sleep on the other end of the trip.

On this college coaching adventure I’ve experienced everything you could imagine, including lots of mistakes along the way from me, and learning from every person I’ve been privileged to work with (athletes and coaches)

There are coaching jobs I’ve lost (we don’t like talking about that but need to because it’s a normal part of the business), coaching jobs that found me when I wasn’t wanting change, and coaching jobs I was almost too stubborn or prideful to take. There have been times I’ve chosen loyalty to a mission, institution, or group and times I’ve chosen to speak up and separate from things I knew to be wrong. This is the business of coaching and athletics, and it’s never been personal to me nor did I ever feel beholden or afraid of anyone in it, because the business (and sport itself) has never been my identity or life. Peace has always come from something and someone far greater. Sport and coaching is something I’ve done, had an aptitude and a passion for, and seen as a dream-come-true, but it has never been something I have been willing to trade peace for, at any step along the way.

Most recently some of my other passions were revived following a season of grief in 2020, the significant personal growth that came out of it, and much of what I was observing over years in this business. The greatest growth in my life has come from the things none of us would ask for. That’s true of most of us, we just rarely share it. Without earlier seasons of grief in life, there is no way I could have navigated the loss of this more recent season. Like many of those seasons, only the closest in my circle knew what was going on. I think when you’re private people assume you carry things yourself, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. We aren’t meant to walk these things alone.

My story is one where I know God has used those places of grief, pain, loss, and even betrayal to grow my heart and capacity for compassion.

I know and work with many people whose lives are based on different paradigms, but that is my truth. There is no peace or ability for me to get better rather than bitter without the grace I have received and can freely give others in my life.

Going back to raising my hand in class and sharing my thoughts… I have been in this place since 2020 that’s been uncomfortable for me.

I have outgrown some of those old defaults and started using my voice more. I’ve also known it’s time to share more of my personal thoughts and story because of the isolated struggles so many are having.

Modeling and normalizing vulnerability has always been something I’ve strived to do with the staffs and athletes I’ve worked with, but doing it on a larger scale is a new challenge. I’ve had to work through the feeling that it’s drawing attention to me and the comfort of my private nature. It’s also not something all have or will receive.

Vulnerability around athletics is one of those tricky things that, in the wrong hands, can certainly be weaponized. Athletes have been outspoken about that fear but no one is putting a voice to that for coaches. It is a shame for both because mutual vulnerability is where great things happen in sport and life.

So I am going to push myself in just that…being vulnerable. So many of you reach out to me and entrust me with the privilege of meeting you in your place of vulnerability. I know it’s time to push myself into more of that with you. Thank you to those who have reached out and mentioned that something I’ve shared, written, or we’ve discussed has been helpful for you. We can look at people and assume they don’t have flaws, tragedy, or broken places in their story. I have seen young people over the last few years experiencing the greatest anxiety I’ve ever seen about being authentic, flawed, and human. Even more concerning, they are largely doing it ALONE, believing something is innately wrong with them or that others can’t handle the real them. It’s heartbreaking. I have also seen adults who have gone so far on the path of stoicism and defensiveness, while being in places of leadership, the ramifications are devastating for themselves and those around them.

The realm of sport is so far behind others in normalizing a non-linear path of learning and growth, one that includes loss, failure, and at times surrender of control. We HATE those things, and do everything we can to avoid them, don’t we?

So, I don’t know what story to start with, and even though I’ve been putting off taking this step as I build out other parts of this new venture, I know it’s time to start sharing more via this blog. Not all stories are serious or intense. For all the seriousness of my life those who know me know there has been just as much, if not even more, comedy and fun. One of the things I always loved about coaching is the accountability it breeds in you. You have to walk what you would ask of others, so since I am not accountable to a boss or team anymore, you guys and my clients are my accountability to keep pushing through this! Ok?!

The most surprising thing I learned from my time as a college athlete…

Learning to “Enjoy the Struggle”

A few years out from being a college athlete, a former teammate reached out to our group to describe why our program’s last championship season (my senior year) had meant so much to us. She wanted to share it with the younger players in the program to give them perspective. Below is what I wrote. I hope it encourages & gives perspective to those of you who are in the midst of your college athletics journey (and all the highs and lows that can come with it!)

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I'm going to answer your question without reading the others' responses and with what comes straight "from my heart" (as totally cheesy as that sounds). I think that what made the 20** season so meaningful was the struggle that preceded it. When I walked into the locker room my freshman preseason, we had various inspirational quotes printed out on our lockers. One that ended up being a mantra for us was "Enjoy the Struggle." I think the quote came from a coach's wife from A*** and ***'s high school who was diagnosed with cancer and eventually lost that battle. From day one at **** State, this quote embodied what I would most "struggle" with... enjoying the struggle. When I saw the quote, I was immediately uncomfortable with it. I didn't want to struggle, let alone embrace it! Who does? I came to college to be successful, not struggle! I came to college to help my team be the best, but things went way differently than all of us had planned. I was shocked when, on the second day of preseason, I learned that our head coach would be leaving at the season’s conclusion. Everyone always said don’t make a college decision based on a coach, but you never think any of these warning will apply to YOU. We were supposed to be a crazy-talented team that year, but we proceeded to lose 11 straight games to start off the season, 6 to top 20 teams, and many by one goal. We even lost to some conference foes we never lost to. We went in with belief and came up short game after game. A week in a season can feel like a lifetime when you lose. It seemed like no matter what we did to get better in the practice week, winning eluded us. I was a freshman and my head was spinning.

My whole life I had basically done nothing but win, I had no playbook for this.

We all came to college to play field hockey and most of us do it with the desire to reach new heights of success and push ourselves and our teammates to greatness. But what happens when you are the farthest from being great? What happens when things aren't glorious? What happens when things are tough, people aren't getting along, people are getting in trouble because of bad off-field decisions, people seem not as dedicated as they should be, or not intense enough to handle the pressure at this level? What happens when, despite your best efforts, planning and preparation for success, you are struggling? What happens when you feel like you are giving everything possible and doing everything right, but everything is going wrong? And even tougher: What happens after you've gotten accustomed to success and just can't seem to find it. After that rocky 0-11 start my freshman year, we somehow had the storybook finish. We went on a run and won the rest of our games, earning conference championship rings. We overcame the adversity and disappointment of that awful start, had the magical season, and all that “struggle” seemed like a distant memory. I was on a mission to have four rings on my hand when my career was over. But, the next two years we couldn’t find that success despite our best efforts. We had new coaches, hiring decisions hadn’t made sense to us, there was new support staff all around our program, and every day was just HARD and felt unfair.

I think the glory of my experience at **** State was learning to appreciate success because of all of the failures and all of the disappointments.

There is nothing more humbling than losing over and over when you have the talent AND have put in all the work to win. There is nothing harder on a team than underachieving and struggling for every single goal when you are used to it coming together. Things are great when you win games. Everything has a way of clicking. When you are losing or not seeing results, EVERYTHING bad is magnified. You learn how easily some people choose negativity, excuses, and division. Winning a conference championship in 20** brought me to tears because of every early morning lift when one of my teammates almost gave up, every moment that I thought about leaving the team/school or giving up because of a coaching change we never asked for or the many other misfortunes that came about, every time we chose to support a teammate instead of giving up on her, every time our bodies were physically spent during a workout but we pushed through, every time someone was there for a teammate who had family or other problems outside of field hockey. We wouldn’t ask for certain things that happen once we step onto a college team, but it's about overcoming and most importantly finding a way to come together under the difficulty. That's what was so meaningful to me: all of the struggles that we went through could have torn us apart, but we chose to come together under them and lean on one another. We had to learn how to truly depend on one another because there were a lot of times it felt like all we had.

Success is an awesome band-aid for underlying problems. When there is a lack of success, the true heart of a team is exposed.

I came to ****State to continue a legacy of success, and for a time, that success disappeared despite every effort we made to regain it. I was so ecstatic that we finally brought ****’s program back to a conference championship and NCAA tourney my senior year, because so many people before us worked to put it there. They set a foundation of success that I was lucky enough to step into when I set foot on campus. It was humiliating to let all those people down. The moment we won the championship tears flowed (which wasn’t normal for me, I was a very stoic player), and my heart both leapt and broke at the same time. It leapt because I was so proud of what we were finally able to do after trying our hardest and coming up short in other years. It broke because of my former teammates in the stands watching or following online who went through all the same struggles right next to me and never got the glory. They didn’t get to raise the trophy, but our year did, not because we worked any harder than they did but because things just happened to work out that way. Sometimes it comes down to an inch or a lucky bounce.

My heart broke for all of those people who had to watch their hard work, sweat and tears help others get the glory.

I've learned so much through my time with you all at **** State ... and one thing is that things aren't always fair. In fact, sometimes fate is downright cruel. Sometimes you do everything you can and get nothing out of it, and sometimes success comes so easily that you don’t see it for the blessing that it is. Though I wouldn’t have chosen them, I am thankful for the hardships and difficulty because I truly learned to “enjoy the struggle” and put my faith in things bigger than me. I would never have been able to truly appreciate my final season and our championship if it hadn't been for all the tough times before it. And I would not have a bunch of lifelong sisters if we hadn't been through all the difficult things and really had to come together. Winning in 20** was about pride in our program, pride in ourselves, a deep love for each other, and respect for the tradition that came before us.

The great thing is that the story is not over yet...it never is. You all are continuing to write the next chapters and set the stage for the next generations.

It's easy to sit and count the rings on your fingers (or dwell on the lack of them), but it's actually about a lot more than rings and championships. You are showing young women what it means to be a part of the hallowed tradition of **** State Field Hockey. You only get four, maybe five years to write your chapter. And once it's done, you watch others flip the page on it and start a new one. Enjoy the small successes and the fact that you are leaving an impact on people that lasts a lifetime.

As tough as it is...
Don’t waste your time fighting this…
ENJOY THE STRUGGLE.
It makes the success that much sweeter.