A Daily Journal of June: Owning the Flaws. June 2nd
My reflection on how confidence has no endurance for the feeling of a never-ending practice. But when faith is the guidance, it feels doable.
Photo by Allie GrantJune 2nd, Tuesday | 6:15 pm
My confidence is not my best quality; my faith is. That realization hit me driving home today. After a hard practice yesterday, I expected to show up today and bring that exact same intensity. That is how I played myself. Not every day is the same; different days bring different adversity and demand entirely different approaches. Still, I tried to hype myself up, reminding myself, "I am the best at what I do," because at the end of the day, I have to be my own biggest hype man and have belief in myself.
But as I got through practice and the fatigue kicked in, dealing with those ebbs and flows—when I feel kind of stiff and hard to move and I have to really push to warm myself up, and then I get to the drills, and finally get back to that high intensity again—things got tough. We had just finished a series of clearing ties to get to our offense, and in those moments, I can be efficient and hit those positions clearly. But right after that, everything suddenly picked up. We went straight into an eight-minute live match and then into explosive med ball and wrestling movements.
I remember telling my partner that I had already cooled down a little bit. When my coach said, "Go live," I actually asked, "Can we just spar?" I’m not proud of that, but I have to own my flaws if I ever want to get better. I didn't wrestle to the expectation that I had for myself yesterday, where I was wrestling like the person I want to be—out on a live match in a tournament, wrestling like someone who would win the finals. Instead, I found myself being half-in and half-out because of the cooldown and the fatigue. I was greedy in the positions and made sure to win every position that I could, but I didn't challenge myself, encourage mistakes, dig deep as much as I knew I could, and put my heart out on the line. When I tried to force myself to push harder, anxiety crept in.
My fear of what might happen became louder than my actual agenda, just like it sometimes does in competition. It wasn’t that the practice was too long; it was just getting so uncomfortable that my body wanted to check out.
Checking out of a hard practice is just another way to cruise. So when we got to the explosive movements, I knew I wanted to push myself more. Instead of drifting, my brain linked to the faith work I've been doing, specifically from the past couple of days reading and learning about the Book of James and Proverbs. Once I shifted to that mindset, everything became quiet and peaceful. It felt like it was just me in the room. Even if I was the last one finishing the med ball slams, I was giving my absolute all in that moment without dreading what came next.
Before I knew it, practice was done, and I realized how much gas I actually had left in the tank. It’s a recurring hurdle: holding back because I feel drained, constantly wondering when it’s over, only to realize afterward that I always had more to give. My body was just uncomfortable and lying to me.
We are all told we need confidence, and you see the best wrestlers wearing it. But how resilient is confidence, really? When I let myself down, lose a big match, and make mistakes, the ego-driven mask that I wear comes down and you see a whole different person. It spills the truth that the confidence I have is not who I am in my toughest, hardest moments. Typically, that's where you see who you really are without that mask. Ego-driven confidence shatters, and it’s not enough to carry me through.
That’s when I realized: faith is what keeps me resilient. Faith provides true guidance and absolute truth when I feel lost. It challenges me and pushes me, even when I think I'm 100% right. Confidence, on the other hand, makes me complacent. It gives me a faulty anchor. When things go wrong, I’m left sinking in the deep waves. And when you are in those deep waves, you feel like you are suffocating. That suffocation makes you panic, and you forget about everything else because your only focus is to breathe—but you feel like you can't breathe. You need something else to save you, because that faulty anchor of ego is just pulling you under.
Belief based entirely on my own past successes is fragile because there is always someone working harder than me. But when my belief is rooted in faith, it becomes unshakeable. I’ve noticed this spilling over into every aspect of my life, even parenting. If I rely only on my "confidence" as a mom, and the first two things I try with Abrams don't work, I’m left with frustration, anger, and fear. But when my faith grounds me—when I take a breath, trust God to show me the way, and give myself grace—that is where true resilience is built.
As I always say: And Still I Rise ( if you never actually sat down and read that poem by Maya Angelo, 100% recommended). No matter what is thrown at me, I will still rise. That is exactly how I feel about my faith. In those grueling, never-ending practices, I know my faith will carry me. I might not be able to see the finish line, but the end is not my focus anymore. The focus is the resilience that pushes me through.