How I Turned “You’ll Never Play Sports” into a Volleyball Scholarship

Last week, I posted a quick story on Facebook about my journey growing up with nerve damage in my right arm. The summary was that I had a doctor tell me at age 7 I would never play sports because of it, but I ultimately decided to trust myself instead and went on to play over a decade of competitive volleyball.

I received so many responses and requests for more details, I decided to depart from my usual fascia commentary to share with you a section of my past that has defined my current career. I feel it’s important to share our vulnerability and I hope this story can inspire you on YOUR journey towards health and freedom in your body. Healing journeys have ups and downs and it can feel hard and hopeless sometimes. I definitely understand. I've also seen the power of dedication, hope, and a positive mindset. I share this to help turn up the volume of your intuition’s voice, hopefully (and rightfully), telling you that you can set your own limits and take control of your own health destiny.

Ready? Here goes…

Believe it or not, I was almost a 10 lb baby. 

During the delivery of my massive baby-self, I got stuck. In his attempts to pull me out, the doctor tore a bunch of nerves in a critical bundle called the Brachial Plexus on my right side. These nerves sit between your shoulder and your collar bone and are responsible for communication throughout your entire shoulder and arm. Damage to the Brachial Plexus is a condition called Erbs Palsy. 

I believe this initial tearing rendered that arm pretty useless, so at only 4 months old, I had an intense nerve regraphy surgery. My surgeon was able to take nerves out of both my calves and reroute them into my right shoulder. It’s crazy that it’s even possible to do that when you think about how tiny nerves from a 4 month old baby are, but it worked. 

(Check out tiny me all wrapped up after surgery)

While this surgery did allow much of my arm to come “back online” with some movement and sensation, it still left me with stiffness, limited range of motion, and trauma.

Since it was the 80’s, I suppose doctors were unaware of just how important that first year of healing would have been to restoring the function of my arm. Unfortunately, that meant we missed a critical window for movement and physical therapy. I didn’t begin going to occupational therapy (or what I like to call “maintenance therapy”) until I was 4 years old. Once that started, therapy and regular check-ups with a doctor were a part of life.

This doctor was the one who repeatedly told me my condition would never improve and I would probably never play any sports. Nice guy, right? His assumptions are some of many reasons for my steadfast aversion to Western medicine whenever possible.

I had no reason to believe that I would heal, but I became a frustrated and defiant soul on the inside. I despised anyone telling me what I could or could not do. Most of my childhood was spent avoiding telling people I had anything wrong with my arm so that I could be “normal” and do everything all the other kids were doing. If anyone noticed something looked off about my arm or I had to explain why I couldn’t do something, I was devastated.

Between my desperation to feel normal and my defiance of people telling me I couldn’t do sports, it made me want to play them infinitely more. At first, I tried gymnastics at age 8, thinking it would help build strength in my arm. It ended up being discouraging, however, as I didn’t have enough mobility in my shoulder to successfully do a back handspring and thereby graduate to the next level of training. I kept getting older in a class with younger and younger kids. I remember my mom telling me that I should just quit. Shortly after that, I did.

My frustration grew as time passed. I did a basketball camp in 3rd grade but I struggled to dribble with my right arm. I have trouble rotating my palm downward with my forearm, so controlling the ball was hard. The coach told me it “probably wouldn’t work out.”

Next, I asked my parents if I could play softball but when they told me it would be too difficult to throw and catch with both my arms, I felt too defeated to try.

I even joined the cheerleading team when I was in 4th grade. You know the thing I remember about that the most? When we took our team picture, I was placed on the end and told to put my right arm up above my head in that little “cheerleader victory” pose. I quietly asked if I could be on the other side because I couldn’t lift my arm over my head, but the photographer just brushed it off and said no. I struggled to lift my arm for a few uncomfortable photos and when we got the pictures back, I felt so ashamed and angry that I never wanted to go back.

When I was in 5th grade, however, my older sister decided to play volleyball. I was immediately obsessed and was bursting with excitement at every single game. The game looked so fun and all I could think about as I sat in the stands was how much I wanted to play. There was one girl on the team that had an incredible serve and I watched her like a hawk. I memorized her form and started to visualize myself doing the same moves. I started believing: I could surely do that. I’m so tired of people telling me I can’t. I’m tired of feeling like I can’t. I don't care if it requires both arms! I’m going to DO that.⁣⁣

At the end of one of my sister's last games that season, everyone cleared the court. The game ball was still on the ground so I went over, picked it up, and went to the serving line. Thinking of the form I had watched so many times and had imagined myself doing, I tossed the ball up with my right arm and slammed a perfect overhand serve over the net with my left. First time. ⁣⁣

Something clicked in my heart that day. Perhaps the doctors and everyone else were wrong. Had I always known that deep down? Could I simply choose to not believe them? Here was proof I could do this. 

I started playing volleyball that next season. Yes, I had to beg my parents and yes, I begrudgingly had to tell the coach I had some limitations, but you can bet I put in ten times the effort of all of my teammates to play at their level. I diligently worked on my skills and ball control outside of practice. I used to practice my serve by serving from my driveway up onto the roof of my garage for hours. My dad will certainly attest to my time commitment there and also that as I continued to build power in my swing, I almost broke a window a few times (sorry, Dad.).

Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I felt my focus shift to what I could. Instead of giving up on a skill, I taught myself effective modifications. For example, I couldn’t set the ball because I couldn’t lift both hands over my head, but I learned to “bump set” so accurately my coach had me play the setter position in 7th grade. The growing dedication to believing in myself and my determination that I could set my own limits became the true beginning of my healing journey and the ultimate key to my success.

Without being physically able to set, block, or make any plays over my head, I continued to outplay many of my teammates. I was the only sophomore to make varsity in high school, beating out others with no physical limitations. I helped lead the club team I played for that spring to be the top ranked team in the tri-state, which included over 250 teams. 

In the decade I played, I set serving records, won more tournaments than I can remember, and out of the 19 teams I played for I was voted the captain for 18 of them. I won many defensive player of the year awards, and every year I took home the team spirit and sportsmanship award. It always felt amazing to know that my coaches and teammates alike could see, and even be inspired by, my relentless effort, positivity, and joy for being able to do something that I loved.

In 2006, I received a scholarship to play Division 2 volleyball in college. I balled my eyes out when I found out. 

My story, of course, continues to evolve. My discovery of fascia release in 2011 uncovered another essential layer to my healing and provided further proof that my condition could improve. I continue to work through the trauma stored in my body from my surgery and from feeling “trapped” in my body for so long. I am always learning more about myself and what it truly means to feel free in my body.

I share my childhood story with one main point in mind:

I am not an exceptional case. I’m one of millions of people who have suffered an injury or limitation and was told to accept it, live with it, and extinguish their hope.

What makes me different is my decision to say politely, doctor, f*#k your diagnosis. I choose to trust my intuition and my body over your possibly well-intentioned but ultimately false assumptions. I am not going to live my life separated from what my heart wants. If I had decided to believe that doctor, I would have missed some of the most rewarding, incredible, and healing experiences of my life.

You can make that choice, too. You get to make the decision whether or not to accept a limitation and you get to decide what you are capable of. You can control the story you are telling yourself about your injury or pain. Outsourcing trust in your body to some outside “authority” will keep you from healing and creating true freedom in your body and in your life.

It’s possible to change your mindset, your outlook, and choose how you precede. You can choose hope. You can choose yourself. You can choose your own limits.

Please share with anyone who could use a hopeful message today.

I also hope if someone out there is looking for a solution to their pain, I can help. 

xoxo

Julia