After 12 Years of Coaching, I Stood Up to My Bully Today

Today, I got tired of my bully. She’s been whispering in my ear for years, telling me who I am according to her. The scariest part? She convinced me that everyone else thought the same. Some did, their actions spoke louder than words: You’re not good enough to be the leader your team needs. You’re not pretty enough, not the first choice, just average. You don’t deserve happiness. You failed. What’s the point of continuing?

Her voice was relentless, but sometimes, she’d toss me a crumb of encouragement—just enough to keep me from giving up entirely. That made her the most dangerous kind of enemy: one who could tear me down while pretending to hold me up. The worst part? That voice was mine.

I am my own worst critic. Mix that with a sprinkle of anxiety, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for low self-esteem and a life half-lived. My thoughts consumed me, and in turn, they shaped my actions—or lack thereof. I didn’t apply for the job. I didn’t go on the date. I didn’t speak up when it mattered. Instead, I controlled what I could, living in fear of judgment. I mourned the girl I used to be, the one who wasn’t like this.

And somehow, cinnamon rolls gave me the courage to fight back today.

All week, I’d been talking about making homemade cinnamon rolls from scratch. I’d hyped them up to my players and colleagues, imagining them paired with coffee and dreams of a small business. But for three nights straight, I put it off. That voice—the bully—said, What’s the point? They won’t be any better than anyone else’s. Who are you kidding?

Today, I’d had enough. I cried—not for the cinnamon rolls but for the years I’ve spent being so cruel to myself. I wouldn’t say these things to my younger self, the little girl who dreamed big, so why do I say them to the adult who still carries those same feelings?

So, I made a deal with myself: Maybe they’ll suck. Maybe this won’t lead anywhere. But I’m going to try because I love cinnamon rolls, I love baking, and I want to share something I enjoy.

As I write this, my cinnamon rolls are rising. Maybe they’ll turn out great, maybe not—but I stood up to my bully today, and that’s what matters. It made me think of the ways our inner critics hold us back.

It’s job season in the coaching world. The postings are everywhere: retirements, relocations, and new opportunities. Fresh faces are stepping into their first coaching roles, young coaches are chasing head coaching dreams, and seasoned ones are seeking a change of scenery.

I remember being that scared young coach, unsure when the “perfect” moment would come. I stepped up to the plate, interviewed countless times, and struck out more than I care to admit. Each rejection gave my bully another chance to whisper: See? I told you so.

But here’s the thing about rejection: it’s not the end. There’s never a perfect moment. Every moment is the moment. The tough jobs teach hard lessons, and the good ones create lifelong memories.

After my last rejection, I almost believed my bully. I thought maybe I wasn’t meant to be a head coach. But six months later, one of the best athletic directors I’ve ever known called with an opportunity. That job became the foundation of a career I love and a family tree of players and coaches who mean the world to me.

The rejection was worth it. The bully was wrong. I was enough; I always had been.

I know she’ll be back, my inner critic. She’s not gone for good, but today, I silenced her long enough to bake some cinnamon rolls. Tomorrow, I’ll fight her again, but that’s for another day.

Hey Coach: apply for the job. You’re good enough. You’ll learn, grow, and find your way. As one of my favorite reminders says, “God doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called.”

You’ve got this.