Letter To My Younger Self

It’s cold.

Your body still isn’t fully adjusted to the Seattle weather, and you’re standing in shorts and a skintight jersey at Magnuson Park trying to avoid stepping in duck poop scattered across the muddy grass. You’re nervous, but you try not to show it. In a few minutes, you’re about to play your first rugby game.

Right now, you feel like you don’t belong.

You just moved from Fiji, and everything feels different. The weather, the people, the culture even schools, feel unfamiliar. Rugby becomes the one thing that helps you connect with people. It gives you somewhere to fit in. But there’s pressure too. Your brother plays professionally, and people expect something from you because you’re Fijian. Fijians are known for rugby. You hear it all the time. You feel like you can’t disappoint anyone.

The whistle blows, and the game starts.

Then the game ends, and you’re crying on the sideline with a bloody nose and mud all over your jersey. But blood isn’t what hurts. What hurts is feeling like you let everyone down. You replay every mistake in your head. You think everybody expected more from you.

Your mom and brother try to comfort you, reminding you that it was your first rugby game ever.

But you don’t believe them yet.

Still, something inside you refuses to quit. You start showing up early to every practice. You stay after training. The senior players push you hard because they know you can be better, and even when you hate it, you secretly love the challenge. Slowly, rugby stops becoming just a sport. It becomes something you care deeply about. You fall in love with improving, competing, and earning respect.

By junior year, things finally start coming together.

You earn your varsity jersey, and this is supposed to be your breakout season. You’re playing well, having strong games, and beginning to feel confident in yourself. For the first time, it feels like all the hard work is paying off.

Then everything changes.

A week before the Schoolhouse game, you’re doing a tackling drill at practice. You throw your shoulder into the tackle bag and immediately feel a pop followed by sharp pain.

Your shoulder is dislocated.

The doctor tells you that you’ll need six weeks of rest, almost the rest of the season. Just like that, the season you dreamed about disappears.

And suddenly you feel like that freshman at Magnuson Park all over again.

You cry again because you think you failed again.

But this time, something is different.

The injury forces you to slow down and reflect. For so long, your identity was completely tied to rugby. If you played badly, you felt worthless. If you got injured, you felt forgotten. But during that time away from the game, you start realizing there’s more to life than rugby.

Now it’s your senior year.

You commit to Cardiff Metropolitan University to continue your rugby career, something you would’ve dreamed about younger. But after playing through half the season, you need surgery on your foot. Another setback. Another moment where life doesn’t go according to plan.

Except this time, you handle it differently.

You realize the only approval you truly need is your own.

You stop measuring your worth by how well you play. You begin appreciating the people around you more your family, teammates, coaches, and friends. You realize rugby can be taken away at any moment, but the person you are outside the sport matters too.

And honestly, younger you needed to hear that.

You are more than the ball.

You are more than highlights, stats, or injuries.

Save is more than rugby.

Now you’re about to finish senior year with straight A’s. You’re getting ready to start physical therapy and slowly return to the game you love. But even bigger than that, you’ve learned how to find light during dark moments.

Your father keeps reminding you of Jeremiah 29:11:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

So, if you could go back to that cold muddy day at Magnuson Park and talk to your younger self, you’d tell him this:

You’re going to be okay.

The setbacks will hurt. You’ll cry more than once. You’ll feel lost sometimes. But one bad game, one injury, or one season will never define your life.

Your story isn’t over yet.

Trust God’s plan.