The morning of April 28, I received the phone call that I had been waiting for since the second I set foot on a volleyball court. The Northeastern University volleyball coach addressed me and said, “Congratulations, Helene, we would love for you to join us next year. You’re a Husky!” Hundreds of hours and sweat-filled days had finally led to what I call my “sweet chariot” — my dream of playing Division I volleyball. My knuckles were starting to bruise from all the “knock on wood” rituals I had been doing before this solicitous phone call.

By the third grade, I knew that I would be going to Lowell High. Similarly, during junior year, my intuition told me that I would be going to NU. I had a long list of schools that I wanted to go to based solely on my chance of playing volleyball and their criminal justice programs — Seattle University, Michigan State, University of South Carolina, Sonoma State, and University of Nevada, Las Vegas — but Northeastern stood out. The recruitment process is an extremely stressful and complicated process. I couldn’t just say, “Hey, I’m playing at this college, the end!” Unless you’re one of the top 50 athletes in the nation, coaches won’t come crawling at your feet; getting recruited is based on how badly you want to make the team.

Although I lettered for two years with varsity volleyball, won a spot on the all-league first team and helped Lowell win its 11th consecutive championship title, these accomplishments alone would barely register with any collegiate coach. In order to get attention from college recruiters I had to play club volleyball — my ticket to recruitment.

During my freshman year, I told one of the coaches from my volleyball club that I wanted to pursue Division I college volleyball. I remember his smirk. His smile screamed disbelief.With a sly look, he sarcastically said, “Good luck with that.” Today, I would love to give him a punch in the nose, but if it weren’t for people like him who have doubted me, I wouldn’t have worked so vigorously to prove them wrong.

In my pursuit, I have lost and gained irreplaceable opportunities. I’ve missed out on my junior prom, my friend’s 18th cotillion and class events that I had been waiting to attend since freshman year. In addition to committing an enormous amount of time and putting my physical health at risk every practice, I have paid a lot of money to play club. Last year, I played for Golden Bears, a nationally recognized and ranked club team in Berkeley, and for one season alone (6 months), I ended up paying about $7,000 for airfare, hotel, and team registration fees. Although I was paying for the price of a year at Catholic school, I had an opportunity to play for a highly competitive team that many girls can only dream of. We traveled throughout the nation playing at tournaments with sometimes 15 scouts on our court to watch us play. We even qualified for the holy grail of all tournaments, the Junior Olympics, an unforgettable experience etched into my memory.

The only person that can tell you your're not good enough is yourself

Though getting scouted is thrilling, let me tell you, it is the most painstakingly and stressful process that you will ever endure. At an intense tournament, hundreds of coaches in finely stitched jackets embroided with their college names and casually around while you stand there with goose bumps and so much nervousness that your own sweat sweats.

During one match, I was playing extremely well, digging balls straight to my setter. But as soon as I turned my head left, I saw the Michigan State coach making notes with his little neat palm pilot and watching me play. I went into what I call “freak out mode,” my eyes were like high beams and I couldn’t focus on what was going on in the game. My setter said something to me like, “Push your passes to the right,” but my brain translated everything in slow motion and the words coming out of her mouth sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger talking.

I’ve since woken up to reality and have sucked up any bit of insecurity that I have ever felt about myself. Although playing a sport is physically demanding, the game is 90 percent mental. Watching the Cinderella stories about sports heroes and having confidence in myself has helped me evolve into the athlete I am today. This August, I leave for Boston to start training with my new team and I look forward to what the future has in store for me. Maybe some day I’ll be America’s next national libero, an FBI agent or a professional mascot. At this point, I don’t know, but what I do know is that if I work hard for what I want, I can achieve it. As I move on to the next steps in life, I will take these words with me — the only person that can tell you that you’re not good enough is yourself.