The Power of the Bench

The importance of showing up on both sides of the line

October 25, 2023. GCSU vs. #1 Catawba College on Bobcat Field. The opening whistle blows and we’re off—my team, GCSU, taking on the #1 team in the nation, Catawba College, who came in riding a 14-game unbeaten streak. I took my spot on the bench, penny on, ready to cheer my team toward what we hoped could be a historic upset.

Just 67 seconds in, we score—shocking not only our opponent but honestly ourselves. The 11 girls on the field huddle together, screaming at an ear-piercing level. Parents and fans erupt in the stands, and the bench absolutely loses it—dancing, shouting, and jumping up and down. Catawba leveled the score just four minutes later, setting up an 80+ minute battle that tested every ounce of us. Even tying the top-ranked team in NCAA D2 women’s soccer would have been a wildly impressive result. But we wanted more. With only minutes left in regulation, we scored again—this time for good. When the clock hit 90:00, the final whistle sealed a win that will forever live in GCSU soccer history. All 32 of us sprinted to the middle of the field, celebrating in shock and pure joy. We shook hands, thanked the spectators, then headed into a locker room that turned into a full-blown party. To this day, it stands as one of the most memorable days of my 19-year soccer career.

I played 8 minutes and 23 seconds in that game. To put that into perspective—that’s less than 9% of a full match. But here’s the thing: it didn’t matter. I was just as much a part of that win as anyone else on the field, because being a bench player doesn’t mean you’re not a difference-maker. Being on the sideline, for whatever reasons, has taught me lessons I don’t think I could have learned another way: patience from waiting for opportunities that are never guaranteed; perspective from seeing the game at a different angle; and the impact of support from showing up for others no matter where you stand. Soccer is a game that is impacted by the players on the field, but also by the players watching it unfold. The way we lifted one another that day, from the first whistle to the very last, was proof of that. But here’s the hard truth—it’s not easy to watch others do exactly what you worked to do. It’s not easy to show up to practice day in and day out not knowing if you’ll ever see the field when game-day comes. But it does challenge you to redefine what being a “good teammate” really means, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.

The connotation behind the phrase “benchwarmer” is so negative in the sports world because its seen as a “less than” place to be, which isn’t true. Athletes find themselves on the bench for several reasons—injury, tactical changes, rotation, flow of the game. It doesn’t have to mean that you aren’t good enough or don’t matter.

The truth? The bench doesn’t define your ability. It reveals your character.

I learned that most throughout my time as a college athlete. During my first and second seasons, I spent more time on the bench than I wanted. I was young, still adjusting to my return to soccer, and figuring out where I fit on the team. And I’d be lying through my teeth if I said it didn’t sting watching from the sideline when all I wanted was to prove myself on the field. But those seasons shaped me in ways I didn’t expect. They forced me to see the game differently—studying my position, learning from teammates ahead of me, and staying locked in so that when my name was called, I was ready to make an impact. I learned to celebrate others’ success as if it were my own, to bring energy from the sideline, and to remind myself that my role still mattered, no matter what.

And later, when my ACL forced me off the field completely, those lessons came back full circle. I already knew what it felt like to wait, to be patient, to support from the outside. But this time, it was different. There was no chance of my name being called, of stepping on the field, of changing the game. I wasn’t fighting for minutes anymore. I was fighting to stand. Then to walk. Then to run. I was fighting for my body to function.

Those months changed me. Sitting on the bench because of youth, inexperience, or lack of performance was one thing—sitting because of injury was another. It stripped me of the option to prove myself, and with it came a whole new perspective. I had to learn to lead without cleats on, to support without the possibility of contributing, to trust that my role still carried weight, and to believe that my team still saw me as a teammate. I cheered and clapped for my team through 2 playoff games, then cried with them when the season ended. In the spring, I did the same but started helping players with tactical aspects to help their game. And during the first half of this season, I warmed up with the girls then observed from the sideline. Watching, teaching, helping, but most of all waiting.

When the wait was over and I was fully cleared, those lessons didn’t escape me for a second. I dressed out and cheered on 27 of my best friends as they all took the field, while itching for my name to be called. In the 30th minute of our conference game on September 27, 2025, that moment finally came. I stepped off the bench for the first time in 11 months, and everything I had been through flashed before my eyes. I found my footing, and within minutes one of our midfielders spotted me in open space at the top of the box. I struck a first-time shot to the upper left corner of the goal and nearly sank to my knees in disbelief. Players on the field huddled around me—hugging, shouting, smiling, a few of us crying. Every single teammate and coach on the sideline did the same. I ran to high-five them all, an ear-to-ear grin on my face and a feeling in my chest I could barely put into words. After 336 days, 20 games, 2 surgeries, countless practices, and moments of doubt—I had scored in my first game back. Nothing will ever compare to that feeling.

But what made it unforgettable wasn’t just the goal itself. Yes, it was a major accomplishment—but what is that worth if there’s no one to share it with? It was the team surrounding me, the people who had cried, celebrated, and supported me through every setback and every step forward. The cheers, the tears, the hugs, the laughter, the unspoken understanding between all of us—that was the true victory. Success is never a solo journey. You can be a great player, a great employee, a great person—but it takes a team of other great people to lift you up along the way. The ear-piercing screams the moment the ball hit the net are proof: when you show up for others, no matter what side of the line you’re on, they will show up for you.

So here is my message to anyone who’s ever been on the bench or forced to sit out: your role matters. Your energy matters. Your heart matters. What you do matters. Because when you invest in others, when you show up and support, when you fight in ways that aren’t always visible—you are helping shape the team, the game, yourself, and your peers. Being a benchwarmer, being sidelined, being “less than” is only a label—not a story. The story? How did you show up? How did you overcome adversity? How did you make an impact? And when the moment finally comes—when your name is called, when the whistle blows, when the ball finds the back of the net—you’ll realize the wait, the struggle, and the support you gave and received were all part of what made that moment unforgettable.