By: Taylor Craig, Georgetown Field Hockey Junior Defender

On a hot August morning two and a half years ago, I first met the people who would soon become my family. Since then, that family has only grown, welcoming new coaches, new teammates, and new administrative supporters. At the time, though, I didn't realize just how integral this family would be to my development.

During my freshman year, I took great pride in being on a Division I team. I was proud to be able to wear the gear that separated the athletes from the rest of the student body, I was proud to be able to play on Astroturf for the first time with a stick that I had never dreamed of purchasing for myself, and I was proud to be able to compete against some of the best teams in the country. When friends or family members would ask me about my experiences, however, I was not quite as proud to tell them that my position was "left bench" and that my biggest responsibility during a game was making sure the water bottles were full for time-outs. At the same time, I knew my place and I knew that I was in no way prepared for college field hockey. This changed in my sophomore year, when I saw more playing time and eventually earned a starting position.

In October of this year, I sustained a season-ending concussion that sent me back to the bench. Once again, I found myself watching from the sidelines--but this time, something was different. Something had changed since I had last been filling water bottles. Was it just the new field? Was it the new coaching staff? Was it the fact that we had enough fans to dub them a "cheering section?" Those things were different, sure, but there was something more. I didn't yet know what it was, but I had a feeling that over the next few weeks, I'd have no choice but to find out. That's the funny thing about a concussion: it doesn't care who you are or what you're doing. It doesn't care if you have classes to go to or if you have to do well on that test the next day to keep your GPA where it needs to be. It is not concerned with your social life. It's impartial to your workout routine and your mile time. A concussion won't listen if all you really want to do is sit at home and watch Netflix. All a concussion will do is press pause. Mine did. Mine forced me to stop, take a step back, and re-evaluate. It made me look at what I was doing and if I actually was where I wanted to be. Was I happy? Did I belong here? Did I really want to keep waking up at 5 a.m. just to watch people play a sport that I couldn't play?

If this had happened during my freshman year, the answer to all of those questions would have unequivocally been "no." But when I stood on the sideline that day in October and wondered why it felt different, it was because at some point over the past year, my answers to those questions had all become "yes." Over the next few weeks, as I kept watching my team from the outside, I began to discover the reasons why.

The first thing I noticed was how much I loved getting to the field hours before the campus awoke for the day. In the two weeks that followed the concussion, I was told to stay home from all team activities, including practices, lifts, and film sessions. Although initially I appreciated the extra few hours of sleep, this relief quickly turned to gloom when I hadn't seen some of my teammates for 24, then 48, then 72 hours. I realized that I actually missed the sound of my 5 a.m. alarm. I missed fumbling for my backpack in the dark, groggily brushing my teeth with my roommates, nervously digging for a quick breakfast that could be easily digested before practice, and hurrying toward campus with the other juniors while speculating about the workout ahead. Some days, we would be walking to practice when we'd spot three or four other figures a block away. We wouldn't even stop to consider that those figures could be anyone other than a few of the sophomores before blurting their names at a volume completely inappropriate for the time of day. It was as if the hours from 6-8 were set aside for only us. It didn't matter what would happen later in the day--for those two hours, all that mattered was that we were doing what we loved most. Second, I observed that our team had taken on a sense of ownership that I had not remembered it developing. All of a sudden, it seemed, people were calling themselves out if they made a mistake at practice; everyone was taking it upon herself to perfect her new role in the attacking penalty corner setup; and defenders were saying, "I'll get back next time" instead of, "it wasn't my fault." We were all working toward the same goal--and, at some point during the season, we had decided that in order to achieve that goal, we each had to take responsibility for the part we would play in getting there.

The third thing I saw was that every single person on our team was grateful for the opportunity that they had to go to a school like Georgetown and to be part of our underdog program. After one of our late season wins, the team was stretching when I saw one of our seniors turn to another and say, excitedly: "another win, I can't believe it!" In that moment, it was evident that nobody was taking the successes that we had this season for granted. We recognized how far we had come, and we were all grateful for having been part of it.

Finally, every day that I stood on the sideline I noticed that we were becoming more and more of a family. When the captains turned to a freshman (or a quiet junior) and asked for her opinion, it was clear that everyone's voice mattered; when one of our sophomores asked for extra workouts because she wanted to be able to catch our fastest runners, this evidenced an underlying selfless desire do what was best for the team; and, when one of our seniors scored her first career goal in her last career game, the erupting noise from our bench told me that when one of us succeeded, we all succeeded.

Of course, each aspect of our culture has been positively influenced by the arrival of our three new coaches: Shannon Soares, Shelly Montgomery, and Mary Beth Barham. Our coaches bring an energy and passion with them every day that is unparalleled, pushing us to become the best versions of ourselves as players, students, emerging leaders, teammates, and friends. I count myself lucky that they have come into my life, because I have no doubt that they have each changed it for the better. I am not alone in feeling this way, either. "Our coaches have taught us to be more process-oriented, rather than focus on the outcome," said co-captain Louise Chakejian. "They have taught us the value in defining our true successes not by the number of wins and losses, but by the smaller victories that represent the upward progress of this program. They push us to take risks on and off the field while teaching us that making mistakes is the only way to truly learn and improve." Co-captain Emily Weinberg added, "Our coaches have shown us that through hard work, trust, and a positive mentality, we can break down our `brick walls' and overcome any possible barriers. From this, we know that each game and each practice, no matter how challenging, are obstacles that we can overcome--all to better ourselves, our teammates, and the program."

Without Shannon fighting for us, our team would not have been able to practice and play our games on a home field for the first time since the 2006 season. After spending the first portion of our careers practicing at American University and playing our home games at the University of Maryland, for the upperclassmen there was nothing quite like walking out on the field before our first home game. "This year, we were able to walk onto our true home field and see `WE ARE GEORGETOWN' while being enthusiastically greeted by our family, friends, and fans," said senior Elizabeth Mueller. "As an athlete, there is no greater joy than being able to play for your school, at your school, with the support of your school surrounding you."

Over the past few months, I have often thought of the seniors that have graduated in the last two years, and of how I hadn't paid any mind to their insistence of, "no really, you will miss even the hardest days." I have come to realize that my concussion had handed me a unique opportunity, enabling me to remove myself from the team only far enough to recognize those experiences that in one short year would be what I missed most. In short, I had to get hit that day in October in order to fully appreciate the transformation of our program. Of course, this team culture had been there all along--I just hadn't been looking for it. If one day someone entering a program like ours asks me for advice, I'll say this: look for it. Don't make a concussion the reason that you finally pay attention to what makes your team special. You have control over what you do and do not notice. Look for it. You never know, you might end up finding the reasons why you call those people your family.