MADDIE HORIN

One of my favorite movies is the Blind Side.

I received my first Letter of Interest from Michigan State University in June 2014. A Letter of Interest is essentially the only form of legal contact (by NCAA standards) that coaches could make with prospective players… or at least the ones who were just finishing 7th grade, like me. Back then, there were far fewer NCAA regulations protecting young athletes from being recruited this early. By the time I was graduating from middle school, over 100 universities from across the country had contacted me. I was offered a full scholarship to play volleyball before making varsity. I don’t know about you, but my 8th grade self could barely make it to the bus on time or remember my lunch box every day… let alone know what my career aspirations were, or what a “major” or a “bachelor’s degree” were. I just knew that I loved the game of volleyball. The gym was my escape, so I’ve always felt the Blind Side tug at these heartstrings because Michael Ore had a similar mindset. Toward the end of my recruiting, I wanted to make an announcement video like the scene where Michael hovers his hand over the three hats on signing day to make his final decision.

Originally, I grew up in the South Side of Chicago in a tight-knit, Irish Catholic neighborhood called Beverly. As a kid growing up in CPS (Chicago Public Schools), I spent my formative years visiting the Field Museum, Museum of Science and Industry, Brookfield & Lincoln Park Zoos and Shedd Aquarium. On top of having an education immersed in Chicago history & culture, I inherited my pride in being a Chicagoan from my father, who grew up two blocks away from where we’d lived before moving to Munster, IN. 

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Before I was ever an athlete, I was a Chicagoan.

My parents’ decision to move our family away from all my friends and neighbors in Beverly felt like I had lost a piece of myself. Getting my driver’s license and going to high school in Munster meant that I had no longer had any “proof” of my upbringing as a gritty, fast-talking, blue collar, White Sox fan. Claiming this part of my identity seemed inauthentic. This was one of my first experiences with feeling detached from a piece of my identity.

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Claiming this part of my identity seemed inauthentic. This was one of my first experiences with feeling detached from a piece of my identity.

Along with being a Chicagoan, I am a proud big sister to my three younger siblings. The role of an eldest daughter is a thankless job. With both of my parents working full-time, it was required that I step up to keep things running smoothly at home. Similar to Michael Ore, I’ve scored very high for protective instincts, especially when it comes to my siblings. I would go through a brick wall for each of them and there is absolutely no one that can come between us – at least until our parents got divorced in the spring of my sophomore year of high school. Over that next year I managed to keep my grades up in five AP classes, commit to USC on a full scholarship, make both the Women’s Youth & Junior National Volleyball teams (as captain my first year and a gold medalist my second year), competing on my high school track team, commuting to my three weekly  club practices that were about 45 minutes away and keeping up with all of my usual big sister obligations like picking up my siblings from practice and cooking dinner on nights when parents got home late. I decided to push myself to graduate a semester early not necessarily because I really wanted to, but because the turbulence at home got to the point where the sooner I could get to sunny southern California and my safe haven at USC, the better. My mom and siblings ended up moving across the country to Seattle in August before my senior year of high school.

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After part of my family moved, I lived with one of my close friends and high school teammates, Lilly Lemke, and her family for my remaining senior semester. Being without my 3 little munchkins was very painful. I got to visit them once during that semester and it was the first time in my volleyball career where I’d look to the stands and couldn’t find their heart-warming faces cheering back at me. Being without them felt like a piece of my heart or soul or some deeper part of me had been ripped out. In my last semester in Munster, I quickly realized how difficult being away from them in college would be.

Being over 2,000 miles away from my siblings was another pivotal moment in my recovery from an identity crisis. If I wasn’t helping them or protecting them, I felt… useless, hopeless and lost without having my pride in being a member of a big family.

Divorce sucks. Moving sucks.

Soon after finishing high school early and with honors in December of 2018, I headed straight to South Central and was enrolled at USC. Making it to USC was the only thing keeping me alive for a majority of high school.

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Soon after finishing high school early and with honors in December of 2018, I headed straight to South Central and was enrolled at USC. Making it to USC was the only thing keeping me alive for a majority of high school.

Getting to campus felt like I was finally able to let my guard down and my nervous system finally rest after years of fighting in an emotional warzone, a place kids with divorced parents know far too well. While on one hand I felt as if I’d reached my safe haven, I watched from a distance as my younger siblings struggled with transitioning to new schools, neighborhoods and completely different parts of the country than where we’d spent our lives thus far. All of our transitions were tinted with the stress of our parents’ ongoing custody dispute that we were caught between.

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I had a successful first season. I started in all 32 matches in the Fall 2019 season, which was a feat considering we had a long list of All-Americans on our roster that I was competing with for playing time. I loved every second of my first two semesters before Spring 2020 when COVID-19 sent everyone home. 

Getting sent home for eight months was, at the time, one of the worst things that could’ve happened for my mental health. Every minute of my life was spent working towards improving, only to have that vanish into an endless amount of time with no friends, family, and worst of all: no volleyball. 

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Every minute of my life was spent working towards improving, only to have that vanish into an endless amount of time with no friends, family, and worst of all: no volleyball. 

Social isolation and quarantine mandates were my first encounters with feeling separated from my identity as a volleyball player.

Starting in August of 2020, student-athletes were summoned back to campus to begin training again. Meanwhile, USC athletics and university administration worked with LA County, CA State and Federal regulations and policies in order to get us back on the court in the safest way possible. I’m thankful for how hard the staff worked and how supportive the USC Athletics department was during this dark time. Being able to go to practice and getting to spend, although limited and extremely rule-bound, time with my teammates outside of a complete bubble we were playing in was keeping me alive

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One of the strictest rules we had to follow was getting tested at least 2-3 times a week. Even stricter was when any one of my teammates tested positive. At any time, we would be forced to shut down for 14 days and quarantine. When we’d return to the gym, we’d have a lot of ground to make up in order to keep up in the Pac-12. The stopping and going ultimately resulted in having to sit out with grades 2 and 3 stress fractures in both of my shins. 

Almost every athlete knows injuries can be devastating. 

I worked hard to maintain bonds with my teammates, but the back-to-back isolation on top of the struggles with feeling connected while cheering on the sideline led to me feeling an overwhelming amount of burnout. By the end of my sophomore year. I just missed playing volleyball. I continued to meet with my USC Sports Psychologist, Niki Sims, on a weekly basis. My therapy appointments seemed to be the only constant in my life through this. I tried to reframe negative thoughts, practicing gratitude, journaling, meditating regularly and taking supplements to help speed up the recovery of my stress fractures. 

Around the end of March that spring in 2021, I hit a mental wall. I remember sitting on the floor in my room in Webb Tower, holding my knees and rocking back and forth. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I felt like a shell of myself, all alone in my dorm for days on end. Each day faded into the next, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. One weekend, I slept a total of 4 hours over a four day span. Nothing felt real. Everything, including the game of volleyball, felt meaningless. Looking back, I think sabotaging my sleep was the only way I could find control in my life. 

By the time 80 sleepless hours had passed, I was experiencing severe symptoms of sleep deprivation: worsened memory, auditory hallucinations, impulsivity and emotion dysregulation. I panicked. Trapped in my head with a brain that wouldn’t turn off, I wanted to die. Without having meaningful social interactions or getting proper sleep & nutrition, I saw myself as a burden to anyone whose path I’d crossed. My belief was that since I was not contributing or producing for my team, I did not deserve to be playing in Cardinal and Gold. Death seemed like the only way to reach peace, or at the very least, show people what I was willing to sacrifice in order to put on my jersey again. In that moment, I saw suicide as my only option. I had to call Niki. I needed to ask for help, even if it meant accepting defeat.

The voice in the back of my head spit at me, “Everyone else is going through it too and they’re able to pick themselves up and dust themselves off. I’m just being lazy. I’m just being dramatic. I’m just overreacting. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

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The voice in the back of my head spit at me, “Everyone else is going through it too and they’re able to pick themselves up and dust themselves off. I’m just being lazy. I’m just being dramatic. I’m just overreacting. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

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Initially my mental health support team suggested a bunch of options, including medical retirement. Another, more appealing option, was to try a 7-week Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) where I’d learn Dialectical Behavioral Therapeutic skills in both group and individual sessions three days a week. Everyday felt like a fight against my own brain, constantly trying to convince myself that I deserved to be at USC and that I deserved a chance to be happy and free of the constant conflict. I didn’t want to be done with volleyball, so I began the intake process for an Intensive Outpatient Therapy program. This entire process was supported by my USC Sports Psychologist, Nicole Sims, and USC Sports Psychiatrist, Dr. Pratik Mehta, who got me through one of the lowest points of my life. Without them, I can say without a doubt that I would not have survived the rest of that year leading up to my medical retirement in December 2021. 

Finishing IOP treatment that August, I came back to LA ready to work hard. My goal was to get healthy using my new coping skills to build better sleeping & eating habits. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible for me to redshirt that year, but this didn’t really change my intentions for the fall semester. From the moment our double-days started, I was grinding. I did about an hour of sprint interval bike conditioning everyday at practice, often throwing up and reaching my physical breaking point many times. I faced a lot of pressure from my coaches and athletic trainer to get back on the court, despite my attempts to relay my concerns about my injury returning and not feeling strong enough to handle the full load of practice quite yet. The staff created a shared google document where they tracked every “miss” or short-coming on my part during these first three weeks before school started. Once again, I felt like my efforts were not recognized, appreciated or valued by those in my immediate environment, which really deflated my confidence and spirit.

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Once again, I felt like my efforts were not recognized, appreciated or valued by those in my immediate environment, which really deflated my confidence and spirit.

By the time winter break rolled around, I was burnt out again. My coach advised medical retirement, which seemed like my only option by the end of all of this. I retired a few days before Christmas and spent the rest of my break thinking about what I was going to do to fill my time without volleyball.

The following spring semester of my junior year, I took Forensic Psychology and immediately fell in love with it. This new niche sparked curiosity, which felt nearly euphoric after two long years of apathy and anhedonia. I started to feel like myself again, but something was still missing. 

When I came back to campus in the fall, I made it my mission to get back on the court. Without regularly scheduled exercise, I learned how difficult it was to stay active and healthy. Equally, I quickly found out how much having a team of people to support and hold me accountable meant to me as someone from a big family; I am apparently extremely extroverted. 

After almost a year without sport, I decided to try out for USC’s Club Volleyball team. 

Going to tryouts, I was extremely anxious. After a long time without the game, I thought that I wasn’t a good volleyball player anymore. I was embarrassed about the weight I had put on and ashamed that I no longer “looked like an athlete.” Honestly, I thought there was a good chance I’d get cut entirely. 

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But I went anyway. Not because my coach wanted me to. Not because I wanted my parents to be proud of me. Not because I had to set an example for my younger siblings. I went for me. I went for the pigtail-wearing, 12-year-old inner child Maddie that absolutely fell head over heels in love with volleyball – the one whose heart was broken by injuries, familial conflicts and a pandemic.

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I went for the pigtail-wearing, 12-year-old inner child Maddie that absolutely fell head over heels in love with volleyball – the one whose heart was broken by injuries, familial conflicts and a pandemic.

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In the words of Brené Brown, I knew I must “choose courage over comfort” if I expected anything in my life to change. 

I’m so grateful for my USC Club Volleyball family. Their unconditional love, support and compassion has helped remind me why I started playing in the first place, and of how much I still love to work hard and compete for those who acknowledge and appreciate the fiery energy I play with and bring to the court. It’s because of them that I decided to enter the transfer portal in the beginning of this spring with the hopes of earning my master’s in Forensic Psychology and getting back to doing what I set out to accomplish originally. 

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It’s because of them that I decided to enter the transfer portal in the beginning of this spring with the hopes of earning my master’s in Forensic Psychology and getting back to doing what I set out to accomplish originally. 

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“Courage is tricky if you always do what others tell you to do. Any fool can have courage but honor, that is the real reason you do something or you don’t. You should hope for courage and have honor.”

-Michael Oher

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