Fragile Beginnings

Growing up, I wasn’t a strong kid - in fact, I was extremely skinny.
Not by choice, but because most foods didn’t sit well with me.
Basically, I could lose weight just by reading the menu.
Looking back, I see now it was simply my body’s response to unknown allergies, anxious environments, and circumstances I didn’t have the language to understand at the time.

But one thing brought me to life: netball.

Discovering Netball - My First Safe Space

When I joined the school netball team at eight years old, it became the first place I wasn’t living in comparison. The court felt like freedom - a space where I could be fully present and fully myself. I tried other sports, but nothing lit me up like netball.

Still, like in many South Asian homes, sport was rarely seen as important especially for girls. Academic success was the main focus, while creative or athletic passions were pushed aside. On top of that, many of us girls - myself included - carried the weight of caring for younger siblings and managing household chores, roles that were valued more than time spent on the court, in music, or in any pursuit beyond studies.

Success Met with Doubt

One day, something unexpected happened - our school announced the netball captains for the first time. I still remember the moment we were all called into the sports room. As we walked there, one of my teammates casually said, “If they’re going to appoint a captain, it’s going to be you.”  Her words lit something in me. I wasn’t even sure if I deserved it at the time, but hearing her say that made me feel seen - like maybe I really had earned the respect of my team.
And then it happened: both my sister and I were chosen as captains for our age groups. I still remember feeling proud and so happy that I even finished every bit of food during the school break, which for me was historic in itself.

But, when we shared the news at home, the response wasn’t what I expected.
Instead of celebrating, the focus shifted. Concerns were raised about how other parents might perceive the decision - that both my sister and I being chosen could be seen as favouritism rather than a coincidence, and so a call was made to my coach asking that I be removed from the position, while my sister remained.
My coach, however, reassured that it was a team decision and that they truly believed I had rightfully earned the role.
But by then, the damage was done. I sat there in silence - my pride shrinking, my excitement fading. I couldn’t understand why. Neither of my parents had ever come to watch a match. They had no part in my training, no say in the coach’s decisions, so how could anyone possibly think they had influenced this? Why would anyone believe my captaincy wasn’t deserving, when they had never been there to begin with?
That was the first time I felt a flicker of imposter syndrome. I knew I had worked hard for it, yet part of me began to wonder if I really belonged especially because it felt like my worth was being questioned by the very person I wanted to celebrate with me most.

***

A few years later, when I was named Best Shooter for our age group and my name appeared in the local newspaper, I was handed the paper by the school librarian and told it featured my sister -
It seemed so small, but it pierced deep. It was another reminder of how easy it was for my own achievements to be overlooked - how quickly I could be forgotten, even when I had earned the spotlight.

***

Over time, I found myself drawn to athletics. I wanted to try middle-distance races and see what my body could do.
On one occasion, while browsing sports equipment for training, my request for ankle weights was met with hesitation, and I was ridiculed and questioned "since when did you do athletics?" in front of the shop staff. I walked away feeling humiliated and that my interest in wanting to train wasn’t being taken seriously. Luckily, my partner gave me his spare ankle weights and dumbbells so I could train at home.
Not long after, I was appointed School Athletics Captain.

Even with these milestones, moments of doubt from others still appeared.
At our final school sports meet, I turned up for a relay I had trained for, only to discover my name had been replaced on the team list. It was the only event I had that day.
The sting was sharper than I could have imagined - not just from being left out, but from the silence of people I thought were my friends.
Having my partner and another friend there for support meant everything.
In that moment, I learned a very valuable lesson about friendship and about how easily people can misjudge your potential when they haven’t truly seen you.

Lessons in Resilience

These are just a few of the many experiences I faced growing up that were meant to discourage me - and I know I’m not alone in this; so many of us carry stories of being dismissed, overlooked, or discouraged along the way.
Looking back, I’ve come to see these moments for what they were. Not personal attacks - but reflections of how often people find it easier to overlook or misjudge potential than to nurture it.. These experiences taught me a valuable lesson:
You can’t control what people think of you, but you can control whether or not you believe it.

A New Chapter in Australia

Growing up, I often felt I had to shrink myself - emotionally, mentally, even physically. By the time I moved to Australia in 2019, I was excited for a new chapter.

Here, I had the freedom to explore who I was, separate from constant comparison.
I stepped into a gym for the first time - something I never imagined I’d do.
Growing up, I believed the gym was "for guys", that’s what I was conditioned to believe. Girls weren’t supposed to lift weights or build muscle.

But my partner gently challenged those beliefs. With his patience and support, I found the courage to start. I weighed just 43kg at the time, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to get stronger - not to look a certain way, but to feel powerful in my body.

Falling in Love with Movement

As I changed how I ate and trained, I started to gain healthy weight.
I built muscle. And for the first time ever, I saw my body as something to care for, not criticise.

Towards the end of 2020, gym training became a regular part of our lives.
I began to fall in love with movement - not just for the physical benefits, but for what it did for my mind.
It gave me structure, strength, clarity, and joy.

In 2021, I joined my university’s indoor netball team and later represented our university at the intervarsity netball games. I also ran my first 10km run - something I never thought I’d be capable of.

But life had one more curveball in store.

The Setback That Changed Everything

During our 2022 netball finals, I sprinted to defend the ball when my shoe slipped on the turf.
My right ankle twisted, and instinctively I threw my weight onto my left leg to stop the fall. In that split second, my knee hyperextended - and then it came - a sickening, unforgettable sound...
My left femur had snapped.

The pain was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced (on a scale of 1 to childbirth (so I’ve been told), it was somewhere in the ‘invent new swear words’ category 😭).
Later scans confirmed it was a freak accident - turns out nothing happened to both my ankle and knee and my bone density results were well above average sitting at 1.3 g/cm², but the force of the fall was just too much.

Recovery & Support

I was hospitalised for a week, and in that time my partner never left my side. Every single day, he showed up with the most delicious, nutritious home-cooked meals – so much so that one of the nurses joked he was running a five-star catering service out of the hospital room 😂. Through all the pain, he kept my spirits up with goofy jokes, silly dances, and unwavering presence. I never once felt alone.

Rehabilitation was slow and humbling. I had to relearn how to walk, move, and trust my body again. The smallest steps felt monumental. But in those moments, I learned something I hadn’t fully grasped before: movement is a privilege.
And I knew I would never take it for granted again.

Bouncing Back Stronger

Since I was forced to take it easy with my lower body training. I took it as an opportunity to focus more on my upper body. That’s when I discovered upper-body calisthenics and really got into pull-ups, dips, and eventually weighted dips, push-ups, and even clap push-ups.
Watching my partner do effortless weighted pull-ups and muscle-ups sparked my curiosity and motivation to train harder.

Over time, my legs healed fully, and the following year, I managed to complete a 5km run.
I trained more intentionally than ever. I focused on mobility, recovery, and long-term health.
My legs became stronger. So did my mindset.