Created a Monster

Everybody says my game face looks scary on TV: my mom, my friends, everybody. But, off the court, I’m so chill. You can fact-check that with my friends.

Something just happens when I’m lacing up my shoes before a game; a switch gets flipped, and I go from normal Hannah to … how can I explain this?

You’ve seen Dragon Ball Z, right?

If you grew up with four brothers, like I did, you not only grew up watching DBZ on TV, you grew up living DBZ. In the backyard. In the house. Everywhere, 24/7. Pillows were getting thrown. Clementines were being used as fireballs. Little cousins were getting launched off the couch.

To have any hope of survival, as the little sister in that scenario, there’s only one option: You have to go Super Saiyan.

If you don’t know what that is, it’s when you transform into a beast – level up, basically. Your hair turns a different color. Your body starts glowing. You get a different look in your eyes.

You turn into a problem.

That’s exactly what I’d do with my brothers. My sister wasn’t into sports (I was trying to ball, she was trying to go to the mall), so I kind of got drafted into my brothers’ world from the time I was 7 or 8 years old. One of them was always at basketball practice and needed an “extra” for 2-on-2; I was ready to rock.

And it wasn’t like, “Oh, we’re playing with a girl now.”

No. We’re playing. Period. Nothing is different. Pressure her. Back her down. Swat her shot into outer space. Nobody gets special treatment. They’d be playing bully-ball! I had to be a dog out there. I’d be diving on the cement for loose balls. Giving them little elbows in their ribs when they tried to post me up. (You’ve gotta get up under the ribcage and hit the soft tissue. That’s the key.) I learned to shoot with two hands, launching that thing with my full body weight.

And I loved it. I used to get so mad when they’d want to go inside at night. Like, why do we need to eat? Nah. Run it back!

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People used to warn me, before I came here: “You’re taking a risk going to Notre Dame. It’s a football school.” Even with all the success this program has had over the years, and the growth in the women’s game, Notre Dame isn’t Notre Dame without football.

But when I looked at Coach Ivey, the WNBA icons and Olympians it has produced, and the whole vibe of the program, I didn’t see risk. Maybe it was my stubborn little sister energy, but I was like, “This is a basketball school. We’re about to do something really special.”

Notre Dame is a lot of things. Soccer. Volleyball. Lacrosse. We don’t mess around in fencing, either. But the thing we’re best at isn’t going to be on SportsCenter. For me, it’s the way we love like a second family. Maybe that sounds corny, but it’s real.

Our season ended too soon this year, but to understand how I’m processing that, I have to take you back to last year. As we were coming back from summer break it was the lowest I’ve felt in my whole basketball career.

I know that seems crazy from the outside. We’d just won the ACC tournament. I’d won ACC Rookie of the Year and KD even shouted me out on social. All that was amazing, but the only thing I felt that summer was pressure.

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I left out a key part of the Super Saiyan story for drama’s sake: my dad was a youth basketball coach and my mom is a ref. Almost like it was meant to be.

As I got older, my dad let me tag along to my brother’s middle school practices, but under one condition: If I took one step onto that floor, I wasn’t there to hang out. I was there to practice. Had to do everything they did with zero drop in quality. I could either sit in the bleachers with my book for two hours like a little sister, or I could work.

What do you think I did? 

Come on! Let’s work!

I was a third grader practicing with seventh graders. At first, it was like: “This is cute, I guess.”

Then I started stripping the ball from these boys, and suddenly it wasn’t so cute anymore. I’m looking at them, mean-mugging, like, “Funny right?”

They gave me the nickname “Buckets.” That’s when you know you’ve made it.

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Until recently, basketball was this outlet. But when you’re 19 years old and trying to figure your life out, and you start to get buzz on social media – when you suddenly have a platform – it can be really overwhelming.

It’s a learning process. Among other things, you have to be intentional about what you post. Which goes double if it’s somebody else you’re amplifying – as opposed to something that comes from your heart, that reflects your character and authentic self.

You know the post I’m talking about.

Now, feeling misinterpreted is one thing. I’ve always been very private, and learning how to navigate the media in public as a young person is just plain hard. But realizing that I had this new responsibility and that I’d let people down, given the wrong impression, maybe even hurt people I care about – that got me spiraling.

I grew a lot from the conversations I had coming off that mistake, especially with friends I was afraid I’d hurt. Instead, I was relieved to feel embraced and safe. I am not homophobic — I love all people, and believe we all deserve to exist authentically, but I understand now how that narrative developed. I should have been more public about how much I value everyone’s humanity and how what makes us unique as individuals can be what powers a great team.

Which taught me the most important thing I’ve learned in the last two years, in terms of dealing with pressure: surround yourself with people who are going to be real with you — no matter what.

In a way, that’s why I came to Notre Dame in the first place. When your six iPhone alarms start going off at 5:30 a.m. and you have a six-hour media day followed by practice and then night class where the professors are not playing around … you don't really care how pretty the campus looks in the snow. You care that you got people in your life to laugh, cry, complain to, and study with. To learn and grow alongside. People who have your back when it's hard. People of all kinds who you love and whose diverse backgrounds and perspectives help you get better.

For me, that’s Notre Dame. That’s my extended family.

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There’s a story my dad loves to tell at parties. It’s probably been exaggerated over the years, but we’ll go with his version.

I was playing 1-on-1 with one of my brothers after a long workout. He was like 6-foot-2 by now, and I’m 4-foot-2 or whatever.

First game, I couldn't miss. I was launching Steph three-pointers, and there was nothing he could do. So of course, he said, “We’re not going inside. Run it back!”

I get it, that’s a hard night’s sleep, after losing to your 11-year-old sister. So we would always run it back.

He bullies me in the post in the second game, and beats me. So then I snap. “Run it back!!! No, no, no. Run it back!!!!”

He’s trying to go inside. He’s hungry. “No!!! Dad!!! Tell him!!! Run it back!!!!”

My hair’s changing colors. I’m glowing, going Super Saiyan. My dad knows not to mess with me in this state. So we run it back again.

We check the ball, and it’s not just some Best of 3 in the backyard in New Jersey on a Tuesday. To me, this was Game 7 of the Finals. I’m on another level — I black out. I didn’t even know the score. Every point is life or death. I’m using every gritty trick in my bag.

Finally, my dad jumps in, like “Alright, it’s over. It’s over. Good game. Let’s get some dinner.”

But I’m still in Super Saiyan mode. I grab the ball and spike it like 100 feet in the air. I let out a crazy scream, storm inside and slam my bedroom door.

The punchline? I won. But I was still fuming about losing Game 2 – I should have closed it out!

My dad smiled at my brother, like, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

My brother told my dad, “You know what you did, right? You created a monster.”

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Last summer, I deleted all my social media apps. It was getting in my head. You know that feeling when it feels like the walls are closing in? It was intense. I felt paralyzed by judgment — afraid to step out into a firestorm I didn’t feel ready to navigate.

The first thing I did was go straight to God. My faith is something that I can always bank on for perspective — to give my life meaning — win or lose, good day or bad.

The other thing that brought everything back into focus, after social media had the world looking blurry, was being around my coaches and teammates. For me, that’s always been half of the joy of playing the game.

In fact, that’s my motivation for writing this. I started this letter when I was sitting out with my ankle injury, impatient to return to the court. It was a rare break to reflect on my life, and to get out of my head and show gratitude for Coach Ivey, my team, our fans, people who granted me grace as I learned in public, and this culture we have going on at Notre Dame.

So when our season ended last weekend against TCU, I got another unplanned break, and a few more hard lessons. But this time, I was more prepared. More comfortable being vulnerable about where I fell short. I’m excited now for an offseason to get better.

More than anything, I am excited to do it again at Notre Dame.

Because Notre Dame is a lot of things….

We’re a football school. We’re a basketball school.

Basically, if it’s wearing blue and gold, it’s going to be a problem.

I’m back and I’m ready. 

Go Irish.

– Hannah