Two years ago, my dad and I lost a tough doubles match in the third set against the team we faced this week. This time, we stepped back on the court, determined to rewrite the story. What followed was one of the most emotional, challenging, and meaningful matches I've ever played.

We dropped the first set 2-6. No rhythm. No confidence. An opponent rushing us because of an "appointment" (which later turned out to be a haircut), questionable calls, and plenty of chatter among us. I hadn't played a doubles match in over a month, and frustration was boiling. I wasn't focused on tennis; my mind was spinning with all the pressure I've been carrying off the court. Honestly, I was throwing it away.

Down 5-4 in the second set, I feared this might be the last time my dad and I played competitive doubles together, and that it would end with me unraveling. Then came a freak accident: I ran into the handle of my dad's racket and caught a painful hip injury. Serving hurt, running hurt, everything hurt. But strangely, the injury became a turning point.

I didn't have the luxury of overthinking anymore. I had to simplify. Adjust my serve. Shorten my steps. Focus on one point at a time. My dad held steady with his drops and hustle. Together, we clawed back to force a tiebreak, and somehow, we took it.

Suddenly, the match was alive again. The deciding 10-point tiebreak wasn't on my mind when I limped back into the second set, but there it was. And this time, we played our game. Patient, smart, father-and-son tennis. We closed it out 10-6 and slayed the beast that had haunted us.

Looking back, I still ask: How did we win this match after I lost my composure?

The answer is simple:

• I didn't quit, even when I wanted to.

• My dad anchored me when I was unraveling.

• The injury forced me to focus on what I could control.

• I leaned on my strengths instead of chasing perfection.

• And most importantly, I remembered this might be my last time competing with my dad. That was bigger than frustration, bigger than pressure, bigger than pain.

The lesson is clear: don't give up, even when you're hurt, frustrated, or mentally spiraling. Stay in the fight, because momentum can change, focus can return, and meaning can outweigh misery.

I'll never forget this day. Not because of the win itself, but because of the resilience it demanded, and because I got to share it with my dad.

#InspireThriveSurvive