Safe spaces raised me before the game ever did.
My wife’s cheerful trust.
The joy in my son’s eyes.
Coaches who challenged me.
Teammates who trusted me.
But you were my first safe space, Mama.
I still remember your face- that proud, flustered smile – when you took your first flight ever just to watch me play in Florida.
It hit me then as “I grew up poor” – whatever I dream of now, it all began with your quiet strength. And somewhere along the way, those words stopped stinging and became a reminder of how far we’ve come.
We didn’t have much. Just a small home that stretched to hold dreams bigger than our pockets. But what we lacked in money, Mama made up for in grit and hustle. Two jobs, long nights, and tired eyes – but never a missed moment when it mattered.
But even in the middle of all the noise and the spotlight, hustle never turned into following someone else’s path. Like you always said – be the leader. So, I held on. I remembered. “You never know where people gonna take you.”
And here I am. Natasha Howard. MVP. Championship rings. But still your daughter. Still, your Tash.
It’s all thanks to you, your sacrifice, that I’ve been able to achieve so much while always naturally putting family first. Now, when it came to the move to Indiana, some might’ve seen it as asking for too much, wanting family there through it all. But it never felt so.
Jac’Eil, my hair genius and fashion queen. Prince, my royal, royal son. Without you both – honestly, none of this would make sense.
Jac’Eil, when you said you’d go to war for me, it brought out an emotional chuckle. And, well, you meant every word. Going on that show, just for me, said it all.
For someone who’s always kept things private, that moment was the first time sharing something personal felt freeing.
Prince, my sweet boy, seeing that video of you proudly flexing my Fever jersey was all the confirmation needed. The move from Dallas was right, no matter what anyone else had to say.
Mama always taught me: never settle, always reach for better. Passing that lesson on to you brings so much pride.
And every time it’s shared, the reflection in your eyes is a reminder too – keep going, keep working hard.
You two – I probably don’t say it enough, but your support, on and off the court, means the world. Because it gets tough out here sometimes.
The games, the practices, they can wear anyone down. But then there’s home. Home means you. The ones who love me as I am, no filter. The ones I can talk to about anything. My safe spaces.
Words fall short when it comes to conveying what you mean to me. But if any come close, they’d be:
Grateful and blessed.
Yet, as tough as things get on the court sometimes, somehow, there’s always been this reminder to slow down. To let the game come naturally. That instinct? It started with you, Uncle Greg. My safe space.
You were the first one to place a basketball in my hands, back when I was just a child. Didn’t even want to play, you already know that. Just wanted to be a kid. But you said one thing.
“Start dribbling and I’ll give you a dollar.” So, of course, I said yes.
You probably smiled behind that little deal, already placing quiet bets on me becoming a guard. And from that point, you kept guiding me, step by step, year by year, until high school.
By then, when coaches began picking apart my game and pushing me harder, I was able to take it in stride. I realized they were and would become my safe spaces.
You taught me how to take criticism without crumbling. And I carried that grace with me into a new chapter, with someone who’d shape me further.
It’s you, Coach Hicks. My dad. Now, before the media starts mixing things up again, I don’t exactly remember when I started calling you “Dad.” But I do remember why.
You saw me.
I still remember picking up that first call from you. The first thing you said was, “Do you even know me?” There was silence on my end, just a quiet head shake, like maybe you could see it through the phone. Then you said, “I’m Coach Hicks.”
I barely got a word out. But you didn’t need me to. You followed it up with, “I know who you are.” And you really did know me, and also what Natasha could become.
Thanks to you both, my father figures, college began with one goal: to leave a mark. And I did. But Coach Sue, Coach Brooke – do you really think that legacy was possible without you?
I first stepped into the Florida State gym in 2010, fresh off being named MVP at the McDonald’s All-American Game. Most coaches probably expected a loud, ball-dominant presence. But that wasn’t me. I passed the ball the second someone called for it – all in an effort to be the “good teammate.” Until one day…
Coach Sue, you pulled me aside and said, “You’re too selfless.” Not to call me out, but because you knew there was more in me.
I’ll never forget your eyes after I dropped 40 on Syracuse. That pride? It carried me through.
Still, I didn’t expect to go fifth in the draft. But for you two? Looking back, it probably came as no surprise. After all, I’ve read your words, basked in the unwavering belief.
Coach Semrau. You once said watching me play is like watching your own daughter. You even tried your hardest not to miss a single game of my rookie WNBA season. And Coach Wyckoff, you once said that I was the best player you’ve ever coached.
But here’s the thing. None of that – the scoring, the accolades, the growth – would have happened if you hadn’t helped me see myself as a person first, and then as a player.
You elevated my game by elevating me.
All those traits you admired in me? My work ethic and my discipline? Those weren’t mine alone. They were the byproduct of everything you poured into my being. Still, I won’t lie.
Stepping out of college and into the WNBA was a bit scary. People were already calling me the heir to Tamika Catchings.
So even though I was excited to meet her, I was just as intimidated. But that fear didn’t last, not even a moment.
Tamika Catchings, you were everything I didn’t know I needed. Warm, steady, open. A safe space. The kind of mentor one quietly hopes for. You taught me patience, how to hold space, how to “read and react.” That lesson stayed with me.
Because I had the physical tools, a seven-foot wingspan, and what they called “vacuum-cleaner hands,” but my mind was always moving too fast for my body to keep up.
So you took your time with me. You broke down your own game, handed me the pieces, and let me see how it all fit. Then, just like that, piece by piece, I fell more in love with basketball.
It was exciting to think of being able to do the same things you did on the court. But Tamika, you were more than a role model. You were like a sister.
And just like sisters sneak clothes from each other’s closets, I took pieces of your wisdom and stitched them into my game.
By the time I stepped into Minnesota in 2016, your lessons, especially the one about patience, had fully settled into me. But what surprised me was how that patience became more than a mindset. It shaped how I connected, how I lifted others.
And for how naturally and efficiently that all came together, so much of the credit goes to Coach Cheryl Reeve.
Cheryl, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to say you’ve been the most impactful coach in my life. You showed me what tough love truly looks like. Firm, but never unfair. You never asked for perfection, only effort.
And once you saw what I was capable of, you made sure I never forgot it. That’s what sets you apart.
You don’t play games
You are utterly committed to bringing out the best in every player.
You don’t allow us to coast.
You don’t sugarcoat.
You push relentlessly until the strongest, sharpest version of a player reveals itself.
And then, somehow, You find another level for us to reach.
Because you believe in that version, even before we do.
So when Syl said, “It’s definitely a sisterhood here, with Reeve being the grandmother,” she wasn’t wrong.
There’s something special about the culture you built. It made it easy to find my rhythm alongside Minnesota’s starting five. And more than that, it prepared me for the defining moments of my career.
It all led to me becoming a star in Seattle, winning three championships, earning Defensive Player of the Year, and then the Liberty putting the biggest bet on me as they traded their No. 1 overall pick to bring me in. The best imaginable moment.
So, today, when people ask me how important support has been? “VERY IMPORTANT,” I say.
People. They are everything. Every single one of them. After all, we live in the stories we exchange, the comfort we give, the space we hold for each other. And what a miracle it is that in a world of billions, we collide with certain people at exactly the right moments. By accident, by fate, or by grace.
It’s because of each of you that I stand where I do today. Shoulders back, head high, walking not just with pride, but with purpose.
You’re the reason I believe so fiercely in the next generation of women, because someone believed in me first. And then, again and again.
So, to every young person reading this: Keep chasing what stirs your soul.
You don’t have to be a basketball player. You don’t have to fit into any mold someone else made for you. You have the right to dream boldly and live freely. Just surround yourself with people who see your light even when you don’t. Keep good souls close.
Find your safe spaces.
And yes. Keep God close, too. He’ll guide you through the noise, the doubt, and the pressure. He’ll guide you toward what you’re meant to become.
The post To My Safe Spaces – With Love, Natasha Howard appeared first on EssentiallySports.