'Stepping up was the best thing I ever did'

Growing up in the 1980s in England, as a young brown girl, wasn’t easy.

 

I loved sport and was hugely competitive. But, due to cultural norms, it wasn’t something that me, or my friends of south Asian heritage, were encouraged to try.

 

Physical education at school was fine. After-school netball and rounders were allowed – at least, if it was a home match. Anything outside of that was not an option. 

 

My parents worked full-time. My mum couldn’t drive. At the end of each school day, I was expected to come straight back, do my homework and then help my mum. 

 

I never challenged why I couldn’t play sport after school. None of us British Indian girls questioned it. It was just the norm. 

 

Now and then, I got to watch my brothers play football, with my dad on the sidelines. I used to absolutely love it. 

My mum never joined us – it was unheard of to see a woman in a saree on the sidelines. She did love watching game on TV, though, as did I.

 

I continued with my education, and got married as was expected. Sport became a distant memory for me, deeply rooted in the subconscious and nowhere to be found.

 

Fast forward almost 30 years, and I became a mum of two amazing daughters, who both share a passion for sport – soccer, in particular. It’s only through their love for sport that I have finally rediscovered mine. Not through playing, but coaching.

 

This new journey began for me when my daughter was desperate to play matches but had no team to play for. Mums and dads were asked to coach but there was, sadly, very little interest. 

 

Seeing my daughter and her friends being denied the opportunity to play at the age of seven, because people felt they lacked the time or expertise, broke my heart. I stepped up – and it was the best thing I ever did.

 

After agreeing to take on the role, I went home feeling elated for the girls, but thinking: "What on earth have I just done?!". 

 

Reassurance from the head coach, Mark Gordon, went a long way, and the regular catch-ups with him pitchside really helped.

 

In between juggling a full-time job, a husband, two kids, six fish and everything else that comes with having a young family, I completed my mandatory FA courses, to qualify as a Level 1 coach.

 

Thanks to the Women in Football bursary programme, I went on to get my Uefa C license. 

 

This really helped build my knowledge in coaching, but left me with serious imposter syndrome, attending in-person modules with a room full of men, facilitated by white, male coach developers. 

 

Being a woman was scary enough. But being of south Asian heritage on top of that meant I felt like I didn’t belong in this space.

 

Often after matches, I would dwell on the result and tried to convince myself to give up. 

 

I’d tell myself I couldn’t kick a ball; that I didn’t understand the offside law and knew little about the technical side of the game. What could I really offer as a coach? 

 

But I came to realise that coaching was so much more than that. Giving up would mean letting down so many girls that had built genuine friendships and bonds. 

 

Although imposter syndrome never quite leaves you, I keep myself focused on the ’why?’. The soft skills and nurturing side I bring, as a mother, to my coaching style is what makes this opportunity so precious to me.

 

I love seeing my daughters embrace their sporty side. Playing as part of a team brings them such joy, and builds vital life skills, like teamwork and resilience. 

 

Perhaps one day they will also realise their dreams of becoming the first south Asian Lionesses – and, who knows, I may even become the next Emma Hayes!