Tash. I can still see you standing in front of the rim. Hands shaking. Eyes wide. You were just a kid trying to prove yourself. And yet… right there, with nothing but the sound of your heartbeat, you paused. You looked up. You remembered.

“Stand tall. Head high. Keep your chin up. Walk with pride.”

I know you rolled your eyes when Mom got a little too preachy. But those words? They carried us through the doubt, the side-eyes, the whispered laughs. They reminded us to square our shoulders when life came at us too fast. Even when people laughed at us… We wore those words like armor.

Because nothing about our path was easy. Right from April 14, 2014.

After four standout years in Tallahassee, you earned your invite to Connecticut for the draft. But those long-distance calls to Mum back in Toledo left you with just one wish:

You just wanted to land close to home. Somewhere your people could show up and see you living the dream.

And when Laurel Richie handed you that jersey, and you saw those colors, you smiled. And it was not just because you made it, but because you’d made it home. Barely 200 miles from the place where it all began.

But then came the expectations. No one prepares you for how fast things change in this “toughest league,” as they call it.

And yet, you remained just…you.

You kept your chin up through it all — from 15 rookie starts, to just 2 the next year, to getting traded. Twice.

An older and wiser me would shrug and say, “It’s just business.” But back then? It hurt. There was some self-doubt as you wondered whether it was to be… 18 starts across 4 seasons was never the plan.

I remember people laughing at me, harassing me on social media, telling me I was washed up and not good enough to win anything. You might think you’re better off without any of it.

Bad idea.

When I look back now, I’m grateful you didn’t force anything. That takes courage. You didn’t fake readiness or pretend to be someone you hadn’t grown into yet. You stayed quiet. You didn’t complain. You just put your head down and worked.

That’s how we were raised, and you carried it with grace.

Today, when someone asks me about you, I don’t pause. I say: strength and patience are her middle name. The way you held it together still brings me to tears.

Playing in the W was no joke. It tested you. But the overseas years? Every long flight. Every foreign locker room. Every lonely night. They tested your soul and made you tougher, wiser, softer in the right places.

You missed birthdays. You missed holidays.

You missed the smell of home cooking that only your people get right.

And still, you kept showing up — even when your heart felt a thousand miles behind. You don’t even know how inspiring that is.

So, no, it wasn’t a dreamy start. But you soaked it all in from the bench. Quietly. Patiently. Until you realized…

That fresh start in Seattle probably saved you. You wouldn’t admit it then, but it gave you exactly what you needed…

New city, new hustle. Same you. Just a new version — shaped by your experience, your resilience, your standards.

You waited. You paid your dues. And you found a home with the Storm. That trophy? The one from the previous season? Sure, it counted. But this one, the one you played a part in, meant more.

You set the bar. You put the pressure on yourself. And the results came.

And finally, after years of holding the “selfless” title close, you finally listened to your heart. Okay… maybe to the love of your life (and yes, you did find her- the kindest, most beautiful woman on this planet, I’d say). But you chose you. For once, fully and loudly.

I can’t tell you how much I love saying this: Mum was right all along, Tash. We made it.

It’s different now. But it still feels like home. You came full circle. It was meant to be, wasn’t it?

A few months ago, you returned to Indy and barely recognized it. The gym? New locker rooms, new energy. But something in the air still felt familiar.

This time, you walked in with three rings, a trusted voice in the locker room, and a whole lot more perspective.

We wasted no time. We made our mark. Picture me right now, standing beside you, screaming in your ear: “We did it. We finally did it. You got that MVP.”

The Commissioner’s Cup trophy meant everything. But what mattered more was what you had to become to get there.

A leader. A believer.

Mom was right, Tash. “Always be the leader. Never the follower.” You held on to that. You made sure your story looked like no one else’s.

So now, when little girls watch you and say, “I want to be like her,” you smile. Because you know the truth. They don’t have to be you. They just have to believe like you did.

Believe it’s possible to chase their dreams with the right people around them, with God at the center, and with a chin that never drops. And you know what?

I can’t wait to walk you through what’s next. Because we’re not done. Not even close.

We’re still learning. Still growing. Still chasing that next ring. All I can say looking back is…

You did good, kid. I’m proud of you. I hope you are, too.

— With all my heart,

Natasha Howard

Commissioner’s Cup MVP

P.S. You’ll have so much fun and so many memorable games, you’ll happily trudge through the hardships all over again.