By Mia Sommer
My whole life, I knew I wanted to pursue sports. I loved competition, the excitement of winning, and the friendships that came with being part of a team.
After moving back to the United States in second grade, I was introduced to lacrosse. Growing up in Fairfield County, playing lacrosse felt almost inevitable. While my environment may have influenced my decision to start, it was the game itself that made me stay.
I wanted nothing more than to play. Whether it was in my backyard with my siblings, at the local turf fields with friends, or at practices and tournaments with teammates, I was happiest when I had a stick in my hands.
Growing up in one of the most competitive lacrosse communities in the country also meant being surrounded by greatness. Local and national standouts had played on the same fields I did. Seeing their success inspired me, but it also created expectations. I wanted to be great — for my town, for my community, and ultimately for myself.
When college recruiting became part of my lacrosse journey, that desire for greatness shaped everything. In my world, greatness often looked like Division I lacrosse. Like many young athletes, I believed that playing at the highest level was the clearest path toward achieving my goals.
I spent years chasing that dream. Recruiting camps, showcases, campus visits, early morning drives, endless wall ball sessions, extra footwork, lifting, conditioning, and countless hours of practice became my routine. By the time September first of my junior year arrived — the first day college coaches could officially reach out — I felt ready.
What I was not prepared for was how difficult the process would be emotionally. Watching teammates and friends commit to elite Division I programs was both exciting and heartbreaking. I was genuinely happy for them, but I also wanted to be celebrating my own commitment. I wanted to be part of those programs. I wanted validation that all the work I had put in was paying off.
Eventually, interest from Division I schools began to arrive. Some were programs I had dreamed about for years, while others were schools I had never seriously considered. Regardless of the source, every conversation felt like proof that my efforts were being noticed.
Yet September was one of the hardest months of my life.
I became so focused on where other people were committing that I lost sight of what actually mattered to me. I questioned my abilities, my future, and whether I was good enough. I convinced myself that if I could not attend the schools I originally envisioned, I would never truly be happy.
Looking back, it is easy to see how I got trapped in that mindset. Recruiting consumed everything. Injuries, travel, showcases, practices, lifting sessions, schoolwork, emails, and constant uncertainty created a level of stress I had never experienced before. Instead of appreciating what was in front of me, I focused on what I thought I was missing.
Then, in October, interest arrived from one of my dream schools.
To me, a dream school was the perfect combination of elite academics, high level lacrosse, and a reputation that carried weight within my community. As communication began, I immediately started imagining a future there. I pictured the friendships I would make, the experiences I would have, and the life I would build.
What I failed to consider was whether the school was actually right for me.
After months of conversations, visits, and hope, communication stopped. I was ghosted.
The future I had imagined disappeared overnight.
Later in the process, something similar happened again. This time, I was not ghosted. Instead, I was told that things might have worked out if they had "seen me sooner." Hearing those words was devastating. Timing — something completely outside my control — had closed another door.
That period marked one of the lowest points of my recruiting journey.
For the first time, I felt defeated. I felt as though every plan I had carefully built was falling apart. The schools I wanted most did not want me back, and I began questioning my value as both an athlete and a person.
But in hindsight, that disappointment became a turning point.
I stopped focusing on schools that did not choose me and started paying attention to the opportunities that were actually in front of me. I began exploring NESCAC programs and speaking with coaches who genuinely wanted me to be part of their teams.
Throughout the spring, those conversations gave me confidence again. Yet one school remained in the back of my mind: Tufts.
For whatever reason, Tufts felt different. It was the one place I could genuinely picture myself. Unfortunately, there had been little communication, and I assumed it simply was not meant to be.
As summer approached, I believed I knew where I would commit. I followed students on social media, watched videos, researched campus life, and tried to convince myself I was excited.
The problem was that I wasn't.
No matter how hard I tried, something felt off.
With only one showcase and one tournament remaining before July first, I nearly skipped the showcase altogether. I thought my recruiting journey was essentially over.
Thankfully, I went.
That decision changed everything.
At the showcase, I met Tufts assistant coach Erin Seibel. During our conversation, she asked if I was interested in Tufts.
To this day, I do not fully remember my response. Erin remembers it better than I do. From what she has filled me in on, I practically told her that I would do anything to attend Tufts.
For the first time in months, I left a recruiting event feeling hopeful.
A few days later, at my final tournament, Tufts coaches came to evaluate me. That night, one of my closest friends and teammates, Sophie Haas, told me that the coaching staff had been talking about me and were seriously interested.
I will never forget that elevator ride back to our hotel room.
I felt excitement, adrenaline, disbelief, and determination all at once. But more than anything, I felt gratitude — for the opportunity and for having a friend who was genuinely happy for me.
When July first arrived, I accepted my offer to attend Tufts University.
In a matter of weeks, everything had changed.
The place that was never part of my original plan became the place that changed my life.
I would be lying if I said I immediately knew Tufts was the perfect fit.
In fact, after committing, I was terrified that I had made the wrong decision. Recruiting had taught me how quickly expectations can change, and I worried that I was once again convincing myself that a place was perfect. As senior year passed, I found myself wondering whether I truly belonged there.
Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about.
From the first day on campus, I felt something I had been searching for throughout the entire recruiting process: a sense of belonging. The place I had nearly overlooked became the place that changed my life.
The most valuable thing Tufts gave me was genuine friendship. I have always loved meeting people and making friends, but when I arrived at Tufts I was astounded at how quickly friendships came. Everything felt so effortless and unconditional. These were people who shared my values, my ambitions, and my desire to grow. They celebrated my successes, supported me through challenges, and pushed me to become a better version of myself every day.
Tufts also challenged me to work harder than I ever had before. Being surrounded by driven, competitive people raised my own standards. Whether it was in the weight room, on the practice field, or in the classroom, excellence was the expectation. Hard work was not something people did when it was convenient; it was simply part of who they were. That environment pushed me to become more disciplined, more accountable, and more motivated than I had ever been.
Perhaps the most important lesson I learned was the value of buying in. At Tufts, buying in means committing fully — even before you see the results. It means trusting your coaches, your teammates, and the process. It means embracing your role and understanding that every contribution matters. I learned that belief often follows commitment. The more I invested in my team, my academics, and my relationships, the more I believed in what we were building together.
Another lesson was simple: say yes. Say yes to opportunities, experiences, challenges, and people. Some of my favorite memories came from moments that would have been easy to pass up. By saying yes, I became a better teammate, a better friend, and a more engaged member of the community around me. Growth rarely happens when you stay comfortable.
Finally, I learned the importance of gratitude. Every day, regardless of how difficult things felt, I tried to remind myself how fortunate I was to be exactly where I was. I was surrounded by hardworking teammates, incredible coaches, supportive friends, and opportunities that younger versions of myself could only dream about. Gratitude did not eliminate challenges, but it gave me perspective. It reminded me not to take any moment for granted.
Looking back now, it is almost funny how desperately I clung to my original recruiting plans. The schools I once considered my dream schools were never actually what I was looking for. What I wanted was a place that would challenge me academically, push me athletically, surround me with ambitious people, and support me as a person.
I wanted friendships built on trust and shared values.
I wanted a program that held everyone to high standards.
I wanted a team committed to chasing championships.
I wanted a school where excellence was expected.
I wanted a community where I belonged.
What I did not realize at the time was that Tufts was all of those things.
It was never part of my original plan. It was not even close to what I thought the outcome of my recruiting journey would be. Yet it became everything I had been searching for.
The recruiting process taught me that life rarely unfolds exactly the way we imagine. Sometimes the opportunities we want most disappear. Sometimes doors close without explanation. Sometimes our plans fall apart.
But sometimes, what feels like a disappointment is actually leading us toward something better.
For me, that something better was Tufts.
And I could not be more grateful that things worked out exactly the way they did.