The gym is loud, volleyballs flying, people talking, music in the background. And somehow, I still find quiet in it.
That’s been the biggest thing for me lately. Everything around me has changed with a new school, new team, and new city. But I’ve had to figure out how to stay the same in the middle of it.
When things start moving fast, I go back to my faith. That’s what steadies me. It reminds me who I am before anything else gets attached to it.
I transferred to Oklahoma in January and I haven’t played a match here yet, but you can feel where this is headed. It’s in how people show up to practice, how they compete, how they talk to each other between reps.
And in the middle of all that, I keep coming back to something way simpler—the same idea I was writing to myself not that long ago.
Where the Message Started
I remember sitting on my bed, just writing because I needed to get things out of my head.
It wasn’t structured. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else reading it. I just kept circling the same thought: I’m human. I’m going to mess up. Things aren’t always going to go my way.
I wrote it down over and over in different ways, like I was trying to make it stick. At some point I told my mom what I’d been writing, and she stopped me and said we should turn it into something more. I didn’t really take it seriously at first. Then things started moving, and suddenly it wasn’t just something in my journal.
It was a book, I Am Human.
The first time I read it to a group of kids, I felt more nervous than I do before a match. Standing there with the book in my hands, hearing my own words out loud, felt surreal.
But once I got into it, I started noticing their reactions. Kids nodding. Some of them smiling at certain parts. That’s when it hit me that something that started as a reminder to myself could actually reach someone else.
Built Where I’m From
I grew up in Illinois with my mom, dad, two brothers, and my sister. We still talk every day.
Looking back, I see more of what they were doing for me. The driving, the time, and the energy all felt normal, but I know it wasn’t small.
My parents are blue-collar workers, which shows up in everything. You don’t complain. You don’t wait around. You handle what’s in front of you and keep going.
That carried into how I play and how I move through things off the court. It also shaped how I think about other people.
If someone helped you, you remember that. If you can help someone else, you do it. That’s part of why the book meant so much once it became real.
Volleyball followed a similar path. I started young, just playing because I liked it. By the time I got into club around 11 or 12, I realized I could go further with it and once that clicked, everything picked up.
I was playing up, competing against older girls, traveling all the time. It wasn’t something I thought about in a big-picture way. I just wanted to win.
In high school, that turned into something more. I stepped into a program where expectations were already high, and I was counted on right away—running the back row, setting the tone defensively, playing on teams where anything short of winning felt off.
But even with that, the mindset didn’t really change.
I still saw it the same way I did when I was younger. Just compete, make the next play, and don’t back off anything.
The Part of the Game People Don’t See
Playing libero makes sense to me because of how I was raised.
You’re not the one everyone is watching most of the time. But you’re in the middle of everything. You make the first touch. You keep plays alive. You set the tone.
I like that responsibility.
There’s a moment in almost every rally where the ball comes at you and everything speeds up. You don’t have time to think much, you just react. Those are the moments I enjoy the most.
You’re reading hitters, anticipating angles, staying locked in point after point. If you lose focus for a second, it shows.
That constant pressure fits me.
And when I got to Oklahoma, I could tell right away I wasn’t the only one wired that way.
What We’re Building and How I Carry It
From the first conversations with the coaches, things felt consistent. What they said matched what I saw when I got here.
Then you get around the team, and you understand the mindset. A lot of us have been overlooked at some point. That doesn’t go away. It shows up in how we train and how we compete.
There’s also a level of openness here that makes it easier to settle in. You can talk to anyone. That trust matters when things get tight.
For me, it comes back to something simple.
Stay who you are.
Don’t start changing to fit what you think people want. When things get hard (and they will), I lean on the same things I’ve always leaned on. My faith. My family. That doesn’t change just because everything else does.
I don’t know exactly how this season is going to play out, but I know what I expect from myself. Show up the same way every day. Be reliable. Bring energy whether things are going well or not.
And outside of volleyball, I think about where all of this is going. I want to stay around the game by coaching, working with athletes, and helping people through the parts that don’t always show.
Because I know what that feels like.
And I know how much it matters when someone reminds you to keep going anyway.
Aniya Warren’s children’s book, I Am Human, is available online for those who want to read it or share it with someone who might need that reminder.
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