Chapter One

“You have to feel seen and heard and valued”
- Marguerite Ferrell Nee. 

Before we explore the deeper layers of resilience, we begin with the foundation shared by every story in this book: connection.

Connection is one of the quiet successes of being human. Before it steadies us in hardship, it strengthens us in ordinary moments—through shared laughter, small rituals, and the people who remind us of our best selves. At its core, connection is a source of possibility: it expands our courage, deepens our joy, and gives us a place to grow into who we’re becoming.

It is often the first sign that resilience is already forming, long before we recognize it. Connection doesn’t erase difficulty—it gives us a place to land inside it. Resilience grows strongest when we don’t stand alone.

In this chapter, you’ll meet two people whose lives were shaped by connection in very different ways. Marguerite Ferrell Nee and Dr. Andreas Skounakis each show how relationships can become a source of strength, direction, and unexpected possibility.

At fifteen, Marguerite Ferrell Nee was unstoppable. On the field, in the classroom, and in the disciplined rhythm of early-morning workouts, she carried a rare sense of purpose. Coaches noticed her drive. Teachers felt her focus. Friends saw a quiet energy that made ambition look joyful—a teammate who led by example and heart. That year, she was training for military programs through Junior ROTC at her school, while playing competitive club soccer, building toward her childhood dream of a career in military service.

Her future felt mapped, bright, and earned. From an early age, she had learned that effort was a language of love—a way to honor her family, her teammates, and the goals she set for herself. Then, everything changed. A devastating ACL injury threatened to erase the identity she had built and ended the dream she had been working toward for years. Overnight, the path she had imagined disappeared, leaving her searching for what could come next.

In the months that followed, she faced even deeper loss: her grandfather—her steady anchor, who never missed a practice and carried her from field to field—passed away; soon after, a close friend died by suicide. It was a season of heartbreak layered with silence and questions no teenager should have to face. And yet, within that storm, something remarkable began to take root.

She later called this time her “trifecta”: injury, rejection, and loss stacked all at once. There was no roadmap for holding all of that at once. What she did describe was the disorientation of loss layered on loss —moving through days without a clear sense of who she was allowed to be next. Life continued around her, even as she worked quietly to find her footing.

For Marguerite, it wasn’t the end—it was the beginning of a new way of seeing herself. Where some doors closed, others cracked open. Most stories that start this way turn inward.

Isolation. Withdrawal. Collapse.

But Marguerite did something different. She said yes. Saying yes didn’t mean pretending she wasn’t hurting. It meant refusing to disappear. Each yes placed her in rooms where someone noticed her, worked alongside her, or believed in her before she fully believed in herself. A sketch pad. A coaching shift. A late-night drive to a field that wasn’t part of the original plan. These weren’t distractions from grief — they were bridges through it. Every yes widened her circle just enough to keep her moving. Not alone. Not fixed. But held.

Connection didn’t arrive all at once. It accumulated — through shared effort, proximity, and the quiet trust built when you show up again and again. Her posture of openness became her lifeline. Resilience wasn’t about snapping back to what was—it was about leaning forward into what might be, even when it looked nothing like the plan she had written for herself. She kept moving. She found new mirrors—new rooms where she was invited to stay involved.

If she couldn’t run toward the future she planned, she would move through the doors that cracked open beside her. What emerged was a path that zigzagged through performance, coaching, activism, and education. None of these opportunities appeared in isolation. One invitation led to another. Someone noticed how she showed up—early, prepared, willing—and passed her name along. Coaches trusted her with more responsibility. Administrators invited her into conversations she wasn’t originally meant to be part of. Athletes came back, then brought others with them. Each connection carried memory:

She follows through. She listens. She makes things better when she’s here. At several points along the way, someone chose to keep her close to the game. When her playing future narrowed, coaching expanded. When one season ended, another invitation followed. These weren’t grand promotions or formal pathways — they were quiet gestures of trust.

‍Stay involved. Help here. Try this.

‍As those small acts of trust compounded, what looked like hustle from the outside was, in truth, relationship-building fromthe inside. Some weeks, she cycled through half a dozen roles—assistant coach, media runner, W-League player—her car packed with uniforms and session plans, each one another yes. She stayed late and arrived early. She did all of this while rebuilding her physical strength and mental clarity. Not for applause. For growth. For reconnection. As her path expanded, so did her impact. Marguerite became a bridge between spaces—between students and administrators, athletes and advocates, voices and decision-makers.

Over time, the same openness that helped hersurvive began to shape how she led. She didn’t just join communities. She built them.Today, she leads the global women’s sportsvertical at DAZN—an extension of the same work she began years earlier, creating space, visibility, and opportunity for others. Marguerite’s resilience wasn’t forged in boardrooms. It was built in the backseats of carpools......