Pickleball Is Losing the Plot (And So Are We, If We Let It)

I grew up on courts.

Hard courts, clay courts, cracked public courts with a net sagging in the middle. Tennis was my first language before I had words for most things. By the time I was playing in college, I didn't have to think about where to move. My body just knew. See the open space, hit to it. Get the short ball, drive a deep approach down the line, close the net. Hand, eye, ball, racket. It's in my blood.

So when pickleball came along, I fell for it quickly. It gave me back something I didn't realize I'd been missing: the girl who played for the love of the game, who got lost in a rally, who went home sweaty and happy and a little bit sore.

Lately, though, something's shifted.

The "right" way to play

I keep hearing about the fashion in which pickleball should be played. You hit a third-shot drop. You don't lob. You don't drive the ball at certain moments. You dink, you reset, you wait your turn.

And honestly? Ok. Maybe. If that's how you like to play, play that way. There's real skill in the soft game, and I respect it. If I hit a bad third shot, I totally pay for it, but why not.

But I learned court sense before I learned any of those rules. I know how to move. I know where the open spot is. I know that sometimes the right ball is the hard one. That's not bad manners. That's the game I was raised in.

And I've noticed that playing my game has a price. Some groups have gone a little cold on me. The invites don't come. The side-eye after a put-away says more than words would.

I know this feeling

Here's what surprised me: it's not the rejection that stung. It's how familiar it felt.

It took me right back to a younger, less secure version of myself. The girl who learned that if you didn't follow the unspoken rules of the group, you were out. Frozen out, talked about, left off the list. The girl who spent a lot of energy reading the room, shrinking to fit it, and calling that friendship.

I'm 43 now. I'm not doing that again.

This isn't about who's right

I want to be clear: this is not an "I'm right, you're wrong" post. Play dinks all day if you love them. Coordinate your outfits. Have your regular foursome. Nobody owes me a game.

If you'd rather not play me because I hit hard and that feels scary, I get it. I can find my people.

What I'm asking about is something bigger than pickleball. I'm asking about intention.

If you run a group, a league, a clinic, a Tuesday-morning open play, are you building a space where all kinds of players are welcome? All styles, all backgrounds, all levels? Or only the ones who look and play the way you already do?

Because those are two very different things. One is belonging. The other is fitting in.

Belonging vs. fitting in

I've talked about this a lot in my work, and I'll keep talking about it because I keep relearning it.

Fitting in asks you to scan the room and change yourself to match. Belonging lets you walk in as you are and still be welcomed.

Fitting in is conditional. Belonging is intentional. Someone has to build it.

And here's the uncomfortable part: even knowing all of this, I still catch myself fitting in. There are moments on the court when I have the winning shot lined up, the open lane right there, and I don't take it. I soften it. I dink it back. Not because it's the better shot, but because I know the rip won't be received well.

I'm a grown woman with a doctorate in educational leadership, and I'm still pulling my shots to keep the peace.

What are we doing?

Mean girls don't age out

It would be nice to believe mean-girl behavior ends somewhere around junior year. It doesn't. It just gets quieter and better dressed.

Some people like the power of deciding who's in and who's out, and they wield it however they see fit. They gatekeep. They sort people into those who can and those who can't. They decide who gets to belong and who has to earn their spot by fitting in.

And it's everywhere: on the court, in the office, in the PTA, in leadership rooms where the "unspoken rules" are really just someone's comfort zone dressed up as culture.

That's why this matters to me beyond a Saturday game. The girls we coach and mentor are watching how grown women treat each other. If they see us freezing people out over a lob, what are we teaching them about belonging?

It's supposed to be fun

Pickleball is a game. It's supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be the place where a 70-year-old retiree, a former college athlete, a nervous beginner, and a teenager with a borrowed paddle can all share a court and laugh. Not where someone internalizes the rejection and tears up when retelling their encounter.

The fun only happens if someone decides it should.

So here's my invitation, to myself as much as to anyone:

• If you lead a group, look at who's in it and who isn't. Ask whether your "way we do things" is a standard or a filter.

• If you're a player, notice when you're shrinking. Notice when you're making someone else shrink. Notice when you’re softening to preserve someone’s feelings or your spot in the group.

• If you've been frozen out, you're not too much. You might just be in the wrong room. Go find the right one, or build it.

An ongoing evolution

I don't have this figured out. Belonging isn't a box you check once. It's a practice. Some days I lead with it, and some days I catch myself fitting in and have to course-correct.

But I know which version of me I want on the court. The one who plays her game. The one who welcomes yours. The one who rips the winning shot and then walks up to the net and says, "Great point. Let's go again."

Play as you play. And make room for others to do the same.