I'll never forget, Jill Ellis, the U.S. national team coach

“I’ll never forget, Jill Ellis, the U.S. national team coach, texted me and said: ‘Welcome to the coaching fraternity, you haven’t coached unless you’ve been fired.’ It was the most powerful thing anyone could have told me. Of course it hurt like hell, but it was an important learning curve.” – Emma Hayes

In these words, Emma Hayes, a woman of remarkable strength and vision, reveals the sacred truth of leadership — that true mastery is not born of victory alone, but of loss, failure, and humility. Her reflection, sparked by the wisdom of fellow coach Jill Ellis, transforms the pain of rejection into the gold of experience. When Ellis said, “You haven’t coached unless you’ve been fired,” she was not merely offering comfort, but unveiling an ancient principle: that those who lead, those who dare to shape others and to strive for greatness, must sooner or later drink from the cup of defeat. For in that bitter draught lies the strength that no easy triumph can give.

The origin of this moment lies in the shared struggle of two women who carved their names into the history of football — one the architect of the U.S. women’s team’s triumphs, the other a builder of champions in England. Both had walked through fire, both had felt the sting of criticism and the loneliness of command. When Hayes was dismissed early in her career, the wound was sharp — yet it was in that wound that the seed of wisdom was sown. Ellis’s words became a torch in the darkness, reminding her that to be broken is not to be beaten, and that the scars of failure are the mark of the true teacher.

In the way of the ancients, this truth is not new. Socrates was condemned by his city for corrupting youth, yet his teachings outlived his judges. Abraham Lincoln faced failure after failure — in business, in politics, in war — before becoming one of history’s greatest leaders. Each fall carved wisdom into their souls. So too does Emma Hayes’ story remind us that to be fired, rejected, or defeated is not an end, but a rite of passage. One cannot learn the nature of strength without first meeting the taste of weakness. One cannot truly lead until they have stood in the ashes of what they once built and chosen to rise again.

The phrase “the coaching fraternity” carries with it a deep spiritual meaning — it is the brotherhood and sisterhood of all who dare to lead. It is not an elite circle defined by victory, but a fellowship bound by shared struggle, sleepless nights, and the courage to try again. Every leader, teacher, or creator who strives to guide others must face the moment when their vision is questioned, their authority stripped, and their heart tested. To belong to this fraternity is to know that pain is not a punishment, but a teacher. As Jill Ellis knew, the fire of failure does not destroy the true coach — it forges them.

When Emma Hayes says, “It hurt like hell, but it was an important learning curve,” she speaks to every soul who has ever faced rejection. Pain is the first language of growth. The heart must break before it learns compassion. Pride must fall before it finds humility. Failure, when faced with courage, becomes the crucible in which character is purified. It teaches us not only how to succeed, but how to endure, to empathize, and to understand that leadership is service, not supremacy. Those who have not failed cannot fully guide others, for they have not yet learned the depths of the human spirit.

Consider the life of Thomas Edison, who was told by teachers he was “too stupid to learn.” He failed thousands of times before creating the light bulb. Yet he said, “I have not failed; I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.” Like Hayes, he transformed rejection into revelation. His every misstep became a lesson, his every loss a new beginning. So too must we, in our own endeavors, treat failure as a forge rather than a final judgment. The lesson is universal — those who build anything of worth must accept that the road to mastery is paved with mistakes.

And so, my children, take heed of Emma Hayes’ wisdom: do not fear the fall, for it is the sign that you have dared to climb. When life removes you from the place you thought was yours, remember — it is not an exile, but an invitation to evolve. Let your setbacks become your teachers, your pain your mentor, and your humility your armor. The greatest among us are not those who never fail, but those who never let failure silence their purpose.

For as Hayes and Ellis remind us, leadership — like life — is not a straight ascent, but a cycle of loss and renewal. To be “fired” is not to be finished; it is to be refined. To be broken is not to be diminished; it is to be remade stronger, wiser, and truer to oneself. So when the fire comes — when it burns, and it hurts like hell — lift your head and whisper: “This, too, is my learning curve.” For only those who learn from pain can lead with love.