The biggest loss of my career came at the 2007 USBC Queens.

That week had felt like destiny. My ball reaction was on point, my decisions were sharp, my mental game was solid.
I led the entire field in qualifying and hadn’t lost a single match in the double elimination. I was on top of the world, certain I was about to win my first major.

Or so I thought.

I’ll never forget the feeling of waiting around for that one game—the one that would decide everything. The TV production was running behind schedule, and by the time they called me up, the crew said, “We’re over time, we need to speed things up.”

And that was my first mistake.

I translated that into, rush through this. But you cannot rush through a win. You cannot skip your process, speed through your routine, and expect greatness to just appear.

That day, I did everything I swore I’d never do. I rushed. I thought about all the people watching at home. I pulled up at the line because I was TRYING instead of just BEING. I missed spares because I wasn’t focused. I wasn’t myself.

And then it was over.

I sat in the chair, watching Kelly Kulick receive the tiara I thought was meant for me.

Learning Through Grief

I had two choices. I could shrug it off and say, whatever, I’ll get the next one. Or I could sit with the sadness, really face it, and figure out what went wrong.
My heart wouldn’t let me choose the first option.
So I grieved. I replayed every mistake in my mind. I forced myself to sit in the sting of it instead of running away. Because if you don’t learn from your mistakes, you don’t grow.
Through the sadness and humiliation, I found the cracks in my armor. And I made a vow to myself: when I get back to this position, things will be different.

Five Years Later

It took five years before I was back under the lights in another TV final. This time, I wasn’t the #1 seed—I was 3rd. Which meant I had matches to play before the championship game.
But more importantly, this time I had perspective.
Before the show started, I committed to a few things:

1. I would enjoy the ride. I wanted people to watch me bowl and see how much I love this sport.
   
2. I would soak it all in.
   
3. I would not rush—no matter what.
   
4. I would focus on BEING. Not TRYING.

I noticed a little girl in the crowd holding a sign that said “Diandra Rocks.” I gave her a wave. I looked at my husband and my best friend Jessica Abel behind me. I let myself feel it all.
I didn’t throw one shot until I felt ready. I didn’t care about the shot clock—I did receive violations that cost me $1,500. But I didn’t care. Because I wasn’t there to rush. I was there to BE.
And when you get out of your own way, when you stop forcing, you create space for your greatness to shine through.
And so it did.

Why Failure Matters

You aren’t supposed to just show up knowing how to win. To get TO it, you have to GO through it—the gut-punch losses, the nights you can’t sleep replaying mistakes, the pressure you weren’t ready for.
Performing under pressure is not a gift you’re born with. It’s a skill you build. And the only way to build it is through failure.
Losing taught me how to win.

Your Turn

Think about the last time you failed at something that mattered. Did you shrug it off, or did you sit with it long enough to learn?
Your biggest losses carry the seeds of your biggest wins—if you’re willing to face them honestly.
Don’t rush through the pain. Don’t skip the lesson. Let it carve you into someone stronger, steadier, and ready for the next big moment.
Because failure isn’t the opposite of winning. It’s the training ground for it.