What Mayo’s All-Ireland victory reminded me about hope, family and the language we choose.
This month’s newsletter is dedicated to Mayo’s historic All Ireland win and the emotional journey alongside it.
It’s Tuesday evening as I write this. I’ve had two days to process what happened in Croke Park on Sunday. Two days to replay every hug, every song, every tear. My social media channels are filled with the Green and Red of Mayo tributes and celebrations.
And if I’m honest… I’m still not sure words can do it justice.
I’ve shed so many tears of joy in the past two days than I have in years. Not because Mayo finally brought Sam Maguire home after 75 years. But because of who I got to share it with.
Like generations of Mayo supporters, I’ve walked down Jones’ Road with hope in my heart and disappointment in my bones more times than I care to remember.
This time felt different. Even my dad, Harry, said it before the match.
“I haven’t slept in two nights. There is just something different this year. I think we might do it”
Looking back, I realise something else had changed too. Without really noticing, I’d stopped asking… “What if we win?” Instead, I found myself saying…
“When we win.”
I often tell my coaching clients:
The language we speak becomes the house we live in.
Belief doesn’t guarantee success. But it changes how we show up It changes how we prepare. It changes how we lead. And sometimes…
it changes what’s possible.
I travelled to Croke Park with my dad Harry, my brother Martyn, my husband Padraig and my daughters Áobhín and Laoise. 4 of us in Upper Cusack and 2 in lower. How lucky were we to get tickets.
I’ve never experienced an atmosphere like it. The songs, The colour, The noise, The hugs between strangers…
It wasn’t just noise. It was hope finding its voice.
Back home in Wexford, my youngest daughter, Síne, stayed with my brother Paul, sister in law Helena ,nephews Ruairí and Rían and mum, Kay, who is recovering from cancer treatment.
Mum couldn’t watch all the match.
Instead for part, she sat upstairs at times praying to Our Lady of Knock while Síne called the score up the stairs.
Three generations. Different places. One family.
One county. One dream.
At the final whistle, time simply stood still. I found myself wrapped in a hug with my dad, Martyn and eldest daughter Áobhín. As a little girl, my dad lifted me over the turnstiles of Croke Park. On Sunday, I stood beside him as we watched Mayo make history.
I’ll never forget his smile and how tight he hugged us.
One moment after the match has stayed with me.
I watched brothers Koby McDonald and Jordan Flynn quietly sit down in front of Hill 16. No speeches. No rush. Just two young brothers taking in a moment they had spent years working towards. It reminded me how often we move straight from one achievement to the next.
Sometimes emotional intelligence is simply knowing when to pause. To breathe. To let gratitude catch up with achievement. Listening to Andy Moran throughout the year, I kept hearing the same message.
Don’t be afraid to believe. Don’t hide your hope. Enjoy the journey. Have fun along the way. Let the fans go nuts! I know now he was encouraging us to let the inner child out, be proud and not to play or cheer from fear.
As leaders, parents and coaches, how often do we lower expectations to protect ourselves from disappointment?
Sunday reminded me that hope isn’t something to manage. It’s something to inspire. Something else struck me. The joy I felt on Sunday was every bit as powerful as the heartbreak I’d experienced over the years. Perhaps that’s the lesson. We cannot experience extraordinary joy unless we’re willing to care deeply in the first place.
People often describe emotional intelligence as a soft skill.
I don’t believe that. It takes courage to keep believing after disappointment. It takes resilience to come back again and again. It takes humility to win with grace. And it takes love to care enough that your heart can break—and then open again.
Today, life is slowly returning to normal. The celebrations are beginning to settle albeit many still partying in Mayo.
But every now and then…I catch myself smiling. Not because Mayo finally won. But because I got to experience it with the people I love most.
My dad, My family, My husband and my daughters.
One day, they’ll tell their own children where they were when Mayo finally brought Sam Maguire home. They’ll tell them about their grandad Harry. About their granny Kay praying upstairs while Síne called the score.
About the roar from Hill 16. About the hugs. About the tears. And about a county that never stopped believing.
As for me…
I’ll simply remember that sometimes the greatest victories aren’t measured by the trophies we lift. They’re measured by the memories we carry.
Up Mayo. Always have Hope and Optimism 💚❤️