Editor’s note: This story is part of Peak, The Athletic’s desk covering leadership, personal development and performance through the lens of sports. Follow Peak here.

Derrick Johnson was an NFL linebacker for 14 years, mostly with the Kansas City Chiefs. He made the Pro Bowl four times and is the all-time leading tackler in Chiefs history. He is the co-author of a new children’s book, “Super DJ Saves Field Day.” 

Let me tell you about the worst season of my career.

It was 2009, my fifth year with the Chiefs. I was a former college All-American at Texas and a first-round pick. I had been a starter at linebacker from day one.

I hadn’t put all the pieces together yet; I was still looking for my first Pro Bowl. But then something shocking happened: I got benched.

It happened early in the year. Todd Haley had replaced Herm Edwards as the Chiefs head coach, and he came in acting like a hard ass. I missed a couple practices during training camp with an injury, and Haley was pissed. He questioned my toughness. He reduced my role. I spent most of the season playing 15 or 20 snaps per game.

It was hard for me to understand the decision. I felt like I was a good person with good character and a team leader. Ever since I was nine years old, I had always been the guy. But as I sat on the bench, I kept hearing the same words in my head:

Life is 10 percent what happens to you and 90 percent how you respond.  

I tried not to vent to the media. I tried to control what I could control. Our team finished 4-12, a third straight losing season, and I tried to stay humble in knowing I wouldn’t have made much difference. Football is the ultimate team game; one player can only do so much.

In the last game of the year, we went on the road to face the Denver Broncos, our AFC West rival. I intercepted Broncos quarterback Kyle Orton twice and returned both for touchdowns. Two of my four career touchdowns came in one game.

The next year, Haley declared the inside linebacker job to be an open competition. That was all I needed to hear. I went out and won the job. I earned a contract extension that changed my life. In 2011, I made the Pro Bowl.

But the 2009 season always sticks with me. It taught me three lessons.

I still don’t understand Haley’s decision that year. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. We’re all going to have bosses we don’t agree with. We still have to respond in the right way, focus on getting better and put the team first.
I grew a lot as a person and created habits that allowed me to succeed. I learned to be what I call easily motivated. I think people misconstrue professional athletes. We make a lot of money; we’re living the dream. So everybody must wake up bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to freaking work, no excuses. In my experience, that’s not true. I had to learn to be more intentional about putting in the work every day and being consistent. I had to tell myself: Every time I step on the field, I’m gonna be easily motivated.
Mostly, though, my time in the NFL showed me the value of great teachers. I’ve always had a soft heart for educators, for those in the thick of it. They are not highly paid, but their service is rich. My mom was a middle school math teacher in Waco, Texas, for years. She touched so many lives. I played in the NFL, but when I go back to Waco, I’m still Ms. Johnson’s son.

In Kansas City, I had a linebackers coach named Gary Gibbs. He was great at meeting people where they were. Most linebackers are taught that when a big blocker approaches, you take on the block and find the ball. But I always had a knack for dipping under blocks, which was unconventional. Nobody teaches that.

Gibbs could have just said: “No, DJ, you can’t do it like that.” Instead, he said: “Let’s work off that.” He gave me leeway to be myself. But on certain plays, he was clear: “In this instant, you can’t slip the block. You gotta take it on.” He coached me from where I was at. I think that’s a sign of a good teacher.

Herm Edwards coached me early in my career. He showed me how to teach with great energy.

Then there was Andy Reid. He came to Kansas City in 2013. He taught us to obsess over the little things, like wearing our equipment properly or picking up our trash in the cafeteria. Andy is an incredibly demanding coach. But he understood that he was asking a lot of us. He never lost sight of that.

He would come in and tell us before practice: “Hey guys, we got a lot of plays today. We got to get it. I want the energy high. I’ll take care of you. But you gotta give it to me today.”

In 2015, we started 1-5 and lost running back Jamaal Charles to a knee injury. This was before Patrick Mahomes arrived. We were still trying to establish a winning culture. I had been in situations like that before. Usually, everyone starts blaming each other. But Andy just came into the locker room and stayed calm.

“Hey guys, let’s get better and watch the film,” he said. “We’re almost there. Trust me. Take hard coaching. Let’s correct it and get going.”

We ended up winning our last 10 games and made the playoffs. We were the first team since 1970 to start 1-5 and make the postseason.

I am a big believer in the idea that “more things are often caught than taught.” In other words: Some of my best teachers didn’t even realize they were. I played alongside Tamba Hali, a terrific edge rusher. He was such a student of the game, obsessed with the art of pass rushing. He knew leverage and the importance of hand placement.

I was never a great rusher, but after watching Tamba for years, I could teach pass rushing to other people. He was that influential.

Whether it was Tamba, Andy or my mom, there was one constant about great teachers. It was the heart behind each person. The information was important, but you have to serve with heart.

You have to teach with heart.

— As told to Rustin Dodd