Dear Chelsea,

To every woman who wore this badge before me, and every supporter who believed in what this club could become - this is for you.

Long before I ever dreamed of standing in goal for Chelsea, women had already walked onto the pitch at Stamford Bridge. In 1920, they played here in front of crowds who came to watch, to support, to believe in something that felt new and powerful. Then, for fifty years, they were told that football was not a place for them. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of being pushed away from something they loved. But they never truly left, because passion like that doesn’t disappear - it waits. And when the game finally opened its doors to them again, they came back stronger.

In the 1970s, women carried the Chelsea name forward without the recognition, without the resources, without the platform we stand on today. They played because they loved it, because they believed in something bigger than themselves. And when the team was reformed in 1992, those players trained twice a week, worked around their lives, and sold lottery tickets at Stamford Bridge just to keep the club alive. They gave everything they had, not knowing what Chelsea Women would one day become. They didn’t have the crowds or the spotlight, but they had belief - and that belief built everything we have now.

Then came Wembley in 2015, the moment that changed everything. Before that final, each player was given a rose grown in Emma’s garden - a symbol of growth, of patience, of something nurtured over time. And when that final whistle went, Chelsea lifted its first major trophy. That moment wasn’t just about winning; it was about everything that came before it - every sacrifice, every setback, every person who refused to let this club fade away.

I think about that story a lot, because to me, that is what Chelsea is. It is people planting something they may never see fully bloom. It is people giving everything they have, knowing that someone else will carry it forward. It is a legacy built on belief, resilience, and love for the game. And every time I pull on this badge, I feel that - not just the weight of it, but the privilege of it.

And when I think about that legacy, I think about the players who carried it forward before me. Players like Katie, Karen, Eni, Ji, Carly, Fran, Millie, Sam - women who didn’t just win, but shaped what it means to play for Chelsea. Watching them, learning from them, sharing moments with some of them - they showed me the standards, the mentality, the responsibility that comes with this badge. They set the tone for everything we are today, and they’ve had a bigger impact on me than they probably realise.

And it doesn’t stop there. Because just as I looked up to them, there are players now in the academy looking up to us. I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to be that young player, watching the first team, hoping one day you might be part of it. I remember how much it meant when those players would come down, take the time, speak to you, make you feel seen. It stays with you.

That’s why it matters so much to me now. Because the Academy is the future of this club. It’s where the next generation is growing, learning, dreaming - just like I once was. And I’ll always have time for them, because I know how powerful those small moments can be. Sometimes it’s not even about what you say - it’s just about being there, showing them what’s possible.

My own Chelsea story began long before I ever signed here. I was a teenager, sitting on the Birmingham bench during a game against Chelsea, looking across to the other end of the pitch and watching the goalkeeper in blue. I remember wondering what it would feel like to stand there, to be part of something like that. It was one of those dreams you don’t always say out loud, because sometimes saying it makes it feel too big, too far away. So you carry it quietly and hope that one day it might become real.

Years later, my friends would send me pictures from the 2022/23 Champions League match against Barcelona, joking about how unbelievable it would be if I ever played Champions League football there for Chelsea. I remember thinking it would be amazing, but not really believing it would happen. And then, in my first season here, I walked out in Barcelona wearing this shirt, and those same friends were in the stands, watching it all unfold. That’s what Chelsea has given me - it has taken something that once felt impossible and made it real.

But being here isn’t just about those moments people see. Signing for Chelsea didn’t mean everything suddenly fell into place. It meant stepping into an environment where standards are relentless, where every day you are pushed to be better, where nothing is given and everything is earned. I had to be patient - more patient than I wanted to be. I had to learn, to grow and to accept that the journey wouldn’t always move at the pace I hoped for.

I remember those early days after signing - walking into Cobham, taking everything in, trying to find my place in a dressing room full of players I had watched and admired. There’s a moment when it all hits you, when you realise you’re no longer looking in from the outside - you’re part of it now. But with that comes a responsibility. You feel it straight away. The standards, the expectations, the history behind the badge - it’s all there from day one.

And in that first season, I learned what it really means to be here. Not just in the big moments, but in the quiet ones too. The training sessions where every detail matters. The conversations with coaches that stay with you long after you leave the pitch. The days when you’re pushing, learning, waiting - understanding that your moment will come, but only if you’re ready for it.

Those first three years have never followed one simple path. The first taught me patience and what it means to earn your place. The second showed me what can happen when a group truly trusts and believes in one another. And the third reminded me that togetherness matters just as much in disappointment as it does in celebration.

Across all three years, the greatest part of the journey has been sharing it. Every achievement has belonged to the team-mates who gave everything, the staff who worked tirelessly behind the scenes and the people who kept raising the standards every day. Nothing meaningful at this club has ever been achieved alone.

There were times I had to remind myself why I was here. Times when patience didn’t come naturally. But looking back now, those moments shaped me just as much as anything else. They taught me how to stay grounded, how to keep working when things aren’t moving as quickly as you’d like, and how to trust the process - even when it’s difficult.

Then came the moments when things started to shift. Opportunities that I had been waiting for. Games where I felt myself growing into the role, feeling more comfortable, more confident, more like I belonged. Not because anything was given to me, but because I had earned the chance to be there.

And with each season, that feeling grew stronger.

There were nights when everything clicked - where the noise behind the goal felt louder, where every save meant something more, where you could feel the connection between the team and the supporters. And there were other days too - the difficult ones, the ones that test you, the ones that stay with you longer than you’d like. But those are the moments that define you here. Those are the moments where you learn what it really means to wear this badge.

There were days when I felt close to becoming the goalkeeper I knew I could be, and days when I felt a long way from it. Moments of doubt and frustration, when things weren’t going the way I wanted them to. Some of those moments were visible, others were quieter - the kind that stay between you and the people closest to you. But through all of it, I was never alone.

My team-mates were there, picking me up and pushing me forward. The staff believed in me, even when I was still trying to fully believe in myself. My family felt everything with me - every high, every low, every moment of uncertainty and every moment of pride. They carried it all, just as much as I did.

And when I speak about my family, it’s impossible not to think about the people who shaped this journey long before it ever reached this stage.

Michael was one of the first people who made football feel real to me. He understood it - not just as a game, but as something deeper. Having played himself, he knew what it meant to chase something, to commit to it, to feel both the joy and the frustration that comes with it. Although he only saw the early part of my journey, everything I experienced later was built on those foundations. The conversations, the encouragement, the belief - it all stayed with me. It still does.

My nana was someone who believed in me in a way that felt constant and unconditional. She saw something in me before I had really achieved anything, before there was anything to point to and say, 'this is why.' She just believed. She encouraged me to keep going, to keep chasing something that, at the time, probably felt uncertain to everyone else. She didn’t get to see me sign my first professional contract, or play for England, or wear this badge - but I carry her belief with me every single time I step onto the pitch. In so many ways, she’s still part of every moment.

Then there’s my grandpa. He understood the emotional side of it all in a way that not many people do. He saw the excitement when things were going well, but he also saw the disappointment when they weren’t. He used to joke and say that 'only us athletes really understand' - the highs that feel incredible and the lows that can feel just as heavy. He got it. And knowing that he saw me live out parts of this journey, knowing he felt that pride, means more than I can properly explain.

And my nannie, now 90, still watching every single game. Still sitting there, completely invested, not wanting to miss a moment - even if it means having her Sunday lunch on her lap just so she doesn’t have to look away from the screen. That kind of love, that kind of commitment - it says everything.

And finally, Ben, where do we even begin? My training partner for the last 20 years and my best friend. From our first kickabouts to today, you have always pushed me, challenged me and believed in me. You even stepped away from playing yourself to help me chase my dream. Before every game, yours is the first message wishing me good luck, and afterwards, the first message with your honest thoughts, whether it’s a moment of success or disappointment. Wherever you are, whatever base you are watching from, I know you are there. So much of the player and person I am comes from everything we have shared.

These aren’t just names or moments in time. They are part of who I am. They are part of why I play, why I keep going, why I care so much about what I do. They are with me in every minute of every game, and every step of this journey. Their names are always there, inside the back of my shirt, carried with me wherever I go.

And then there were the supporters. You were there through everything. You celebrated with me when things went well, but what has stayed with me the most is how you were there when they didn’t. When things were difficult, when belief felt harder to hold onto, you didn’t turn away - you stayed. You supported. You lifted not just me, but my family too. You made them feel part of this journey, like they belonged here just as much as I did, and that means more than I can ever properly put into words.

I remember my family coming away from games - especially the difficult ones - and telling me about the supporters who had taken the time to speak to them. Simple words, but powerful ones. Reminding them that I was supported, that I was believed in, that I was part of something here. Those moments meant everything to them - and because of that, they meant everything to me.

That kind of support changes you. It gives you strength when you need it most and a sense of belonging that goes beyond football. It makes you want to give everything you have back. Over these three years, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience moments I once only dreamed about - trophies, titles, victories - and I am proud of them. But they are not what defines my time here, because the real story isn’t written in medals. It’s written in people. It’s in the noise behind the goal, in hearing your name, in looking up and finding your family in the stands, in the team-mate who puts an arm around you after a mistake, and in the supporter who reminds you that they still believe in you. That is what stays with you. That is what matters.

Chelsea has made me a better goalkeeper, but more than that, it has made me stronger, more resilient and more aware of what it truly means to be part of something bigger than yourself. This club teaches you that it’s not about what you’ve already done - it’s about what you’re willing to give next.

So this isn’t just a contract. It’s something much deeper than that. It’s a thank you - to every player who came before me and built this club, to my team-mates and the staff who challenge me every single day, to my friends and my family who have lived every moment of this journey with me, and to every supporter who has made this feel like home.

Three years ago, I chose Chelsea because of what I believed this club could help me become. Today, I choose Chelsea again because of what this club has become to me.

I can’t promise that every moment will be perfect, and I can’t promise there won’t be challenges. But I can promise that I will keep working, I will keep learning, I will keep pushing myself to be better and give everything I have to this badge - because it deserves nothing less.

I may be a London girl now, but I will always carry a Midlands heart - always remembering where I came from and the people who brought me here.

There is still more to give, more to achieve, more memories to create, and more history to write together.

I’m staying.

And I could not be prouder to call Chelsea home.

Hannah

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