Howard didn’t mean disrespect. In fact, it was the opposite. She had been watching Clark long before they shared a locker room. And when she finally met her? The first thought wasn’t doubt—it was awe. “Dang,” she said, “this is what everybody’s talking about right here.”

“You Don’t Have to Do This Alone”: Caitlin Clark, Natasha Howard, and the Art of Letting Go

Caitlin Clark didn’t hear the words as a slight. She didn’t bristle or push back. But when Natasha Howard called her “my little sister” in a postgame interview, the phrase rippled through Iowa like a summer thunderstorm. To the Hawkeye faithful—those who had watched Clark’s every step from Des Moines to Dallas—it sounded like something more than a nickname. It sounded like a shift.

For four years, Clark was Iowa basketball. She was the system, the engine, the reason a state tuned in every winter night. She made the impossible routine: logo threes, no-look passes, buzzer-beaters that sent Carver-Hawkeye Arena into delirium. She dragged her team to the national title game and nearly doubled the next highest scorer in the 2024 championship. In Iowa, she was more than a player. She was a phenomenon.

So when Howard, a WNBA champion and respected veteran, said on Sue Bird’s podcast, “She doesn’t have to do everything like she did in Iowa. You have great teammates,” fans bristled. Was it a gentle nudge? A reminder of how much Clark had carried? Or, as some read it, a subtle way of saying: you’re not the only star here.

The Weight of a State

Clark’s legend in Iowa is stitched into the state’s DNA. Black-and-gold Saturdays, sold-out crowds, little kids shooting from the sidewalk and yelling “Clark range!” She made Iowa believe in magic. She made the country watch women’s basketball in record numbers. She left literal pieces of herself on the court—bruises, sweat, and, in her final March, tears.

But the WNBA is a different world. In Indiana, Clark joined a team that didn’t need her to be the entire show. That was the point—at least in theory. Aliyah Boston, the reigning Rookie of the Year, was already a cornerstone. Kelsey Mitchell could drop 30 on any night. Natasha Howard, a three-time champion, brought experience and grit. For the first time since high school, Clark wasn’t being asked to save the day every night.

And yet, the shadow of Iowa followed her. Every game, every highlight, every missed shot was measured against what she had done back home. The expectation wasn’t just to succeed—it was to transform. To make Indiana matter the way she’d made Iowa matter.

The Night Everything Changed

The tension came to a head when Clark, nursing a groin injury, sat out a key game against Dallas. The internet, never patient with nuance, exploded. Trolls accused her of “ducking Paige” Bueckers, her old college rival. Fever fans worried. Iowa fans wondered if Indiana could survive without her.

The answer, for one night, was yes. Indiana raced out to a 22-point lead and won with four starters in double figures. Kelsey Mitchell erupted for 32. Aliyah Boston shot nearly 62% from the floor. Howard did the dirty work—15 points, 13 boards, and the kind of leadership that doesn’t show up on stat sheets.

It was a loud answer to a silent question: could the Fever win without Clark? The victory was proof that Indiana was, finally, a team. But it was also a testament to what Clark had already built—the gravity, the attention, the standard that made every game feel bigger than it was.

The Iowa Standard

To Iowa fans, Clark’s greatness wasn’t just about numbers. It was about necessity. Her teammates—Kate Martin, Gabbie Marshall, Hannah Stuelke—weren’t top-10 picks, but they understood her rhythm, her angles, her gravity. They elevated because she demanded it, because she inspired it.

One fan tweeted, “I feel like she has to do *more* here than she did at Iowa. Too many players not stepping up.” Another said, “Caitlin made Iowa better. Fever should go watch tape.” It wasn’t just frustration. It was loyalty—a belief that Clark’s magic didn’t happen by accident. It happened by force of will.

But the WNBA is a different beast. Of the 16,600 women who play NCAA basketball every year, only 36 are drafted. Of those, only two-thirds ever play in a single WNBA game. From Clark’s Iowa squad, just three made the league. Only Clark starts.

The level is different. The margin for error is razor-thin. Chemistry takes time. Kate Martin is now proving herself with the Las Vegas Valkyries—her 21-point breakout game this year was no fluke. Stuelke is making her own name in college hoops. But in Indiana, Clark is learning to be a piece of a puzzle, not the whole picture.

The Meaning of “Little Sister”

Howard’s words weren’t a jab. They were a shield. “You’re not alone,” she meant. “I got your back.” In the WNBA, being a rookie—even a generational one—means learning to trust. It means letting go of the need to do everything. It means believing that your teammates can carry the load, too.

Clark, ever the competitor, is still learning that lesson. She wants to win. She wants to lead. But she’s also learning to lean. To let Aliyah Boston dominate the paint. To let Kelsey Mitchell cook from deep. To let Howard mop up the messes and provide the voice in the huddle.

For some fans, that transition is hard to watch. They want the hero. They want the show. But the Fever are building something bigger—a team that can win, with or without Clark at her best.

The Next Chapter

Clark’s journey is far from over. She’ll heal, she’ll adapt, and she’ll find new ways to leave her mark. The Fever will keep growing. The chemistry will come. The wins will follow.

For Iowa, the memories will never fade. For Indiana, the future is just beginning.

And for Caitlin Clark, maybe the hardest—and most important—lesson is this: you don’t have to do this alone anymore. Sometimes, the bravest thing isn’t carrying the whole load. It’s letting others help you carry it.

Howard’s message was simple. For Clark—and for everyone who loves her—it might take time to believe that’s a good thing.

But it is.