How Amaris Williams Found the Strength to Return to Auburn Football Thanks to a Mentor Who Never Gave Up on Him

Amaris Williams knew what it felt like to doubt yourself. To stare at a mirror and wonder if you still belonged. To walk into a locker room where your name was still on a jersey, but you didn’t feel like the same player. For the Auburn defensive lineman, those moments weren’t rare—they were daily battles during a difficult stretch in his football journey. But through it all, there was one person who refused to let him quit. One person who helped restore the belief he had lost. And that’s why Amaris Williams is back with Auburn football.

It wasn’t just the physical challenges that nearly pushed Williams away from the game. It was the weight of expectation, the mounting pressure that came with being a highly touted recruit, and the emotional toll of navigating injuries and inconsistency. He came to Auburn full of potential—power, speed, and the instincts of a disruptive defensive presence—but quickly learned that potential can be both a blessing and a burden.

After an early injury sidelined him for most of his first season, Williams struggled to find rhythm in his recovery. He kept showing up to workouts, doing the rehab, sitting in on film sessions. But in the back of his mind, he questioned whether he still had “it.” Whether the version of himself that had dominated high school football in North Carolina could ever reemerge under the bright lights of Jordan-Hare Stadium. The whispers didn’t help. The message board chatter, the sideline glances, the inevitable comparisons to teammates who were seeing the field more often—it all compounded the doubt.

That’s when a conversation with Auburn defensive line coach Jeremy Garrett changed everything.

Garrett, known for his relentless energy and player-first mindset, saw through the slump. He had watched enough tape to know that Amaris still had the tools. What he sensed missing was belief. So one day, in a quiet office in the Auburn football facility, he closed the door and looked his player in the eye.

“Amaris,” he said, “you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be present. We didn’t bring you here because we thought you’d never stumble. We brought you here because we know you can rise.”

It wasn’t just a pep talk. Garrett backed it up with action. He started meeting with Williams after practice, breaking down film frame by frame. He slowed things down, helped him understand what his body could still do, and rebuilt his approach from the ground up. But more than that, Garrett listened. When Williams opened up about his frustration, Garrett didn’t dismiss it. He validated it, then redirected it into fuel.

“He saw something in me I wasn’t even looking for anymore,” Williams said. “Coach Garrett didn’t just coach me—he reminded me of who I was before the noise, before the doubt.”

That mentorship sparked a shift. Williams began to re-engage. He attacked rehab with a renewed purpose. He spent extra hours on the sled, fine-tuning his footwork. Slowly, his confidence started to return—not all at once, but in pieces. A good rep in practice. A strong push in the weight room. A smile that came more easily.

Then came a breakthrough moment during a spring scrimmage.

It was a routine play on third-and-long. The offense ran a delayed screen, and Williams read it instantly. He shed a block, exploded through the line, and brought the back down for a loss. The play didn’t make the highlight reels, but the reaction from the sideline did. His teammates roared. Coaches pumped fists. And for the first time in a long time, Amaris Williams let out a scream—not of pain, but of pride.

That moment reaffirmed that he belonged.

In the days and weeks that followed, Williams earned more reps in practice and began to climb back up the depth chart. But what changed the most wasn’t his spot on the roster—it was his mindset. He no longer approached the game afraid to make a mistake. He played with freedom, with joy, and most importantly, with belief.

Garrett wasn’t the only voice encouraging him. Senior leaders on the defense, like linebacker Eugene Asante, took him under their wing. Asante, who had his own journey of growth and resilience, would often remind Williams, “Your story is still being written. Don’t close the book early.” That brotherhood became a powerful support system. It reminded Williams that he didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

His family played a crucial role as well. Back in Clinton, North Carolina, his mother, Tanya, would call after every practice. She never asked about stats or depth charts. She asked how he felt, what made him smile that day, and whether he was eating right. Her steady, loving voice became a lighthouse.

“There were days I didn’t want to answer the phone,” Williams said, “but every time I did, I was reminded that there’s more to me than football. And somehow, that made me better at football.”

Auburn head coach Hugh Freeze noticed the difference, too. By the time fall camp rolled around, Williams had gone from afterthought to impact player. He rotated in on third downs, provided interior pressure, and started to flash the playmaking ability that once made him a prized recruit.

Freeze, never one to hand out praise casually, pulled Williams aside before the team’s first SEC game.

“You didn’t just come back,” Freeze said. “You came back better.”

That’s the legacy Amaris Williams is now writing. Not just as a football player, but as a young man who faced the brink and found his way back. Not alone, but through the help of a coach who believed, a team that supported, and a family that never stopped loving him.

The lessons he learned along the way extend far beyond football. He now mentors younger teammates, especially those battling injuries or fighting for playing time. He tells them his story—not to relive the past, but to offer hope for the future. He talks about the mental toll, the silent struggles, and the moment he realized that confidence isn’t something you’re handed—it’s something you earn back, piece by piece.

“I used to think coming back meant being who I was before,” he said. “Now I know it means becoming someone stronger.”

Auburn fans are seeing that version of Williams now. The one who makes big stops on third down. The one who roars from the sideline. The one who walks onto Pat Dye Field not with a chip on his shoulder, but with gratitude in his heart.

There will still be ups and downs. That’s the nature of the game. But the foundation has been rebuilt, and the fire is lit. Amaris Williams is no longer defined by doubt. He’s defined by resilience, forged in struggle, and guided by those who never let him forget what he’s capable of.

And as long as there’s a whistle blowing, a snap to read, and a chance to make a play, he’ll be there—back in the game, back where he belongs, and stronger than ever.