I finally did it. I made it to a top ten women’s soccer program. I was playing in the PAC-12, a dream I had since I was a little girl. In June of 2020, there was one heart-stopping, anxiety-filled decision that changed the course of my college career. After completing my second year at Boston University - online in my childhood bedroom - I was ripe for change. After some unsettling and emotional weeks, I got a call – THE call – from the head coach at the University of Southern California, offering me a place on the team. 

 

My transition to USC seemed too good to be true.

 

My transition to USC seemed too good to be true.

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In August of 2020, I moved into a house with new teammates and seamlessly became part of a tight-knit group of girls who quickly became my best friends. Transferring to SC was risky and my new coach made it very clear to me that minutes were not guaranteed. In the boredom of the pandemic, I found a drive to lift, train and run more than I ever had previously. Before I knew it, I became a starter, playing nearly every minute of every game and exceeding any expectation I had in my mind. Going into my senior season, I was named onto the leadership committee. The committee was voted upon by the team as well as chosen by our coaches to act as representatives for the team and was responsible for managing team dynamics. I felt more at home than I could have imagined. I felt like a real leader and a real contributor to a team I had only known for a year and a half. 

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In the fall of 2021, all my hard work came tumbling down.

 

In the fall of 2021, all my hard work came tumbling down.

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I suffered a number of concussions over the course of my career, with the last one occurring at the very end of my junior season, an injury I kept hidden from my parents as I feared their reactions and felt confident enough to deal with on my own. It was not until my senior season came rolling around that the multiple concussions caught up to me. I came out of every practice with distorted vision and soon experienced debilitating migraines. Quickly, these lingering symptoms negatively impacted my academic performance. Class was painful and homework felt insurmountable. Soon an issue I thought I could handle spiraled into a painful phone call to my mom, where I confessed my long kept secret. After appointments with neurologists, opthamologists, and optometrists, it became clear that continuing to play was putting my long-term health at risk. So, after playing soccer for 17 years of my life, I was forced to medically retire.

 

I was forced to medically retire.

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On September 19th I stepped onto the field, for our senior game, for the last time. The days, weeks and months that followed were filled with tears, anguish and an overwhelming sense of loss for the sport that once consumed my life. 

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I wish I could say my retirement quickly pushed me towards new passions and hobbies. Truth be told, I spent most of the fall semester teary eyed, ruminating on all of my decisions leading up to this point. I was miserable. I chose to stay involved with the team, which is something I now frequently question. I transitioned into the undergraduate assistant coaching position, which allowed me to partake in all team events. I tried to stay positive, taking advantage of my new role, attempting to absorb any coaching knowledge I could. But frankly, I wanted nothing to do with soccer.

 

But frankly, I wanted nothing to do with soccer.

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Showing up to practice everyday to sit on the sidelines felt like twisting the knife. It was a constant reminder of what I had lost and what I truly wanted. But then again, what else was I supposed to do? There was no road map, no clear path to healing. Being a covid transfer, I had minimal friends outside of my team. With the only people I felt comfortable confiding in being my teammates, it felt like choosing between loneliness, or misery through constant reminder. And considering the season in full swing, I did not want to bother my already stressed and overworked teammates. I felt like a burden reaching out to people, and if I did, the pitiful “I’m so sorry” left me feeling worse. 

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 Six months later, I have made leaps and bounds toward improving my mental health, but I still can’t look at any old soccer pictures, videos or anything that reminds me of the sport that I dearly loved. I struggled with verbalizing the feelings that were swirling through my head until one day, I found a perfect analogy for my lingering feelings while chatting with an old friend.

 

The Beep Test. The test is a dreaded conditioning assessment most programs run at the beginning of preseason that is not only about the physical strength of running, but also the mental strength of being able to push oneself past a gasping breath. When I finished, I threw my body across the line, basically collapsing out of pure exhaustion. Truthfully, I never struggled with fitness and not only did I pass every time, I often finished among the top group. And yet, no matter how well I did, about 20 minutes after finishing the test I felt overwhelmed with a feeling of dissatisfaction. After catching my breath and regaining both my vision and feeling in my legs,  thoughts perpetually crept into my mind: “I could’ve pushed harder. I should’ve done more.” It’s almost as if I completely forgot about my physical and emotional state less than half an hour ago. Whatever I did, it was never enough. 

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Whatever I did, it was never enough.

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Now, with my cleats buried under sweaty gear collecting dust, I can’t help the thoughts from creeping in: “I could’ve pushed harder. I should’ve done more.” But this time, I didn’t pass. I didn’t go well beyond expectations. I didn’t do enough. It felt like everything I had accomplished and sacrificed was all for nothing. I worked so hard and gave so much to a sport, and what do I get in the end?

 

I worked so hard and gave so much to a sport, and what do I get in the end?

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It builds and builds, and just like that – it’s over.

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The “never enough” disease is its own beast within athletics. Ironically, this quality is also part of the reason amazing athletes are, in fact, amazing. They are constantly reaching, working, never satisfied. Infinite amounts of motivation and work ethic drive athletes to keep pushing the boundaries. On the other hand, what happens when a career is over? At some point, every athlete will stop playing. No matter how an athletic career ends, athletes often find themselves unsatisfied. Many athletes have “happy endings.” I have friends who have won national championships, but at the end of their career, it still isn't enough. When training relentlessly for a sport that is based heavily on external awards, we don’t recognize the real gift athletics gives us all. The skills, mental strength, the community, the work ethic and the memories we gain from our sport are the things that we will carry for the rest of our lives. 

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The skills, mental strength, the community, the work ethic and the memories we gain from our sport are the things that we will carry for the rest of our lives.

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For the past six months, a large part of my journey through retirement has consisted of reading about emotional health. If you know me personally, you know I haven’t stopped talking about Brené Brown. Brown is an American researcher, professor, lecturer, and author who is known in particular for her research on shame, vulnerability and leadership. In her recent book, Atlas of the Heart, she describes nostalgia and its potential divisiveness. She defines nostalgia as, “a yearning for the way things used to be in our often idealized and self-protective version of the past.” While sometimes nostalgia can be a healthy coping strategy I would argue that for many athletes, nostalgia can be associated with negative emotional outcomes due to rumination. Rumination is inherently negative and “zaps our motivation to do things that would improve how we feel.” Reading this hit close to home for me. Instead of looking back with fondness, I replayed my entire soccer career and imagined what I could have done differently in order to have a different outcome. Not only is this not helpful, but it also taints my entire experience and relationship with the sport that shaped me into who I am today. Finding resolution and contentment with my story is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, and I still struggle with it today. It is active work, a practice, something I have to consciously work on constantly. 

 

My life after retiring feels completely new, something so alien and foreign to me. But I no longer keep my head down when walking past the soccer field, or clam up when someone asks me what happened. I’ve found joy in other passions and hobbies like playing the piano, working out in the mornings, and participating in class. While my retirement was a hurdle, I continuously remind myself that I am the exact same person as I was before.

 

I am the exact same person as I was before.

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Although my daily routine is different as I am not working toward the same soccer goals, who I am as a person is unchanged. Soccer shaped me into the person I am today and even though I will not be lacing up my cleats and wearing number 35 on my back anymore, I am still that player.

 

Soccer shaped me into the person I am today and even though I will not be lacing up my cleats and wearing number 35 on my back anymore, I am still that player.

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That person. And that will always be enough. \

 

“Trust that things get better as time goes on. Not because time heals, but because you grow.”

-Brianna Wiest, 101 Essays That Will Change The Way You Think