A Swimmer’s Story

[TW: mental health]

As an athlete, your sport feels like your identity. It IS your identity. And that’s certainly how I had felt for most of my upbringing. When being introduced to friends or adults, I was referred to as ‘the swimmer,’ with good intentioned adults asking ‘you’re the swimmer, right?’ It always delighted me, as it felt as though I had this larger than life reputation as an athlete with great expectations. When you live, eat and breathe chlorine, it is very easy to feel this way and it certainly played a role in how I saw myself and the things I expected from myself. It wasn’t until I let these strangers expectations of me get to me that I realized how detrimental my sport-oriented view of myself was.

I have been swimming since the age of four, on as many teams as I possibly could because I lived for the team atmosphere and the friends I made along the way. It became clear fairly early on that I had a talent for the sport and, quite honestly, I became addicted to the high that came with winning and the validation I felt. Winning seemed to make people like me, so that made me want to do it more. I had never felt like a strong student so I figured I could excel with my physical abilities.

When you judge yourself purely based on how well you perform in the pool every week, each competition will slowly take on more and more weight, until it feels like you’re drowning, quite literally in my case. I can recall the first time I had, what I would later learn was, an anxiety attack before a race. I was 16 and had done nothing different in preparation for this race when suddenly I had an onset of physical symptoms – heart racing, warm neck, dizziness and nausea. I was sure that I was going to pass out. My coach had excused me from the race and my parents took me home, sure that there was something wrong. I was poked and prodded for weeks by doctors in search of what the physical ailment could be. I had convinced myself it must be mono or strep or some sort of deficiency that was causing my body to misbehave.

After many appointments, my doctor had pointed out that it could be linked to anxiety surrounding competing, which I, of course, thought was absurd as I had been swimming since I could walk and had the same thought process before each race: go out fast and win. I refused to believe that the problem was all ‘in my head’ as I had believed and that they couldn’t concretely find something wrong with my body. I wanted an explanation that could be found in an X-ray as to why I had lost control of my body. The anxiety attacks continued to occur before big competitions, just as I was nearing an important recruiting season as a junior in high school who had always expected to swim in college. I was getting physically sick before races, unable to control my nerves at how life altering each event felt based on how I performed. My school work started suffering as life felt like it revolved around how well I competed. I spent many nights up late unable to complete homework and assignments in tears as I felt overwhelmed by how poorly I had been swimming and how out of control I felt.

By this point, I was regularly meeting with 2 doctors a week, one to delve into the intricacies of anxiety as well as one that specialized in sports psychology. I had tried everything from medication to hypnosis to try and alleviate the anxiety that arose around competing. We developed plans of how to approach races, routines to establish before competing, and little tricks to keep my mind or body occupied before a race so that I couldn’t focus on how anxious I felt. This helped reduce my physical symptoms to a more moderate degree, but they still existed. It appeared like my life could never go back to my pre-anxiety-ridden self, which, in a way is entirely true. I didn’t have the junior swim season that I wanted, but still received recruiting calls nonetheless when it came time to begin the college recruiting process. I had no idea how to tell coaches that I loved the sport but also hated how I felt before I raced or that I couldn’t control my thoughts before races. It felt like a subject that was completely off limits and could never be brought up, for fear that it would make me a less desirable candidate, though it was my very real reality.

The summer before my senior year of high school I lost someone who I greatly admired and looked up to. It had been my first experience with death and led to my first encounter with depression. I dealt with severe loss of appetite, body tingles and shakes, being unable to get out of bed, and complete loss of any interests. I found myself unable to even attend summer league swim meets, which are more light-hearted and fun than normal competitions. I showed up to a meet once and had a complete breakdown, crying while my coach spoke to me comfortingly, sharing his own experiences with anxiety with me. I had completely lost track of why I started swimming in the first place when it felt like all the fun had been taken out of the sport I once loved.

My coach talked to me a lot about control, and anxiety is usually rooted around lack of control. I was feeling out of control with my body, my thoughts and the outcomes of my races. He explained how no amount of obsessing could change the outcome of a race when there are so many variables, and when it comes down to it, the only thing I have control over is myself. I can’t control the other swimmers, their times, or their races. I could have the best swim of my life and drop six seconds, and the swimmer next to me could still beat me, I had no control over that. This put a lot of perspective on my mindset as a competitor, as I was focused on the overall outcome of the race rather than my individual performance. Throughout my career, I had to constantly remind myself of this, and I certainly had moments where it was more difficult to think this way. I could only control my race.

I ultimately went on to swim at a Division I University and enjoyed my time, though it came with many challenges and lessons. I continued to see various counselors about my mental health through college, to ensure I kept myself in check. I had highs and lows, great races, and bad races that all contributed to my collegiate athletic journey. I am grateful for the teammates I was able to confide in about my struggles, as these issues felt especially taboo to discuss in the athletic arena. I had a particularly difficult transition into life post-athletics as so much of my identity had been linked to my sport that I felt “who am I without this sport that I’ve done my entire life.” This brought an entirely new set of challenges as I dealt with a bit of an identity crisis. I’ve done a lot of growing, and certainly have a lot more growing to do.

When I think about how I describe or introduce myself, swimmer (or ‘swammer’ as we called our retired selves) is now 7th or 8th in my list of adjectives, as I’ve explored my identity in my post-athletic career. While this might confuse my younger self who would solely describe me as a swimmer, my current self is incredibly proud and pleased at the initial words I think of: creative, friendly, adventurous, entrepreneurial, passionate, and caring as I better grasp the fact that being an athlete is just one side to my multifaceted identity.

I always heard the expression “It doesn’t get easier, you just get stronger,” and rolled my eyes at the cliché nature of the quote. However, when I look at my journey with anxiety and depression, that quote seems to capture it perfectly. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my anxiety and depression will always be a part of my life, for better or worse, and at times it certainly is the worst. I’ve now been retired from swimming for 3 years and my anxiety didn’t magically go away with swimming now removed from my life, as I strongly hoped that it would. There are different triggers in my life that induce symptoms very similar to what I felt before a race (a big event, flying, etc.) What’s different now, is my approach. When I think of my anxiety attacks, I approach it similarly to a race. I’ve swum thousands of miles during my tenure as a swimmer, so when I’m swimming a race, I have the muscle memory to get me through. I know when I take my breaths, when I turn, when it’s going to feel uncomfortable and I’m going to have to push through anyway. All because I’ve done it hundreds of times. Anxiety is no different, even though each attack feels like an entirely new mountain. I’ve proven to myself a hundred times over that I could get through each bout of anxiety, so I try to remind myself that I can get through this one. Some last hours and some last for just a few minutes. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to be uncomfortable and unpleasant going through it, but I do have to feel everything and I am going to be okay.

Thanks, xo Bridie