Finding the Grace to Step Away

By: Charlotte Edwards

IG: @charlotte.edwardsss

There is this idea of “mental toughness” that is prevalent in American society, especially among athletes. Those who use this phrase often think they’re being proactive, but in reality their “advice” can be detrimental to the struggling young athlete. Two years ago, when a coach told me I “should be mentally tough enough to handle this” or “this will only make you stronger mentally,” I nodded and thought “yeah, I should be better, I should be able to handle this.” And I kept pushing. But there is a line that must be defined for athletes–the line between mental toughness and mental illness. For a long time I denied the very existence of that line. I buried every broken and frightened feeling I had and kept pushing. I thought that if I could be the best person on every field I stepped on, it would mean I wouldn’t have to feel any pain. In my eyes, athletic success canceled out any sad and scared feelings. However, this tactic of acting “mentally tough,” of pushing my feelings aside, only worked for so long. 

I wasn’t one to talk about my feelings. I hated the thought of burdening those around me, but even more than that, I didn’t want to appear weak. I tried to be the support system for those around me. If I showed them that I was hurting or struggling, they wouldn't come to me for help anymore, and I love helping the people I care about. It wasn’t until I started talking to a therapist regularly in the fall of my junior year that I understood this rationale was faulty. Meeting with a therapist was the best decision I ever made, but the process of getting there was not smooth. While I didn’t have a label for it then, sophomore year was when my anxiety began. Up to that point, I did everything to please those around me, including attaching my identity to things outside of myself, compromising my own happiness in order to ensure the happiness of others. On top of this, I was in the midst of my athletic recruitment process–all during a global pandemic. My life felt completely out of control. And I think this is where my anxiety ultimately started. One minute I would be alone in the bathroom having a full blown panic attack, but 5 minutes later I would wipe and dry my tears, wash my face, and get on the phone with a college coach and ultimately sell myself to them. I can assure you that it is not easy to sell yourself to someone when you doubt every ounce of your own being. 

My first panic attack was the day before we went to SoCal to play the two hardest teams we would face all season. It was during practice, mid drill. Nothing triggered it. Nothing whatsoever. I slowly started to feel like I was losing air, so my first instinct was to run out of the drill to the bathroom. I immediately hit the floor when I ran in there. I had fainted and essentially woke up on my hands and knees gasping for air. It was one of the scariest things I had ever experienced, but as quickly as it happened, I had to forget about it. I also don’t think I fully understood the extent of what had just happened. Regardless, I knew I had to shake away any thoughts of confusion or doubt because the next day I had to be perfect. And even though everyone sympathized with me then, I knew what was expected of me. My coach described me as the “quarterback” of our high school team's offense. I had to make the play calls, settle everyone down, and be the producer. I liked this job. But the pressure it put on me was immeasurable. I did my job that weekend. I produced and scored and helped our team win.

My coach applauded me that weekend because she was in awe of how someone with such forceful anxiety can also be such a calm presence in high stakes moments. I, too, was confused that I was able to master that balance. But as student athletes, our whole lives are composed of perfect and detailed balance. We have to be respectful kids, straight A students, “quarterbacks” of the team, competing everyday at the highest physical level. But also, we’re young adults who get lost sometimes and don’t have everything figured out just yet. 

For the two weeks following our San Diego trip I had a panic attack essentially every practice. It started to feel routine, except I could never pinpoint a trigger. It was just something that would happen. I’m not sure what I would have done without the support of my coach. She never held it against me, ever. We could be in the middle of 7v7's before a game and if I felt it coming, I would simply run to the bathroom and take the time I needed to let the panic attack pass. The moment I came back out, she would put me back in the drill and start me just a few minutes later. She knew it was something I had to experience and get out in order to play at the highest level possible. But not all young athletes have such supportive coaches. 

March 30th is when the dark, heavy feelings became insurmountable. Ironically, I was a mental health ambassador planning a Morgan’s Message mental health dedication game. No one would have guessed that I was the one struggling. Except my coach and maybe a handful of my teammates. We had been texting back and forth about the game and then the next day in English class I received the following text from her: “I think you need to take a few days off of practice and prioritize your mental and physical health. I don’t think we can keep doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Perhaps a few days away will allow you to get more insight into what is going on and what might be helpful going forward and also give you a chance to rest…We will be here when you are ready to return — and I am not saying you can't have difficulty at practice — just want you to take some time and space to evaluate what might be helpful.” 

I vividly remember sitting in class, hiding behind my computer screen trying to conceal the fact that tears were hitting the keys of my laptop. Part of me thinks my coach knew that I would never ask for help or time away. No athlete ever wants to admit or show weakness. We crave competition and the validation that ultimately comes from athletic success. We are programmed to play through mild physical injuries, so naturally we play through mental injuries–but they aren't visible, tangible like physical ones. I also felt an immense responsibility to stay composed for my team, my best friends and the people I put heart and soul on the line for. And that is what I did until the day I couldn't anymore. 

Some would think I’d be angry or upset by my coach’s text. But more than anything, I was relieved. Relieved that she saw and understood my pain and in that moment was willing to choose me as a person over me as an athlete. It was one of the first times I didn’t feel like a commodity to a coach. I texted my dad right away and asked him to call me out of class. I spent the last two days of the week at home away from school and lacrosse. I took a mental health day, a phrase that is oftentimes romanticized or even mocked in our society, but something that truly saved me. I didn’t know when I was going to go back to school or lacrosse, but I knew I couldn’t push myself into it too fast. I spent the next four days with my dad and dogs, doing the little things I valued in life that brought me joy. That same weekend I stumbled across an article by a sophomore on the Vanderbilt women’s lacrosse team, Caitlin. We were both ambassadors for the same mental health organization, and her article is one of the few things that gave me peace and reminded me that everything would be okay. 

Over those few days, I was scared that people would view me as weak or judge me for stepping away, but in reality it was the complete opposite. I decided to come back to school and practice the following Monday. The whole day I felt like I was back at freshman tryouts, nervous to step out on the field. But my coach put me right back where I left off and never once held it against me that I had missed two days of practice. Following this practice, I shared Caitlin's article with my entire team and our athletic staff. After sharing my experiences, I quickly realized that many of my teammates felt the same way I did all along. We were all just too frightened to say anything. 

Four days away didn’t fix me, but it did help me shift my perspective. My coach and other mentors helped me realize that my anxiety is not something I can simply make disappear; the way I prepare for it and address it, however, is something I can control. And that is what I did for weeks. It was shocking to see the way that perspective translated to how I performed on the field and in the classroom. I am not saying I never had another panic attack after that moment, but when it came, I knew how to handle it and I knew my teammates and coaches were there to support me through it. My teammates began to recognize the cues if it was about to happen. I oftentimes would grip my stick a little tighter or start playing with my necklace. None of them would say a word; they would simply come stand by my side. Whether it was a hand on my shoulder or my leg, I knew they were right there with me. I have an incredible amount of gratitude for them and the way they protected me rather than isolated me. Thinking about their support makes me emotional writing this piece right now. 

While I wish I never experienced anxiety or these awful panic attacks, I am grateful for the lessons they helped me learn. I can now confidently say that I have a high emotional intelligence, which is ironic for someone who cries at the sight of a puppy or a sad video on Instagram. But that was one thing that my coach always reminded me to value and is something that stays with me to this day. Anytime I was upset, she would remind me that my capacity to feel is what makes me who I am. I think these experiences are why I value my senior lacrosse season so much. During such a pivotal time in my life, I was forced to look at the bigger picture and recognize who I was and what was important to me. The accolades I received that season and the championships I won with my teammates, while as rewarding as they were, have held no weight to the championship I felt like I had won with my mind. Without the grace shown to me by my coach and teammates, I don’t know if I would be the person I am today. I value being an athlete more than anything. I love learning about how I can be better on the field and seeing how those lessons apply to my life in the classroom or in any environment. But I also fear that I won’t always be able to handle it.

There is a sense of pride that comes into play because no one wants to be the athlete that gets burnt out. There were moments in my life when I felt whole heartedly that I physically couldn’t take the pain and pressure of it anymore. It wasn’t until I found the grace to step away that I expelled those fears. Now that I have an understanding of my anxiety, I value and crave that feeling of pressure. After all, that pressure is what drives us athletes. Still, I urge everyone reading this to look inside of themselves and find that grace. Stepping away provided me with the strength and confidence to enter my freshman year of division I college lacrosse with an understanding of how I can use my anxiety to better myself and my teammates.