I started playing soccer at around 3 years old. For me, it was always something that was fun and a good way to be surrounded by amazing people. I never thought I would play soccer in college; I didn't think it was possible. Around the end of 10th grade, at 16 years old I landed on my first competitive club team. This was “late” when compared to most others. I started to see my potential, and I had a coach that truly believed in what I was capable of. That started both the best and worst years of my life.

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.

In 2019, my junior year of high school, my life as an athlete completely changed. I was forced to face the ultimate fear of tearing my ACL. Junior year, as we all know, is extremely hectic, taxing, and overwhelming. Junior year is when everyone starts getting recruited or committed for sports. Unfortunately for me, I was set back.

I so much hated being identified as a basketball player. I hated it and loved it, a combo that just stirred havoc in my body. To be recognized as one, and an elite one, still gives me a tightness in my chest and a punch to my gut just thinking about it. Yet I desperately relied on it. I am so much more than a basketball player. I am a full, well rounded, human. I loved walking in the wilderness, or anywhere outside of a basketball environment, or meeting people that knew nothing about sports. Those people became my best friends. The ones who asked me in January if my season started yet.

I was obsessed. At age 10 I woke up before school started to shoot hoops on the playground. And then would shoot for hours after school in the driveway because it brought me happiness, it was my outlet, my alone time. To get in the flow practicing was bliss.

Something my mom would always say to us growing up is “life’s too short”. I never understood the true meaning of that phrase until I started college.

Post-traumatic stress disorder in athletics is something you virtually never hear about as there is a huge stigma with mental health as it associates the athlete with being weak or not being able to do the job they are supposed to do. This stigma allowed me to suffer in silence for three years without receiving help. At this time I had never felt more alone with no one to relate to. As today is the start of mental health awareness month I wanted to shine a light on PTSD in athletics by sharing my story.