We were under the lights, playing against one of the top teams in the league. I was 16 years old and I felt the weight of perfection laying on my shoulders. I started struggling to breath and I looked at my coach, asked for a sub and literally ran away. I sprinted into the locker room bathroom and absolutely fell a part. I could not stop crying. I was acting as in I was in teen drama movie (maybe like Troy Bolton in High School Musical?). With my mother to the rescue, she realized something was wrong, knocked on the stall door, and calmed me the heck down. I was incredibly embarrassed. I had left in the middle of my varsity soccer game to cry. To be weak. To be far from perfect. I was unable to handle the pressure of being the best. I returned back to the field and told my team and my coach that I purely was having an asthma attack, but that I was fine. I got right back on the field and attempted to ignore the most unsettling feeling as I continued to shake and fill my head with imperfect thoughts.
Fast forward 4 years later. Now I am a collegiate soccer player, and again, we are playing under the lights. I am 20 years old and I am incredibly exhausted both mentally and physically. We just finished our dynamic warm-up and I all I can think about is how I am not good enough to play. And not just that I’m not good enough, but that I am a competitor and I can only blame myself for not being a better player, for not being the best.
This blame begins to affect my breathing, my stability. I pull a teen drama movie act again and I quietly sprint to the bathroom.
I remember this feeling. I start to tear up, realizing that the amount of hours and heart I have given to this sport will never be enough. I catch my breath and walk back on to the field to finish up warm-ups. I smile and laugh when I am suppose to and I focus on my teammates rather than myself.
About 20 minutes into the second half I hear “vic, warm-up.” The line every single one of my teammates on the sideline hopes to hear and wait to hear at any point of the game.
I step on the field and I feel far from myself. My confidence is non-existent. Regardless of the positive self-talk I was screaming in my own ear I could not avoid the unsettling feeling I had when I was 16 years old.
I guess I thought that throwing all of my thoughts about this sport would make me remember why I play and help me see past my imperfections. Maybe I would find some sort of solution to make myself feel better?
The only moments I keep circling back to are me sitting on the bus with my 33 teammates. Sometimes we are laughing hysterically and other times some of us are attempting to hide our tears and imperfections by throwing our hoods up and plugging our earphones in.
All I know is I have 33 amazing women who in all seriousness have my back.
So — I play for my team. I play regardless how unconfident I may feel. I play to empower myself and my teammates. I play for the high school soccer player that wanted so badly to be validated through a sport and for the collegiate-soccer player who still feels this way… & for the high beat of adrenaline and happiness that makes all of the self-doubt somehow feel more than worth the unsettling feeling.