R.I.P 23

I do not conceal emotion very often, I don’t think it is healthy for me or for anyone for that matter. However, my feelings regarding my soccer career are suppressed entirely from where it all started to the exact moment it ended. The soccer field has always been the place of my upmost comfort, my space to blow off steam, and where the outside world did not exist. There will never be another heartbreak that I go through in life that will match the pain that I felt when I left soccer. Let me start from the beginning. 

            I grew up playing numerous sports starting at the age of 3. I did my time in cheerleading, basketball and even lacrosse. I had just about no consistent interest in any of those sports until I tried soccer at the age of 4. I loved every aspect of it. I loved the physical component, I loved having a big team, and for quite a while I really admired my coaches. Most importantly, soccer was a massive part of my dad and I’s relationship. My dad was my biggest fan and gave me every opportunity possible to advance in soccer as long as I wanted to. I still have yet to find an experience that is parallel to that of traveling to an away game blasting Metallica as I pulled up to the field with my dad. My dad never missed a single game, not even the ones I played in Barcelona. In addition to him, I would say at least 80% of my friends that I have right now I have met through soccer. Soccer gave me so much more than I could ever explain. 

            The drive I had to be successful at soccer was solely for soccer. I did countless extra programs, bicoastal ID camps and any extra workouts offered. I was doing camps for 12 hours a day at USC, UCSB, Seattle University, etc. I actually even got food poisoning in Seattle the night before the camp and still did the camp from beginning to end. I still to this day crave being on the pitch shooting balls all day and grinding with my teammates. It was my safe space when things at school, at home, or in my social life was going so wrong none of it existed to me when I was on the field. I got to escape to the world and blow off all my steam. 

            Coming to my junior year of high school I made the choice to move back to my hometown of Annapolis, Maryland to go to South River High School because I wanted to play varsity soccer with all my friends. I vividly remember being in LA and seeing the newspapers of my friends breaking records and winning titles and that was very hard for me not to be a part of. I had been playing with the same girls since I was 10 or 11 years old until I moved to California. As soon as I got back to Maryland I hadn’t touched a ball in months and was severely out of shape. So, every day up till tryouts in September I was either training by myself, with my friends, or with my dad. Before I knew it, I was at tryouts and I have never in my life been more scared to fail then at this time because at this point I had given up everything just to have a spot on this team. After three days of grueling tryouts came the moment of truth and I had my one on one meeting with all the coaches, one being the coach I’ve had since I was 11 as well. I was then told I made varsity and immediately started bawling my eyes out because this was something that I worked my butt off for. I had done exactly what I set out for and I did it on my own merit. 

            Fast forward through junior year on the team I would say I had a relatively good time and enjoyed the season. I still felt like I was new and earning my time which was fair, that is how the game works. I go through another summer non-stop training and preparation for my senior season assuming this would be the year that I became recognized for my hard work. Little did I know that that season would be my last time playing soccer and the season my love died out for the sport. Other than playing with my teammates during my senior year I would simply take that entire season back. The coach that I had admired for so many years disappointed me so deeply and absolutely shattered any drive I had to further play the game. As I mentioned, my dad has never missed a game…until he genuinely did not want to come anymore because he refused to watch me be miserable. I cannot even begin to explain how many times my dad had asked me to quit because all of the work I was putting in was for nothing. I was running drills and fitness tests more than I was on the field, I was hammered into the ground more than I was ever supported, and I really just dreaded going to practice or my games. Each of my teammates and I were evaluated and given stats every practice and game that determined how much we played in the upcoming game. Except the odd part was the lineup never changed because how could the players who never got playing time have enough stats to even compete with the ones who played the entire game? Statistically not possible but I digress.  

            I had eventually reached my breaking point and started putting my focus elsewhere which happened to be acting once again. I did not care about my numbers, I did not care about winning and I did not care if I ever stepped foot on a field again. Looking back, that is so heartbreaking that this one human ruined and tarnished my safe and happy place. He made me resent the one place that I felt like I belonged forever and ruined the special bond I had with my dad when it came to my childhood sport. I haven’t looked at a soccer ball the same since. And if I could tell any player anything it is to not let a coach in possession of your love for your sport because in some cases they crush it in the palm of their hands and take no accountability for it, in my case. I can wholeheartedly say I will forever be proud of wearing 23 on my back because I deserved it. I am sorry to 23 that she didn’t get the recognition she earned. RIP 23.