"The beacon of hope that is collegiate athletics resides in becoming an all-encompassing student-athlete with no flaws."
The Division I dream of success in a rigorous major and balanced social life is what was spoon-fed to me as soon as I started to separate myself from the pack athletically. My interpretation of collegiate athletics could not be more different from what I envisioned growing up. Raised in a competition-driven environment, my expectations surrendered to nothing under perfection. The drill was not over until shots were made consecutively. Nothing felt right if I did not finish first. It even went as far as thinking that second-place ribbons and silver trophies were failures and in need of being thrown away, even at the yielding of my mother. Crying - the most heinous of acts, was unacceptable. I was seen as an “investment” to the adults in my life that was made in order to secure a successful future that was defined by their standards. The culmination of all these standards had taken me years of reflection to understand how they had formed my perspective of sports and their imperative role in my adolescence.
During the recruitment process, I was in direct contact with Division I coaches from across the country. Each one promised me the opportunity of a lifetime and commended my efforts of returning to play after tearing both of my ACLs. The first one was torn in the playoffs of freshman year, and the second during the most important year of recruitment - my junior year. Both were extremely difficult to come back from, yet the thought of leaving my sport never crossed my mind. I knew I was meant to play basketball in college, and the unwavering support of the adults in my life bolstered that belief. I played for the pride of my parents and coaches, and it made me happy to see them so happy.
"I was willing to go through tear-jerking practices and stay in a gym for hours on end in an effort to fulfill a dream. I became an unapologetic people-pleaser at no fault of the authoritative figures in my life. "
I was the one who prompted ideas of perfectionism and made sure that I enforced them upon myself. Those standards of success followed me everywhere: in the classroom, at home, and even in friendships.
I became dependent on the positive opinions of others, so when magnified to the podium of collegiate sports, I gleamed at the praise of the coaches recruiting me. I was hard-wired to allow the influence of others to dictate my life.
The decision to attend the university in my hometown was everything I could have wanted on paper. It was a D-1 school that offered me a “full-ride,” and to make matters better, it was across the street from my mother’s home. I had looked into the possibility of going to other schools but had constantly heard that staying home, even against my wishes, was the most practical and best opportunity for me. Although my coaches and parents had nothing but good intentions behind their influence over me, I knew the choice was ultimately not mine.
I remember feeling a deep sense of remorse as I signed my letter of intent on National Signing Day in November. I remember the papers lying gloomily on my dinner table, anxiously awaiting my non-minor signature, considering that by some cosmological humor, it was the same day as my eighteenth birthday. That circumstance only emphasized the stark reality that it was now “my decision.” I remember trying to delay the signing all day. I tried to distract my mind with mundane tasks but always came back to the reality of signing something I wholeheartedly did not want to. It consumed my day and ate away at any birthday or collegiate decision celebrations that were to be had.
"I had a gut-wrenching feeling that I belonged at another school, yet I felt compelled to give this gift of my choice back to those around me. I was giving them the return on their investment, which was their time and money towards my childhood."
Up to that point in my life, my academic success paralleled that of my athletics. My resume was everything a person could want on paper. I was the Valedictorian of my high school in a class of 580 students. I was a 4-year varsity cross-country, track, and basketball athlete that held awards across the state. I was an award-winning and regionally recognized artist. I was even the president of numerous clubs and held positions of leadership outside my campus. The day I delivered my Valedictorian speech, the superintendent of my district delivered his own speech describing how I was the poster child of an all-around student-athlete. I remember spacing out on stage as he delivered his words and thinking of all the times I felt inadequate. All the times I thought I wasn’t “good enough” and not making my parents proud. All the times I thought about seeing a world without me in it.
"Even in moments of refreshing praise, I still felt like I didn’t measure up to my own standards."
The pinnacles of my success, whether that be on the basketball court or in the classroom, had always been my judge to decide whether or not I felt worthy or accomplished for any given day, season, or semester. An accumulation of statistics was the benchmark of my identity that went beyond the jurisdiction of my performances. It was not until I was directly faced with the fear of losing myself over the grip of other’s opinions that I started to redefine my standards of what success meant for the present and future moments of my life.
Those moments of introspection came during my first year in college. I was the picture of a noodle-armed freshman with wide eyes and a huge smile. I was eager to learn and put the work in to become an important part of the team. After the summer workouts and a couple of months into the season, I felt the strongest I had ever been in my life. My classes were going great, and I developed an extremely close relationship with teammates. I was blessed in every way and understood that girls across the country dreamed of being in similar places. This is why it came as a surprise to me when I still rendered feelings of being misplaced and misunderstood. Resurfaced thoughts of suicidal actions frightened me as they began to feel more tangible. I was already beginning to understand what it felt like not to have a pulse.
"The idea of being a D-1 athlete now paralleled a passionless hamster on a wheel, and it took a toll on me. I finally understood “the dream” of an athlete and realized a jersey number fully defined me."
In an effort to revitalize my life, I entered the transfer portal at the end of my freshman year. I realized that the small number of free moments that I had were overrun with solitude and heavy thoughts about my self-worth. Even through moments of injury, athletic failure, and self-loathing, I always came back to the Achilles' heel of choosing other’s opinions over my own. I had put myself in that position because I allowed others to define what the path to success looked like. That choice to enter the transfer portal came out of desperation to cataclysmically redefine how I wanted to feel for the next years of my eligibility, and, most importantly, the rest of my life. I knew I needed to find another home that allowed me to find joy in other aspects of my life. I needed to make a decision that relied on my own opinions about myself and where I wanted to be after graduating college.
Once I entered the transfer portal, I began speaking with coaches across the country, taking into mind the ways I felt in my previous institution and how I wanted them to change going forward. I kept all divisions in contact and even found the most compelling to be a D-3 school in San Antonio, TX. The first visit felt like a new opportunity and a chance to recalibrate my thoughts about collegiate athletics. It felt like a home and place where my choice was at the forefront of my future. Looking back on my first years as a collegiate student-athlete, I can truly say that although my experience is not monolithic, there are large factors of perfectionism and people-pleasing mentalities that have affected a large number of people.
"Too many times before, I have seen student-athletes let the judgment and perception of others dictate their identity and shape their ideas of a fulfilling life."
Whether it be coaches, parents, or the constant barraging of social-media-induced perfection, the epiphany of true accomplishment has come from outside sources that hold a giant grip on our identities. I didn’t start feeling like the free-willed eleven-year-old athlete again until the beginning of this year. It took months of introspection to realize that my happiness only comes from how I train myself to perceive the world around me. When I found a home at Trinity, I began to see myself as more than the label of an athlete or scholar.
The 2023 Hidden Opponent video campaign premiere prompted my desire to become an advocate for student-athlete mental health.
"For the first time, I was introduced to the silent battle fought among athletes of my community and, more closely, on my team."
They are who validated my beliefs in choosing myself and redefined my ideas of success by realizing that I am so much more than opinions, labels, and statistics.