As the clock wound down during our game against La Salle in October, the past 16 years of my life ended. My life to that point: Carrying two bags every day to school, feeling the rush of winning games with my best friends, and always working toward the next shot, the next win, or the next season. At age 21, I’m retired.
At the end of my senior season, a huge piece of my identity came to a close. I wondered what I would do with my free time, so much so that when I went for a run a few days later, I found myself at a team practice watching my younger teammates fight for a loose ball and run to the next passing line. I already miss the laughter but am coming to terms with knowing that I will find that laughter elsewhere.
Every part of a college athlete’s mind is occupied by their sport in some way. You have to be mindful of how much you sleep because you have practice or a game the next day. You have to eat well, or you won’t perform at your best. You plan your class schedule around your sport.
I played on my first team at age 5—the green and white Fairmount Falcons! Some of my fondest memories came from countless hours driving to tournaments and making a ruckus in the hotel rooms with my teammates. Our Philly-based team had a talented bunch of city kids all coming together through our love of soccer.
Every young girl’s goal was to play for the U.S. Women’s National Team. My little girl goggles were set on emulating everything Mallory Swanson did. I watched her religiously. One of my greatest moments was getting a picture with her after a SheBelieves Cup game. As a young mixed girl, having someone like Mal to look up to was ideal, and I still do to this day.
“When your world revolves around something, removing that something from your brain becomes extraordinarily difficult.”
Once I and my small class—Emma, Elle, Sofia, and me—became seniors, our conversations were always live-in-the-moment. Everything started to sound like, “This is the last time we’ll do this, guys”—the preseason team dinner, fitness tests, media day, and every game we played until the very last one. One of us would always stop the conversation because we didn’t want to be reminded.
When your world revolves around something, removing that something from your brain becomes extraordinarily difficult. Every fall, I had practice at 4:30 p.m. on Mondays and Wednesdays and rushed after class to make it there. Now, I find myself sauntering up the steps of Jepson Hall. I try to sit down and do homework or work out, but it doesn’t feel the same yet. I don’t get an adrenaline rush. Only time will heal what’s missing.
“I think athletes must explore their identities outside of sport and the other things that make them who they are,” our sports psychologist, Dr. Rachel Turk, told me. The ones who do will find themselves moving on quicker than they anticipated.
I am the president of the Student-Athletes of Color Association, the secretary of the Student Athletes Advisory Committee, and a Sirens a cappella group member. These interests have aided me during this transition period.
I am working for SpiderTV to get more reporting experience and build my journalism portfolio this spring. This opportunity will be the most healing, as I’m surrounded by peers who, like me, are experiencing their final run as athletes. Covering these games allows me to give a voice to athletes—specifically senior athletes, who are playing their hearts out for the last time—and to channel my unresolved feelings into something special.