Everything With a Purpose

For four years, I would bring my iPad into the car to study on the way to Boca for soccer, and for four years I would fall into a cycle of falling asleep and twitching myself awake for 45 minutes with no studying accomplished. Without fail, every time I was about to close the trunk after getting my bag, I would look at my dad in the rearview mirror sitting in the driver’s seat with crusty shit in my eyes and he would say, “Everything with a purpose.” For the first three years, I would nod my head and proceed to close the trunk. The last year, I would pretend not to hear him and just close the trunk.

To say that this phrase felt redundant during that time is an understatement. I would think to myself, “I know my purpose, I’m going to work my hardest to be the best damn player on this field tonight.” Not to be redundant about the knee thing, but three knee surgeries later and your purpose is forced to change. I was reminded of this phrase when I was recently home and I decided to go train with my goalkeeper coach. I unexpectedly came across my old club coach running a session with 13 and 14-year-old girls, something he swore he would never do after coaching my group. After my nostalgic wave of emotions had passed, my PTSD kicked in when I saw him running the girls at the end of training. But during the session, I heard him tell the girls something to the extent of, “Every touch, every pass, every movement with and off the ball needs to have a purpose. If not, what are we doing this for?”

Why the fuck am I trying to come back from two injuries, three knee surgeries, and almost three years without playing a whole soccer game? It’s not because I love the sport. It has become too difficult to love something that has caused me so much pain. I still love it, you never forget your first love, but not enough to keep suffering the way I had. It’s not because I have a chip on my shoulder or something to prove. I do, but the people around me are so much more hopeful for my success than I am that it doesn’t give me as big of a chip. About a year and a half ago, I went on my first retreat with my team as a sophomore and one of our exercises was to illustrate our “Why?” as in why do we continue to do what we do? Needless to say, I made almost everyone cry. I felt so alone that year, and I felt selfish for feeling alone when I had a team, a medical staff, and a family at home supporting me. What kind of self-absorbed SOB can’t get over themself when they have that kind of support system?

I had a mini revelation recently and for some reason, it always takes me going home for me to realize it. This year, *knock on a shit ton of wood* will be my first pre-season in three years that I will be able to physically participate in. And as excited as I am for it, I’m scared shitless. Ironically, I’m not scared I’ll get hurt again. I’m scared because I have high expectations for myself. I expect to be able to give myself the opportunity to compete. That has always been the expectations for myself since sophomore year of high school when I was first benched in my career. Unfortunately, that can no longer be my purpose or expectation of myself because I’m setting myself up for failure if I do so.

For the last year, my goal has been to get my knee and leg healthy. Not only did my knee have to recover from two surgeries in 2020, but it also had to regain muscle from almost 6 months of atrophy. For reference, the average girth size of my thigh is about 50-51 cm, and at my thinnest, my left thigh was less than 40 cm. I have yet to break 50 cm in girth of my left leg even after more than a year. As close as I am to being able to play again, I know my leg is not completely healthy, yet I still have these expectations of myself to return to the goalkeeper I once was. It was much easier to focus on the health of my leg when it was skinny and weak and could barely squat on the toilet. It’s much more difficult to think about it now that I’m doing the jumping exercises that caused my second ACL tear. I’m so fucking close, I almost feel like I’m being pranked.

So, back to why I’m scared. I’m scared to get my hopes up. I’m scared that I won’t become the goalkeeper I used to be. I’m scared that changing my purpose and the expectations of myself is what is going to cause those other fears, like a domino effect. And the last time I experienced a domino effect was when I struggled with binging and feelings of loneliness and anxiety, one thing building and snowballing on top of the other. As much change as I’ve experienced in the last 25 months, I still despise it. I do my best to embrace it, but I sincerely struggle with it. I cry every time I say goodbye to my parents after being home for a while… and I’m 21. I’m not good at change, and I do my best to embrace that too. I guess I don’t want to accept the fact that I’m not yet whole, and I don’t want my purpose to continually be working to make myself whole again because it’s been over two years and I can only be so patient with myself. But if I expect myself to be the same goalkeeper I used to be before undergoing three operations, I don’t think that’s doing myself any favors either.

After all this time, I still find it difficult to accept myself for who I am, which I think is an issue that many student-athletes suffer with. I’m so proud, impressed even, of my body recovering the way it has. But I’m struggling to find the balance between wanting more for myself as an athlete while being cognizant of my current physical health. For so long, I’ve just wanted to be done with the knee thing, a blip in my memory that I can tell stories about and show literal scars to prove it and say that I overcame it and I’m fucking done. But the knee thing has become such a big part of my life that I don’t think I could ever be done with it. It’s intertwined in my perspective, purpose and personal expectations. And I struggle to accept that I have changed as a person and will be going into this season with a different purpose. So, I guess the whole point of this is that, unfortunately, Felipe was right. Everything needs to have a purpose, but it’s okay if it changes. It’s okay to have identity crises, numerous knee surgeries, and a pandemic in the meantime. Shit happens. I’m just glad I finally stopped being a headass and realized that your purpose means nothing if you don’t recognize the support of those around you.