How to Relearn to Love Yourself // 1 Year Post Third Op

11/25/2020

Real talk. I don’t care what anyone tells me about everything I should be proud of myself for. There are times when I feel like a failure. I have absolutely nothing on paper to show for my college career except 45 minutes of playing time, 0 saves, and 1 goal scored on in 3 years. That’s pathetic, degrading, and seriously sad considering how much time I’ve put in to improve. I have a very lengthy medical history since being in college that would really knock some socks off of some orthopedic doctors, but I don’t think that’s anything to flex. I have not one or two but four scars on my left knee, one of them being a LARGE hypertrophic scar that my brother will point out to you without fail. I’ve been frequently rejected by clubs, internships, and leadership positions because my resume is simply not impressive enough since most of my time was prioritized for soccer. I don’t know what I want to do with my life and every time someone asks me, I feel like I should know because I’m 20 and I should have some sort grip on my life, at least other people my age look like they know what they’re doing.

And while we’re at it, let’s continue to be real. I love my family, but they inflict stress. My brother is off saving the world in case any of you didn’t already know. If you went to high school with me, you know my dad is my dad: a hard ass with high expectations. My mom may seem angelic, but she will rip you a new one if your shit is not together. The other thing that stresses me out: I feel like my family has treated me differently since my injuries. They haven’t treated me worse, just differently, which means I’ve changed, and the change is what’s stressful.

I was never into the body positivity thing and relationship with food thing until I got injured and I witnessed my body deform before my very eyes and I physically could not do anything to prevent it. And yes, I know my body has the capability to become strong and look normal again but to see your body drastically change like that not once or twice, but three times takes a real toll on how you view yourself.

08/26/2021

I wrote these last 3 paragraphs about 3 months after my last surgery. I don’t think I finished writing this blog because it was originally titled, “How to Learn to Love Yourself After You’ve Failed Too Many Times to Count,” but I clearly did not know how to love myself at the time. I think I wanted to find this blog again and finish it when I finally learned how to accept and love myself for all that I am. I wanted to be in the position to tell that girl, “Shut the hell up! Look what you accomplished this year! You had nothing to worry about because you ended up playing soccer again, just like you intended. You did it! You fucking did it.” Today is a year since that surgery, but the problem is I haven’t done shit yet.

I debated whether or not to post for my surgery anniversary because this is not the fairytale ending I had in mind. It’s been a whole year (more like 26 months), and I still can’t play. I had another setback last week that has pushed back my clearance to play by another few weeks. Regardless, I am nowhere near the level of play I used to be able to perform at. In fact, I was so sure my career ended last week when I felt that pop in my knee, doing the same movement that tore my ACL the first time.

Calling my dad to tell him I hurt myself again was undoubtedly the worst part because he and my mom want so badly for me to be whole and healthy, and every time I get injured, I feel like I fail them. Numerous trainers, therapists, and doctors have invested so much time into me, but I feel like I’ve been wasting it because I haven’t been able to play again yet. My coaches have been much more patient with me than I’ve been with myself, and I sometimes can’t help but feel like I’m wasting a scholarship on this team since I’ve contributed so little on the field.

So this is what has been circulating my thoughts in the last week: feelings of failing others, disappointing myself, fear of what’s to come, the same things I felt 9 months ago in those first 3 paragraphs. However, I’ve since realized that my life is not validated by whether or not I’m good at this sport, let alone if I can play it. I saw a video about a girl who plays for a top-10 college soccer program. In her video, she said, “God put me on this Earth to play soccer.” I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know God did not put me on this Earth to play soccer, and I’ve been knowing that. I know soccer has always been the means and never the end for me, but it’s still difficult for me to accept that it hasn’t worked out the way that I planned.

I’m the last one anyone should be listening to about loving yourself. When I start to sense my anger at myself for not being more accomplished, I ask myself if I would react the same way towards another person in my position, and I that’s when I realized I treat myself like shit. I think that kind of self-recognition is an important step in re-centering yourself and shifting your focus on what actually matters in your life. I typically think of myself as a loner and anti-social because I like being alone and my social battery is literally so low all the time. But I learned, this past year especially, that I need to ground myself through the relationships in my life because I’ve been fortunate enough to be blessed with great ones. I think that’s something I’ve taken for granted particularly during my lowest moments because I was constantly gifting myself a pity party. And I’m still sometimes guilty of not recognizing the support I receive. I had a teammate drop down to her knees and pray immediately after I got hurt last week. I can’t ask for much else from my friends.

I don’t think I know how to love myself, but I do know I am loved. Unfortunately, I often forget that, but I’m working on reminding myself every day. And the days I do decide to hyper-focus on my lack of documented accomplishments, I remind myself to relish my failures because they are unlike anyone else’s. But one thing I have achieved: cheers to making it a year without having to go under. It’s been a long 26 months but I fucking did it.