The following blog post was written personally by the athlete. This is their story in their own words. This blog series is meant to spread awareness of the possible hardships athletes face, break the stigma of mental health in sport, and advocate for better access to mental health services for athletes.
“There’s no I in team.”
“WE before ME”
“Play for the name on the front of the jersey, not the one on the back.”
As athletes, we have had these adages on teamwork engrained in our brains from our first intramural soccer practice at age four. Most of us have a t-shirt (or ten) with one of these one-liners plastered on the back. Teamwork is essential to my happiness. I’ve hoisted championship trophies, passed out from physical exertion, cried out of frustration, cried out of bliss, watched thousands of hours of film beside teammates. I’ve sat beside teammates when they found out they’d never play again, and when they got the call that they tragically lost a parent. Through panic attacks induced by repeated concussions. Through years long battles with eating disorders that started as hoping to cut 30 seconds off of a mile time.
I grew up in a community that gives little girls field hockey sticks when they are old enough to walk. A legendary coach and seemingly endless pipeline of Olympic-grade talent puts my high school at the top of the national standings year after year. It was never a question to me that I would play field hockey at school – I saw it as a ticket to an academic institution that would otherwise be a “maybe” at best from the admissions department. In April of 2013, at the age of 17, I verbally committed to Brown University to continue my education and my field hockey career.
Imagine working 30 hours a week for the next four years. This is easy – because chances are, you will do this. Now, imagine you aren’t getting paid. This is voluntary. Your boss? They tell you what you can eat, when you can sleep, and determine how physically fit you need to be at any given moment. TGIF? You’re traveling on the weekends, and you have no say in where you’re going and what you’re doing while you’re there. By the way – you have a second job, too. Who in their right mind would sign up for this?
Someone who loves working with others, pushing limits, and competing – the college athlete. Most college athletes come with at least 15 years of programming. They are hard-wired to put the team first, conditioned to listen to a coaching staff, and in a constant state of self-assessment. These are tenants of discipline that result in growth, confidence, and in many social contexts, success. But are we teaching athletes to take care of themselves? Put their own needs first? Listen to their own bodies – and their own minds? Self-assess for things like happiness, fulfillment, and emotional wellbeing? My own experience tells me no.
I stepped onto campus expecting a set of challenges that I knew were ahead of me. Was I good enough to be here? Fit enough to pass the run test…smart enough to pass my classes? Could I maintain my high school friendships, and my high school relationship? I expected these challenges. What I didn’t expect was a world of comparison that exhausted me every day. At 19, my peers were already applying to internships that would serve as a pipeline to six figure salaries, booking exotic spring break trips, and racking up hundred-dollar dinner tabs on the weekdays. Unsure of how to keep up, I decided to completely remove myself from the race. My freshman year was spent in my dorm room, sleeping most of the time I wasn’t at practice, too sad and anxious to leave my room to go to the dining hall most days. Calling my parents and my boyfriend and begging them to come see me, or book me a flight home. From August to November, I lost nearly 35 pounds.
You would think people would have noticed this drastic change. You’re right, they did! The, “You look amazing! You must be working out so hard and eating so well” praises came from my coaching staff, my friends, and even my family. The external validation justified the lie I was telling myself. Sure, it was hard, but it was supposed to be! I convinced myself that I was healthier than I had ever been – putting my athletic career first by staying in, focusing on school and hockey, getting lots of sleep. I was staying in because I felt like I couldn’t keep up. I spent time studying because it was an excuse to not be in social settings. I was running extra miles after practice because I was afraid of falling behind physically. I was sleeping 16 hours a day because it made the time until I next saw my parents and boyfriend go quicker. And I was eating one meal a day because I had no appetite, and the dining hall felt too overwhelming. I was getting playing time as a freshman, I had a 4.0 GPA, I was thinner than I had ever been…and I was depressed.
It took nearly two years at Brown for me to find some sentiment of health, fulfillment, and stability in college. I’d argue I never really got there – my weight, mood, and sleep patterns fluctuated for most of the four years I was at school. Torn between my small town values and ambition to hustle on Wall Street or in Silicon Valley, fit enough to put in 15 miles worth of running in a day of preseason and fun enough to binge drink four nights a week, I made it my mission to do it all and do it well. I leaned on my relationships with my parents, my boyfriend, and my teammates to keep me stable. But I don’t think I ever learned to lean on myself, because I wasn’t confident she could show up and be enough.
It took me 23 years to reach out to a mental health professional. I had just moved to Chicago to work for a technology startup, knowing no one in the city. Haunted by the difficulties of my transition from high school to Brown, determined to have this transition be smoother, I sought therapy. I so desperately wish my experience with therapy would have started during my time at college – I firmly believe it would have allowed for more balance and significantly healthier decision making in an environment in which I was so overwhelmed. In college, I considered therapy to be a copout. I thought toughing it out was the journey I was supposed to be having, and that putting my relationships at the forefront of my life would become my brand as a selfless, compassionate leader in my social circle and amongst my team. Putting my relationships first is a critically important part of my brand, but through my experience with therapy, I recognized that my relationship with myself had been completely lost in the mix.
Standard protocol requires annual physical assessments. Athletic departments spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on trainers, equipment, and spaces to get stronger. Why are we not investing at the same level for mental and emotional wellbeing of athletes? The culture of sport is demanding and pressurized – and I am not suggesting that we change that. It is why we play. It is exhilarating to win, and cathartic to lose. I am not suggesting making college sports “softer” by any means; it is a battlefield of passion in all of the best ways. My gratitude for sport and the fabulous people it brought into my life runs deep. I am simply suggesting that we recognize the unique set of stresses that come with competitive personality types in collegiate athletic environments. It is not enough to have mental health services “available if needed”; student-athletes have been conditioned to think they do not need help. We must engrain these resources into the academic and athletic infrastructure, with education, assessments, and regular support being the norm, rather than the last resort. “WE before ME” is a great philosophy on the field, but sometimes, “ME” needs some attention too, and that should be more than okay.
-Maggie
Maggie played four years of field hockey at Brown University, where she studied public health and business. She focused her undergraduate research on various health behaviors and outcomes in college athletes, including drinking and substance abuse in the population, as well as meditation and mindfulness programs as an intervention. Currently, she works in strategy at a Chicago-based data science company.