Some dreams don't come true

I admit, I was probably a little dramatic with my last blog post. I was hurt. Frustrated. Devastated. After working so hard, doing everything “right”, I’m right back to where I was five years ago when I did my second knee. It doesn’t feel fair. It feels fucking cruel. But perhaps it was necessary. Necessary so I finally accept what numerous people have told me over the years – soccer isn’t my final destination. It has most definitely been a part of my journey, but my writing is what will take me further. My writing about soccer. About life. Love. Pain. I see the world differently than most. I’m devoted to understanding others – even if that means taking a hard look at myself and my role in the outcomes.

My knee for instance. I know why I did it again. There’s something that’s been present in all three injuries. And being in September isn’t the only reason. But it’s something I don’t want to talk about. It’s something I’m not ready to confront. To accept. Because it means I’m responsible. And right now, I don’t want that. I don’t want to take responsibility for something so devastating. I’m not ready for that reality. So instead, I’ll keep playing the victim for a little bit longer, even though in my heart I know that I’m the reason I did my knee again.

I also know I’m not the only person who has experienced this. I was reading about Alex Johnson, the AFL footballer who has done one of his knees five times and the other knee once. Six knee reconstructions. Same age. Still with the same aspirations – of playing football at the highest level. What keeps him motivated? How does he know this was meant for him? How has he not quit? Is it because everyone’s expecting him to, and he wants to prove them wrong? Because he’s worried about who he is if he isn’t chasing that dream? Because those have been my fears. Who am I without soccer? Soccer’s been my life for most of my life. It’s taken me to America, around America, and through some of my highest highs and lowest lows. How do you let something like that go?

Rewind to the start of this year. The blog post I wrote about feeling valued. How great it felt to be playing, and playing fucking well with a team that respected me. Things changed throughout the season and I was pretty miserable – frequently crying after trainings and games, feeling targeted, attacked. It made me want to quit. But once things were addressed, they got better and I became very adamant on playing overseas in Italy. I then had an amazing elimination final game, only to tear my acl a week later. Every time I’m playing at my peak, I do a knee. Why?

My strength and conditioning coach said it’s the way I play. But I don’t think it is. I changed the way I played after my second one and I still ended up here. I honestly just think soccer wasn’t meant for me. And my lesson, with all of this, is learning to accept that. To let go of the bitterness of others’ successes. Success I feel I deserved. Had worked for. Was worthy of. But was overlooked. In a world where everything is posted online, it’s so hard to remove yourself from that environment. Everything serves as a reminder. It’s like a bad break up – I recall writing in my blog post “Moving on in the 21st century” practical advice about how to get over an ex. Well in essence, this is no different. I’m breaking up with soccer and I can’t be reminded of what I had and no longer do. Or what I could have had but never will. So perhaps that’s my solution while I grieve – removing myself from social media again. From any reminders that reopen those wounds. At least until those wounds have healed, physically and emotionally.

I caught up with a friend the week before I did my knee and this is what she asked – why do you want to make it so badly? Why are you seeking that validation externally? Maybe that’s why you’ve never made it – because you feel you need to make it to feel worthy instead of feeling worthy without having made it. And maybe that’s why you keep getting overlooked. Because you’ve never learnt that lesson. And she was right. I felt like I needed to make it to feel like I was good enough. But I already was good enough. Already am good enough. Even if coaches have overlooked me. As I write this, I feel myself getting worked up and angry because I don’t feel like others have had to go through the same shit I have in order to have “made it” – they’ve just been given their successes. So why have I had to suffer so much? It feels so unfair. But perhaps this is the reason – my writing. Without this pain, what would I write about? How would people connect with me, relate to me?

After my second acl, I had nothing to come back for. No family for support. No school to distract me. Not many supportive friends. I had no purpose. No purpose to my suffering. My pain. I had no reason to keep going. And I almost didn’t. February 15th I almost ended my life. But I didn’t. And surviving that became my purpose. I was driven to talk about my experiences. To share my story. To talk about suicide, mental health, pain, and suffering as though it was as normal as it is. I vouched to be the voice of those who no longer had a voice. And so that darkness drove me to see light in every crevice of life.

Four years on and I’m in a very similar physical situation; a torn acl. But everything feels different. I have my family. I have supportive friends. I have a strength and conditioning environment that embraces me rather than makes me feel like a burden. I have my writing. But most importantly, I have a purpose to this pain. And I have perspective. At 21, when I did my second knee, I thought that was it for soccer. I threw myself into coaching hoping that would fill the void in my heart. But I knew I wasn’t done. So after two years coaching, I decided to play again. And play I did. Really fucking well at that. But now I’m 26, a third acl later. Even though I have those same thoughts of never playing soccer again, there’s a part of me that is at peace with that. It still hurts, because it’s still raw. But I think this is where things start to happen for me, outside of soccer.

When and if I have surgery, I have this book to write. And I suspect a major theme in it will be from the perspective of someone who never made it in the way they had envisioned. Which is something I believe probably 95% of us can relate to. Not the 5% who have made it – the ones who write books about their lives and their struggle to success. How much they wanted to quit, but never did. That’s all well and good, but they did make it. They’re writing from hindsight. From the perspective of having already “made it”. They probably never wrote about their struggle as they were experiencing it. Because who would buy that depressing shit? Instead, people buy books from these successful athletes and entrepreneurs because it gives them hope that one day they might make it too. But the reality is, you probably won’t. And you’ll probably be left in a similar situation to me – angry and bitter about the cards you’ve been dealt. Resentful towards those who have had it so much easier. Frustrated you won’t achieve what you’ve wanted. Who teaches you how to process those feelings? Actually, who even talks about these feelings? Because I can guarantee I’m not the only person who’s felt this way. And that is why I write. To help you normalise what might not feel normal. To help you realise it’s okay to hurt. To be angry. To be resentful. It’s actually fucking human to feel those things.

So perhaps what you need is to find a purpose to your pain. I don’t believe any suffering is ever in vain. Perhaps you’re suffering now so you can be there for someone who will go through something similar in the future. To connect to them in a way they’ve never had before. And perhaps that connection and understanding might just save their life. So that’s where I am right now – trying to find a purpose to this pain. And trying to accept the reality that some dreams, no matter how much you want them, won’t come true in the way you envisioned. And that’s okay. Because sometimes what you actually receive might be better than anything you could have ever envisioned.

The decision that changed my life

Preliminary final. Salisbury Inter versus Adelaide City. Two goals down, thirty minutes in. The ball’s being crossed in by one of the Adelaide City attackers, I’m tracking back towards our goal with a player on my right. The ball comes across the face of the goal. The keeper can’t get there. I make a decision that will change my life for the rest of my life - I decide to stop the goal. I lunge. My right foot makes contact, clearing the ball out of the six yard box and denying their player a chance to nearly seal the game. But my left leg? Stuck in the turf. And I hear it. I feel it. I know. The most dreaded three-letter acronym in an athlete’s vocabulary: ACL. I scream in anguish. Not because of the pain, but because of the reality. It’s my fucking knee. I’ve done my fucking knee…again.

Scans and a doctor’s appointment three days later confirmed what I already knew. What any athlete knows when they hear that pop. A completely ruptured anterior cruciate ligament. Twelve months on the sidelines. Rehab every day. And a constant psychological battle to one day hope to get back to playing at the level you once were. But mine isn’t as simple as that. It’s not just an acl to me; it’s my third. And this third one might just be the end of my playing career.

I keep asking myself, where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? How has this happened to me, not once, not twice, but three times? What is wrong with me? Was I never supposed to pursue soccer? Have I been trying to make something happen in my life that was never intended for me? And this is the universe’s sick fucking way of telling me? Or is this all a “test” – a test to see how much I want it. A test to change my fundamental beliefs about what it means to be successful and how to go about achieving it. Whatever it is, it’s fucked. And I don’t want any part of it.

Ask me how I’m feeling and I couldn’t tell you. I can’t answer that question without tears streaming down my face, the reality of my situation looming: I’m done. I will never play soccer again. I will never accomplish what I’ve devoted my entire life to accomplishing: playing professionally. And what’s worse, what I’m so fucking scared of, is that I’m scared I will be bitter and resentful about my life and my decisions for the rest of my life. But can you really blame me?

People’s condolences all whisper a similar theme: you don’t deserve this…you’ve worked so hard. And you know what? I did work fucking hard. I devoted myself to strength and conditioning. To injury prevention. To changing my mindset. To looking after my body with what I ate and drank. And guess what? None of it fucking mattered. Because I’m still in the situation I’m in, a third ruptured acl later, despite doing everything “science” says you should be doing.

I was so convinced at the start of last year that I had uncovered the reasoning behind repeat injuries – subconscious, self-limiting beliefs. So I ventured out to change it. And I did. I focused my attention on being healthy and changed my energy to replicate that of someone who doesn’t worry about injuries. And for two years, it seemed to work. So why now? Why again? Have I not learnt the lesson I needed to learn? Is the lesson I needed to learn to give it all up? Accept that some dreams can’t be achieved, no matter how badly you want them? No matter what bullshit Disney preaches to us about dreams coming true? Is that my lesson?

I’m distraught. Livid. Devastated. Heartbroken. Shattered. Whatever feeling you’d associate with someone having their dreams ripped from them, chances are I’m feeling it. But it’s more than that. I’m angry. So fucking angry. Angry at the world. Angry at the universe. Angry at my fucking self. Just last week I had asked the universe for a sign about what I should do regarding soccer – do I continue trying to pursue playing professionally or just let that dream go and play for fun? And how does she answer? With this. With a very real and pressing prospect of never playing soccer again. But maybe that’s what was meant for me all along. These struggles, adversities, setbacks – they were all intended for me because soccer was never my journey. My writing was. My pain was. To relate to those not who’ve made it – the success stories that everyone seems to fucking buy in the bookstore, but to write something that applies to the 90% of us who don’t “make it”. To offer feelings of validation and of normalcy through my words. The words that I’m not afraid to write, but that I feel so vividly. The jealousy of others. Of their achievements. Of their successes. The resentment towards coaches that have prevented me from achieving my goal. The regret for believing the bullshit fantasies of my childhood. The anger towards myself for being convinced hard work might actually pay off in the long run. Because it hasn’t. And realistically now, it probably never will.

So where to from here? Surgery, or no surgery? Soccer, or no soccer? Can I accept never achieving my lifelong dream? Or will this be the point in my life where instead of love and compassion for others, I’m filled with bitterness and resentment? Is there any point in repairing my knee? Or should I just say fuck it and retire?

I can’t go through this again. Not now. Not after the last one almost killed me, literally. And not after it almost broke my family. I know what the rehab requires. And I don’t want it. I don’t want my life to be bound by my fucking knee for the next year…again. No travel. No sport. Nothing but the emotionally taxing rehab. And then the fear. The fucking fear. How can I ever recover from this and not fear doing it again? A fear that is very much warranted. At what point do you stop? Do you listen to what the universe is loudly and clearly telling you – that you were never going to make it? It’s like a sick fucking cycle – I start playing at my peak, finally have people talking about me, and bam. Acl. Every. Fucking. Time. I had a good season, but so what? I still wasn’t noticed by the coaches who needed to notice and now this probably justifies their decision to overlook me.

All I keep replaying over and over in my mind is that decision I made – that decision to save a goal. And save it I did. But it cost me my knee and potentially my soccer career. So was it worth it? Absolutely not. Now I’m left wondering; what if I didn’t make that tackle? What if I just let her score? And why the fuck didn’t I?

I don’t have any answers right now. No words of wisdom. No hope for the future. All I have is my heart which has been broken more times by this sport than anything else in my life. And yet, I still choose it. I still choose it despite the pain. Despite the adversities. Despite the anguish. But perhaps now is the time I stop choosing it. Perhaps now I do give up. Perhaps this really is the third time lucky – lucky in the sense that there won’t be anymore. And lucky in the sense that I won’t ever have to feel this intensely sharp and debilitating heartbreak ever again. Instead, I’ll just be left with the nagging feeling of regret and wonderment of what could have been but never will. And perhaps that is the hardest lesson I ever have to learn. And perhaps that is my lesson now.

The cost of commitment

We see commitment as being virtuous, but is it really? Do good things really come to those who are committed, loyal, and devoted? Or is all of that just some bullshit we get taught as kids that really isn’t true?

This is a value I was brought up to believe. And it’s a value I took very seriously. Once I committed to something, that was the equivalent of giving my word. Whether that was with impeccable attendance for soccer trainings, or devoting my Saturday nights to studying instead of going out, one thing was definite – I was committed.

But where has that commitment gotten me? Have I achieved what I’ve wanted to achieve? Accomplished what I set out to accomplish? Or have I actually devoted my entire life to a virtue that doesn’t actually add any value to my life?

This reality, the reality that I have prioritised a value that has taken more than it has given me is what I’m currently confronting. My entire life I have prioritised soccer. I’ve given up friends’ parties, family dinners, holidays, concerts, just general life experiences all because I was committed to my sport. I never drank, never did drugs, invested in extra trainings, worked my ass off at trainings as well as in the gym, and where has that gotten me? I can tell you where it hasn’t gotten me, it hasn’t gotten me to where I wanted to go. Instead, it’s left me bitter. Resentful. And regretful.

My brothers always told me to never put all of your eggs in one basket, yet I thought that advice was ludicrous. Because if you don’t invest everything you have, how will you know you gave it your best shot of making it? My sports psych in America always encouraged me to “be a kid” and do “what normal 20 year olds do” and I justified my decision not to by claiming I wouldn’t “enjoy it”. But that wasn’t really the reason. I didn’t know if I would enjoy it or not, because I never tried it. The real reason is that I wanted to show I was committed to my sport. I wanted to walk the walk. I wanted to be an example of what athletes should do. I wanted to be a role model for kids to look up to. Essentially, I wanted to be a pillar of righteousness. I wanted to believe that good character and good decisions were synonymous with one another. I was serious about looking after my body because I believed you had to in order to stay healthy. But where did that get me?

Here’s the truth. Committed people still get beaten. They still get overlooked. They still get injured. They still get cheated on. They still get fired. Committed people still lose. Just because you’re committed, it doesn’t mean jack shit. When you’re committed, when you’ve turned down opportunities your entire life, you start to feel like you’re owed something. You feel like that commitment should be acknowledged. Rewarded. Justified. But it won’t be. Because the truth is, no one really gives a shit if you’re committed or not. Coaches, bosses, teachers, partners, everyone will claim they want people who are committed, but they won’t actually care all that much if they’re not. So I ask you, what are you giving up to be committed? Is it worth the cost of your life?

Someone asked me recently, why do you want to make it so badly? And at first I gave my typical response – because I want to be in a position of influence. I believe I could be a really good role model and I want my blog to help people, I just need a platform to do so. I wanted to prove that you can come back from two acls and still play at the highest level. And my ego wanted the recognition. The perks of having a “name” – free medical bills. Access to facilities. Opportunities. And I wanted some return on the financial and significant time investments I’ve made throughout my life. But the real reason I want to make it? Because I want to justify every decision I’ve ever made to prioritise soccer. From turning down holidays, to not making bad decisions and gaining experiences. I wanted to say it has been all been worth it. But I’m being confronted with the reality that is hasn’t been worth it. That it’s all been a waste. I’m 26 years old and I feel like I haven’t really lived because I gave up experiences for the nobility of being committed. And I fucking regret that.

So I’m left with this resentment and bitterness. Towards friends, teammates, family, partners – anyone who’s decided to do what I never did. To choose experiences instead of commitment. To choose living instead of a sport. People always tell you, work hard and you can achieve anything. Hard work pays off. Commit to your dreams. Think, live, breathe whatever you want to achieve and it will come to you. But I’m here to tell you not to do that. Hard work will only get you so far. Committing to something won’t guarantee loyalty in return. Turning down opportunities to pursue a goal isn’t as virtuous as you’re made to believe. And it comes at a cost. And that cost could be your life.

So please, don’t make the same mistakes I did. Say yes to bad decisions. Say yes to holidays. Say yes to living. Choose life, not your righteousness. Because if you don’t, you might just end up becoming everything you wished you weren’t. Take it from me, I would know.