Dear Coach,

When I had come into your office that Wednesday afternoon in November, you had the last word. In fact, I let you have almost every word. I didn't say anything when you told me I let the entire university down. I didn't say anything when you told me I was a waste of time, energy, and resources. I didn't say anything when you told me I didn't try hard enough. I didn't say anything when you told me you didn't want me on the team anymore. I didn't say anything when you told me you didn't want to recruit people like me ever again. I didn't say anything when you told me I never should have moved onto varsity. I didn't say anything when you told me I should have quit after my novice year. 2019 was, without a doubt, the hardest year of my life. But while the position I occupied on the team was demanding beyond anything I had ever done before, that was the least of it.

It was the impertinence. It was the derisiveness. It was the dismissiveness. It was the pretentiousness. I wasn't treated like a member of a team, a member of a family you claimed we were all a part of. I was a stake in your financial success, a thing for you to use towards building up your reputation, and I felt that. I felt it to the point where whenever I made a mistake and you got mad, I knew it wasn't because you wanted me to improve for my sake but for yours. And on the day I came into your office to tell you I was done, I knew you were more upset by the fact that it was going to hurt your reputation as a coach than you were about losing me as a member of the team.

For reasons both related to and not related to the sport that I don't feel obligated to share with you, I started to see a therapist over the summer. Simply put, I was not happy. I don't think I had ever been so unhappy for so long in my entire life. And when I told you this, do you remember what you said to me? You said, "well, I mean, we all have challenges. You just get over it and move on." I laugh at this statement now. It shows just how much you don't know. Interestingly enough, soon after I had left the team, you had a representative come and talk about athletes and mental health. She told a story about Michael Phelps being suicidal while he was training for one of the olympic games. He would go on to win all gold that year. At this point, I thought the purpose of this story was to teach young athletes that there is nothing more important than taking care of your mental health--that no number of gold medals can bring you happiness in life. But the moral of that story, she said, was to not let your mental health get in the way of your performance. Well, if that's the message your preaching to your team, then I don't want anything to do with it.

You might think that by quitting I was running away--that I wasn't tough enough to handle the sport or that I didn't have what it took. But that's where you're wrong. I made the decision to quit because I was tired of being unhappy. I was tired of being treated like I was incapable, of being spoken to like I was stupid. I'm not stupid. I was tired of feeling like all I ever did was eat, sleep, and go to practice. And maybe that kind of college experience is for some people, but it wasn't for me. I didn't quit because I thought it was too hard. I quit because I had no more passion left for the sport--I just didn't enjoy it anymore. I quit to take my happiness back--to take my life back.

I could have emailed you my resignation like the girl before me did, but I didn't. But make no mistake: it wasn't out of any respect for you that I came to talk to you face-to-face. I did it because that's the type of person I am. Before I left your office that day, you asked me what you could do differently in the future so that this doesn't happen again. At the time, I didn't say anything, but the answer is simple enough: don't be a dick. But you see, you will always be the same passive aggressive, despicable, callous, senseless, idiotic scumbag that you always have been. And as I say goodbye to 2019 and look toward the life waiting for me in 2020, that is my final goodbye to you.