The first time I stepped on a sports field, I was three years old. Without knowing it, I had taken my first major step into who I was suppose to be. My parents had signed me up for the YMCA Youth Soccer program to see if they could get me to put some of my crazy energy to good use. I was immediately competitive and had this desire to win, be aggressive, and play in a team environment. In the years following, I moved on from playing for the YMCA and played through the local recreation department, then made my way to travel soccer by the second grade or so, the normal age for kids in my area to start. I loved it; soccer was my niche. I loved to run and beat opponents to the ball and contribute to the win. It was where I was supposed to be.

Soccer opened the door to so many opportunities and I met so many people. So being 5’3 in the fifth grade when travel basketball starts, some of the parents on my soccer team convinced my parents to let me tryout for the team. Keep in mind I’d never played, so my parents thought I’d get cut and they wouldn’t have to worry about adding another sport. Unfortunately for them, only 11 girls tried out so I made the team and it became my new love. Basketball was what I picked over everything. I still played soccer and enjoyed it, but there was a new love in the game of basketball.

Throughout middle school, I played both basketball and soccer, in school and on a travel team. It kept me busy and in shape - what more could an awkward middle school girl want? However, my injuries started to add up. By my freshman year of high school, I had four concussions and extensive knee problems. Being 14 and having not a care in the world, I just avoided talking about how my body was actually feeling.

After my sophomore year, I cut down to one sport. I played four years on my high school basketball team after getting three more concussions from soccer. Sitting on a solid seven, I took extra care with every blow to my head. I couldn’t even knock heads with someone by accident without freaking out. It was always on my mind that I couldn’t get any more head injuries. Walking in the hallway, I watched for doors flying open, never slammed on my brakes too hard in the car, and I certainly made sure I avoided my siblings during fights so nothing hit me in the head. But sometimes life happens.

On February 10th, 2015 I was diagnosed with my final concussion. My doctor told me that I was not only not allowed to play sports anymore, but that my hopes of playing any college basketball was out the window. From the first day I stepped foot on the soccer field to the last day I stepped off the court; it was all behind me. I was not only devastated, but I had to change all my plans for the adult world. I could no longer look at schools to play my favorite sport, but had to look based on real merit and education. I had to give up what I spend my entire child and adolescent years striving to perfect.

I will say that what I’ve gained from this is the love of the game. I go and watch my friends all play the sports they love, and I learned to appreciate the little things about sports. The dedication, pressure, adrenaline, and pure ecstasy of stepping onto the court or field. So to anyone who is still lucky enough to play, treasure it, love it, and don’t take it for granted. From someone who knows what it’s like to lose it all, take care of your body and protect the only thing you truly need to play the game, yourself.