By: Henry Mitchell – April 30, 2025

I used to be someone who knew exactly who I was. I had a vision for my future, a sense of purpose. But somewhere along the way, I lost all of that. And it happened so gradually that I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

I was always an athlete in school. Not just the “good” kind of athlete, but the kid who lived and breathed sports. I spent my entire high school career training, practicing, and competing. But as much as I loved the game, I also began to tie my identity to it. My worth was based entirely on how well I performed, how strong I was, how fast I could run. Every time I stepped onto the field or court, it felt like I was proving something to everyone—mostly myself.

When I got into college on a scholarship, I thought I had it all. I was doing what I loved, I was getting a good education, and people were proud of me. But what they didn’t see was the pressure that was constantly mounting on my shoulders. Every game was another test. Every practice, another chance to get better, to prove I was still worthy of my place on the team.

Then came the injury. A torn ACL. It was a nightmare, the kind of thing that makes you question everything. I went from being someone who could do anything on the field to someone who could barely walk without crutches. The rehab was grueling, and the uncertainty about whether I’d ever be able to play at the same level again was suffocating. But what hurt more was the realization that I didn’t know who I was without the sport.

The entire year I spent recovering, I felt like I was losing my identity. I started distancing myself from friends, isolating myself, because I couldn’t talk about anything other than my injury. I couldn’t focus on anything but getting back on the field, because without that, what was I?

Eventually, I came to a point where I realized that my life couldn’t revolve around one thing. I had to start rebuilding who I was. But even now, a part of me is still afraid that without my sport, I’m nothing. And that fear eats at me every single day.