In high school, I was an athlete. From the outside, it looked like dedication. Discipline. Drive. Inside, it was anxiety looking for somewhere to land.
At sixteen, compulsive exercise became my language. I was at the gym before school, and then again after, sometimes for hours. Around that time, I started experimenting with purging. I didn’t binge, so technically I didn’t “fit” the definition of bulimia nervosa and I was quietly proud of that. In my mind, it meant I had more self-control.

I used to think seven was my lucky number, until it wasn’t. Seven stitches on my ankle, seven medications to take, seven months until I’d be fully healed, or so I was told. May 16, 2015. I can still remember running across the gym, playing tag when I felt a slight push on my back. “Tag!” my friend said, but instead of laughter, screams came out as I crashed to the ground. I was only seven when I first injured my ankle. Now, as a seventeen-year-old, I am faced with the difficult choice that seven-year-old me never thought would happen from just a “sprained ankle.” Get surgery again and hope it’ll be over, or endure the pain I once never had to feel.

Grief doesn’t wait for the offseason. It doesn’t care about practice schedules or game days. And when it’s ignored, it quietly shapes anxiety, burnout, and identity struggles in athletes long after the final whistle.

You are more than your sport! Approaching my final seasons, I’m reflecting on everything I’ve learned. The most important lesson is that it’s possible to love your sport deeply without letting it shape every part of who you are.

Going through surgeries and physical therapy was tough, but the hardest part was dealing with my emotions. I realized that while people often talk about healing the body, they don’t talk enough about healing the mind. The mental struggle was real and exhausting.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned is to give myself grace. I don’t have to be perfect to be worthy. My identity isn’t defined by a single sport, performance, or day, it’s defined by how I care for myself and others, how I keep learning and growing, and how I find joy in what I do.

But know, even though I am still struggling with breaking through the stigma of counseling and talking about it, I have enough tools to never let myself fall as far as I once did. I encourage you to seek the help you need and remind yourself you are not alone, and whatever you are doing, it's good enough!

While I do have moments where I struggle with my eating disorder, I remember how miserable I was and how much of life you miss out on life. I see online and in person just how prevalent EDs are in the running community. It's important to know that you are not alone and there is help out there for you.

Mental health is not anything to brush over. I know how scary the thoughts can be. I know how bad it can get. Because I was in it. Hearing “it’ll get better” every two seconds doesn’t help, but I can promise I’ll understand and I’ll be there to listen to those who are going through similar situations.

I was only 15 when I started cross country and track. My freshman year of high school. I fell in love with it. And I knew that I wanted to go to college for my sport. I spent all of high school running varsity for cross county and track. Through lots of workouts and races and setbacks and friends and team trips, I made it. I got offered a scholarship to a small school up in north Georgia. After all these years my hard work had paid off. I was ecstatic. I had so much fun and I met so many great people. And during that time I found my niche and became an even better runner than I ever have before. I ran long distance.