“Well, I did say a while ago I had a magic tongue and knew how to use it.” My wink only earns an eye roll and a lousy effort at a punch to my bicep. A gesture I’d normally interfere with, taking her wrist in mine, but I’m too lost in the thought of being with Mia like this.
“Should we head back?” I ask, as she slips back into her bathing suit while I’m holding her lifejacket, waiting to secure it back onto her body.
She nods her head, shyly allowing me to clip the jacket in place before I start the jet ski and ride back to the boat.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby girl,” Chase whispers as he pats his daughter’s back.
“They’re bringing the last bit of equipment over later. Your sister was such a help with this,” I say, wiping down the newly installed counter.
Chase stopped by the building to see the progress. I’m really fucking proud of how this turned out and I can’t wait to show Mia.
“It looks good. Mia’s going to lose her mind.” He laughs as he hums a song and walks around, bouncing her on his chest.
“I’m meeting with Coach at four, so I’m going to get going. Thanks for all of your help with this, man. And just in general. I know you’ve been dealing with your own shit, so I appreciate you always showing up for mine.”
“We all struggle with something, the first part of working on it is admitting that it exists.” Chase shakes my hand as we leave.
The day I went for a hike by myself in Wisconsin, I brought a notepad with me. I wrote down a list of things that I wanted to accomplish that had nothing to do with football. The last few weeks have been amazing. And not just because of everything that happened with Mia, although that’s definitely one of the highlights.
Spending time away from my stressors opened my eyes to a lot more around me. Football is one of the greatest loves of my life—it’s my passion and my job, but it’s not my purpose. It’s not my endgame or my reason for existing. Sure, I love the high of getting into the end zone every weekend, and I knowI’ll miss that when all of this is over. But the real goal is living a life outside of the football field that I’m proud of. Making a difference to people for more than just what I do every Sunday.
Athletes don’t talk about their mental health. At least not nearly as much as we should. And yet, over thirty percent of us experience mental health struggles. We think we’re supposed to be tougher than our problems, that we’re supposed to suck it up and do our job. We live a life that most people would do anything to have, but it doesn’t make us immune from struggles. I want to help end the stigma surrounding athletes and mental health. I want to be part of the solution, instead of just another statistic in the column.
I’m walking back into this facility today with a clear vision and a hunger to take charge of the things that have been weighing me down, and flipping them into something good, something worth talking about. I’ve always known that I wanted to make a difference for people, to give back and use the platform that I have to inflict change. But the vision for it wasn’t clear until these last few weeks.
The Christmas tree is already up in the entrance of the facility as I walk in. The receptionist at the front waves me in and I offer her a smile. It’s nearly Thanksgiving, but it already smells like Christmas in here, like someone actually just has a pine scented air freshener plugged in around every corner.
When I turn down the hall to where the coach's office is located, I feel a small wave of nerves wash over me, but nothing extreme. It feels bearable. Like I’m just excited to be back within these walls.
As I walk down the hall, it feels like I’m coming back to school after being home for Christmas break. Everything feels new, fresh and like the possibilities are endless. Taking a break to look at things from a different perspective really helped me see the bigger picture here.
I’ve realized there are so many things I want to do with my life and my time here, aside from being on the football field. I want to finish this season as best as I can, however that looks. I don’t expect to start on Sunday. I’ll be okay if I don’t. But I’m ready to be around the guys again, back in that environment. There are plenty of things to discuss before I step foot back on the field, but just being back here brings me some comfort. Something I didn’t actually feel a month ago, just solidifying the fact that the break was needed and it helped.
“Coach,” I say, tapping on his door as I push it open.
He walks up to me, wrapping me in a bear hug before letting go and taking a seat on the other side of his desk. His bright red windbreaker stands out against my black and white flannel.
“How are you feeling?” His eyes are pleading for the truth and this time I give it to him.
“I spent the majority of the last few weeks letting myself wander, letting my body and my mind just relax. I’ve listened to podcasts and done a lot of self-reflecting. I’ve honestly just been trying to survey my life. Which sounds so fucking weird to say, but something I learned during my time away is that I need to be better about communicating. I’ve never been good at it, but I never considered it an issue. Until all of this. Not telling you that I was struggling put the team at risk. I’m just so fucking sorry for everything.”
“Listen, I know this game puts a lot of pressure on all of you. It’s mentally, emotionally and physically a tough game, a tough career path. You don’t owe me an apology, Campbell.”
“I do though, Coach,” I say. He pulls his glasses from his face, placing them on the desk in front of him. “I knew there was a problem and I didn’t speak up. You gave me every opportunity to ask for help and I was too ashamed to admit I needed it. It felt weak.”
Shaking his head back and forth, he looks at me. “You have to be ready to talk about it. I could have asked a dozen more times before you finally said something. You weren’t ready.”
“I am now. I’ve spent time trying to relearn some things about myself in my time off. Trying to understand my purpose in all of this. I can admit I still need help fully understanding and managing all of it, but at least I feel like I have a better self-awareness now. I needed the time away.” I sigh. “And now, I need you to tell me how I can contact the team therapist.”
His lips press together in a firm line as he nods his head and extends his hand out to shake mine. “Anything you need, son.”
When I heard knocking at my door at six thirty in the morning, I had half a mind to grab a baseball bat.
“Hannah, is everything okay?”
My sister’s eyes are red and puffy, her hair looks like she hasn’t showered in days and there’s a bandage on her forearm that looks like it needs to be changed.
“Can I stay here?” she squeaks out in a broken voice, holding her arms against her chest. There’s a small suitcase to her left, but it’s barely the size of a carry on. There’s no way that all of her belongings fit in there.
