But from age 3, when I had a ball at my feet, I felt at ease in my skin, comfortable being me, whole. I felt free. The pure exuberance I felt, I later understood was a result of a unique space of refuge. When I had that ball at my feet, all of the expectations for girls and femininity dissolved away. I had a space where I was able to dress how I felt comfortable and express my gender without inhibition. You gave me a place where I didn’t have to justify why I didn’t present or act more girly, explain why I avoided makeup, where I didn’t have to defend myself to my peers. Soaking in the smell of freshly cut grass, in a t-shirt and shorts next to teammates who accepted me, you gave me a space where I could be me.
As I warmed up for games through high school, “who run the world ... girls...” echoed in my ears. My strides felt seamless—bouncing and leaping with every step I took; I felt energy—power—rushing through my body. It was one of the first times the world told me, specifically, that women are powerful… and I actually believed it. And I actually believed I was one of those women.
In college you taught me that my strong, muscular body was a strength. You showed me that it was beautiful. The self-acceptance and freedom I had always felt on the field seeped off the field as I came to trust my teammates with my world. These teammates opened my mind, rewarded vulnerability, forced me to grow, and brought out the scared aspects of my identity.
It was my teammate who pushed me to seek out opportunities to learn about better approaches to mental health stigma, trauma, assault and body acceptance. It was my teammate who gave me my first ever tie—I cried as I read the note she had left and held the tie she had placed in my locker delicately in my fingers — she made me feel seen. It was my teammate who showed up in rainbow laces and ribbons during our Play with Pride game to celebrate our community and my own queerness. It was my teammate who taught me that home didn’t have to be a physical space. These relationships brought me outside of myself and allowed me to connect to an even larger community.
You have made me feel part of a world of female athletes who refuse to accept anything less than equal. You have given me the chance to learn from vocal leaders like Caster Semenya, Colin Kaepernick, Serena Williams and Megan Rapinoe who refuse to let prejudice, homophobia, institutional racism and corporate intimidation silence their platform. You have helped me to learn to love who I am and taught me that I have a voice.
I take comfort in the fact that, while my time playing college soccer has officially expired, I really don’t need to have a ball at my feet to let out my inner tomboy, to explore my gender expression, to feel my power as a woman, to grow into myself and to be vulnerable with those around me.
That isn’t to say, however, that you won’t be greatly missed.