I’m awful at soccer and I’m okay with that

It was a cold, chilly evening in early October. A silent shiver ran up my spine as the cool autumn air tickled my skin gently. My coach didn’t allow us to wear sweaters over our jerseys, so instead, we girls hugged each other tightly, hoping our bodies could shield the painful wind. Once I had regained feeling in my fingertips, I huddled around the team to begin our pre-game meeting. 

The atmosphere was thicker than usual, we were almost halfway through the season and we still hadn’t won a game. I could tell it was taking a toll on the team’s spirit. At first, the meeting began the way it always did. Our captains told us which side of the field we’d be starting on and any intel they had on the opposing team. Then Coach began reading off the starting lineup, which to my surprise would end with my name, front and center as a striker. 

It was the fall of my freshman year when I naively decided to join the school soccer team. I begged my mom to drive me to the nearest Dick’s Sporting Goods where I would spend my summer paycheck on the newest soccer gear. The only problem was that I had never played soccer a day in my life nor was I even remotely athletic. The thought of competition scared me, I didn’t want to be the loser, I didn’t want to be an anchor to those around me. During my middle school years, I had avoided signing up for any clubs or activities. The only hobby that seemed to interest me was sleeping and binging youtube videos until my screen time became alarming. It wasn’t until my final year where I would step out of my comfort zone and join my school’s annual musical. I think this momentum carried into high school because when my best friend begged to try out for the team together, I hardly hesitated.

I think the hardest thing about being a part of the soccer team was going to practice. It took place every day after school for two hours and most of the time we’d be there for even longer. To make matters worse, our coach wasn’t exactly the friendliest and most of my teammates were seniors who had been playing together for years. I found myself feeling isolated, I wondered why I even returned to practice each day in the first place. Although, I think the reason the field was such a painful place for me lies somewhere much deeper. It was a reflection of my biggest fear, the fear that I was not good at something and everyone knew it.

I am a perfectionist, for me, this means that being poor at things is not an option. This causes me to stay within the familiar bounds of my comfort zone. When I do things that I am great at, my body feels at ease. Anything outside my box of familiarity felt distant and daunting. And so, every time I missed the ball, got hit in the face, or lost, it felt like an attack on my ego, to my sense of self. The cold reality suddenly hit, I was awful at soccer. I was no longer the perfect image I spent years living up to.

Despite loathing the sport, I still put in the effort to get better. I attended extra practices and played with my teammates as much as I could. I first began training with the hopes of improving, but as time passed I started to develop a passionate love for the sport. Practices slowly became more bearable and I started laughing along with my teammates when I made a silly mistake. I learned a lesson that I desperately needed to hear, it’s okay for us to be bad at things, we can still find warmth and fulfillment in such activities even while being horrible.

That day I played as a striker was probably one of my worst games of the season. Being my first real game, I felt pressure to do a good job and not disappoint the team. My mind was absolutely everywhere except the field. I even think at one point I directly kicked the ball to the other team. On the bus ride back, I was beyond disappointed in myself. I pulled my black hoodie over my head and gazed into the window which now blatantly reflected my despair. I felt like I had ruined my chance and let everyone down. To my surprise, my teammates comforted me, they told me I had worked hard and done my best. They met my watery eyes with a warm smile. At that moment, I realized why I had returned each week and why I would continue until the end of the season.

Though my teammates and coaches often praised my improvements, by the end of that fall I don’t think I was that much better at soccer. But I did grow in various other ways. I learned what it meant to be a part of something much bigger than myself. I’d grown into someone less self-centered and more aware of the feelings & conditions of those around me. Most of all, I came to terms with my shortcomings and embraced them lovingly. Shedding my perfectionist mindset has to be one of the best things to ever happen to me. I think that we live in a world that thrives on competition and being at the top. In the near future, I hope that more people can release this suffocating pressure and find value in places that aren’t so high. I now choose to live life with a lighter heart, accepting things that don’t always go accordingly and finding laughter in pain. I think this choice is perfect for me.