TENNIS: WHERE LOVE MEANS NOTHING

I step onto the court and I freeze. Suddenly my stomach is full of butterflies, my throat in a knot, my yeses glaze over and my mind races. I’m transported back in time 12 years. “Come on Brittany, if you become the umber 1 ranked professional in the world then maybe people won’t be mean to you anymore, maybe you’ll have friends and maybe you’ll actually mean something in this world.” The pressure I placed on myself was enough to suffocate a dinosaur and my self esteem that of concrete. Wait, no, at least concrete serves a purpose. I’m a nobody, a loser and if I don’t become the best in tennis I will forever and always be less than.

Fast-forward 5 years… “Gosh darn it Brittany! You had it all! You had a scholarship to one of the best academies in the world; you had everyone rooting for you and now look at yourself! You let your eating disorder sabotage your dreams. You really are worthless!” But then again, maybe it’s easier to hide behind the identity of an eating disorder than the identity of a tennis player. After all, the pressure and expectations I placed on myself would set anyone up for failure. Mentally I was broken so physically I did too.

Fast forward to the present. “You love tennis Brittany, you are very good at it, but it is not who you are, only a part of you. Win or lose you are still Brittany and you are good enough.” I step onto the court, take a deep breath and smile. ~Britt