Redefining "Tough"
"Being 'tough' isn't about hiding your pain. Being 'tough' is letting yourself be seen."
Redefining What It Means To Be “Tough”
Growing up in athletics, I’ve always been taught that to succeed, one must be tough. I believed
that being “tough” meant never showing weakness, never taking a step back, and never letting
pain get the best of me. For the majority of my life, I pushed through everything. I’ve lived with a
neurological condition called Chiari Malformation my whole life. It's manageable, but it comes
with pain, exhaustion, and a long list of neurological symptoms that don’t exactly mix well with
being a college athlete. On the outside, I looked ok. But on the inside, I was constantly battling
something no one could see.
It's difficult to explain what it's like to compete at such a high level while feeling as if your own
body is working against you. Most days, I lace up my cleats, put on my helmet, and go on as if
everything were normal. That's what I thought being a “tough and dedicated athlete” meant:
showing up no matter what. But the truth is, playing through invisible pain isn't brave or tough.
It’s isolating. I was scared of being seen as weak or unreliable. So I did what I always did, kept
quiet, kept pushing, and kept telling myself that I could handle it.
Then I hit the breaking point. Eventually, the pain became impossible for me to ignore. By the
end of my freshman year, it got to the point where the pain was all I could focus on during
games. I wasn’t focused on the ball, or my teammates, or the score of the game-I was just trying
to get through it. It wasn’t fun for me anymore. It felt as if I was just trying to survive every game
instead of playing it. At this moment, I realized I was hurting not only myself, but my team by
pretending I was ok. I was playing through pain, but I wasn’t playing my best. Most importantly, I
was losing the love I had for the game of lacrosse.
After two brain surgeries in the summer of 2024 to treat my condition, I had no choice but to
slow down. I had to let go of control, take time away from the field, and focus on healing, both
physically and mentally. Throughout all of this, I was incredibly lucky to have a support system
that never made me feel like a burden. My coaches were patient and understanding. My
teammates checked in constantly and always reminded me how valued I was, even if I wasn’t
playing. That kind of love and loyalty reminded me that being an athlete isn’t just about what you
do on game day, but it's about the people who stand by you when you aren't at your best.
During this time, I started to reflect on strength and toughness in a new way. Being tough isn't
about silence. It's about honesty. It's about listening to your body, setting boundaries, and
knowing when to ask for help. It's choosing long-term health over short-term performance.
In college athletics, we don’t talk enough about what happens off the field, especially when it
comes to health we can’t see. There are so many athletes out there quietly managing pain,
illness, or mental health struggles who feel like they can’t say anything because they'll be seen
as less tough, less committed, or less competitive. But continuing to show up, whether it's with
injuries, setbacks, scars, etc, is what makes us tough.To any athletes who are silently struggling: You are not weak for needing rest. You are not selfish for putting your health first. But most importantly, you are not alone.
Being “tough” isn't about hiding your pain. Being “tough” is letting yourself be seen.