My Story: Analisa

 I was overjoyed when I committed to row at Notre Dame during my senior year of high school, but I didn’t know what was in store for me the next few months. Just weeks after I signed the National Letter of Intent in October of 2016, I started feeling sharp pains shooting down my legs and my back seized up every time I got in a boat. After various MRI scans, I was diagnosed with two bulging discs in my back and I wasn’t given any sort of timeline as to when they would heal. I missed the bulk of my senior season and started my freshman year at Notre Dame in the same place I had been a year ago.

I was pessimistic about my future on the rowing team due to my back, but I wanted to give it everything I had for that year. I spent countless hours on the bike and extra time in the training room doing rehab, and it finally paid off when I was able to step in a boat again for the first time in February of 2018. I worked my way up the ladder that spring and made the 2V4+ boat and won the silver medal at the ACC Championships.

I was so excited to have my rowing career back on track and I was sure that I would be a member of this team that I loved so much for the rest of my time at Notre Dame. I entered the fall of my sophomore year confidently and things went smoothly, but I started having issues again in the early months of the spring.

To this day I have no clue what brought it on, but my rowing stroke started falling apart. Every single movement felt awkward. Although I was performing well and felt strong, my rowing stroke was completely dysfunctional. People told me I was just overthinking things and said I would be back to normal soon. I cried every single day having no idea what was wrong with me. As the season progressed and nothing changed, I started searching for answers. I video chatted with sports therapists throughout the country. Over these months, the sport I had loved so much had turned into a massive burden in my life and despite close bonds with my teammates, I dreaded going to practice.

Finally, after months of searching, a therapist in Boston diagnosed me with task-specific focal dystonia, more commonly known as “the yips.” Task-specific focal dystonia is a movement disorder that interferes with the performance of particular tasks. It generally affects people who play sports and engage in other activities involving repetitive, highly practiced motions. There is no known cause or solution. I cried for hours when I received this diagnosis, but less out of sadness and more out of relief. It felt so good to know that there was a name for what I was going through and I wasn’t crazy. I pushed through the season and rowed in the 3V8+ at the ACC Championships that year. Although the boat didn’t perform how we had wanted to, I was proud of the work the team and I had put in.

I spent that summer between my sophomore and junior year taking time away from rowing hoping that the issue would resolve itself. In August, it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen. Although I didn’t know the reasons behind my dystonia, I knew that it was my body’s way of telling me that this is not what it was meant to be doing anymore. I made the difficult decision at that moment to leave the team. I was heartbroken. Not only was I abandoning the sport that I had put so much into (and had given me so much), I was also leaving my teammates who made me the person I am.

On top of the pain of leaving my sport and my teammates, I felt intensely shameful and guilty about my decision. All of my life I had been told that quitting means that you’re weak. I felt like by no longer being a varsity athlete, I was less valuable to the world. It’s taken me over a year, but my perspective has finally changed. With support from my family and friends and lots of therapy, I’ve come to realize that my productivity does not determine my worth. The only thing that matters is how you treat others and if you live a life of integrity. I could’ve suffered through two more years of rowing and finished out my college career, but I would’ve been living an extremely unhappy lie. Although giving up all of the wonderful things that come with being on a team was difficult, it was the decision that I needed to make to heal my body and soul. It has also given me the opportunity to explore new areas of interest in my life such as writing, running, and research, and I have formed closer relationships with friends that I didn’t get to see as much before.

Even though I feel good about my decision today, I still sometimes struggle with those same feelings of shame that I had when I quit. But I also feel so much more whole, calm, and healthy, and I wouldn’t trade that tranquility for anything. When I get focused on what I lost by leaving the rowing team, I try to shift my energy to consider everything that I have gained. To anyone experiencing similar feelings of shame, grief, or loss: find a community, go to therapy, and focus on the good. You are not alone.