I’m an enneagram 3, aka the achiever. For those of you who are unfamiliar with that, the enneagram is a personality test that has exposed me while simultaneously allowing me to better understand myself. I am driven by success, accolades, achievement, and my performance. In my eyes, my self worth and identity has always been measured through what I accomplish. I didn’t realize how deeply rooted I was in this way of thinking until I no longer had any accolades to measure my value with. I received a couple of awards throughout the following weeks of my career ending, which allowed me to hold on to this part of my identity for a bit longer. After that, some additional awards trickled in the next semester, so my worth was still hanging on by a thread. Then one random day it was over, and it hit me like a train that I would no longer be able to validate myself through my achievements on the court. For months I genuinely felt that I had nothing to work for, nothing to fulfill me, and nothing to define me. My identity was gone.
I wish I had realized that my value doesn’t change based on my stats or my performance years ago. That would have made the transition after I finished playing much easier, but also would have alleviated a lot of pressure during my career. I struggled with performance anxiety to an extent, and most of it was self induced. If I had a bad game, or what I viewed as “bad,” I was in an immediate terrible mood. At the beginning of my college days, if I didn’t play well and we won, I was still lowkey upset. Thankfully, as I got older I was able to let that selfish part of me go, but I then started to blame all of our loses on myself. On the other hand, if I performed to my standards and met the expectations I had set for myself, life was good. I’m sure I was a bundle of joy to be around after I had a bad game, and I apologize to all those personally victimized by my mood swings. This was a roller coaster way to live, considering we played multiple games a week, sometimes per day. It was tough for me to shake bad past performances, but I also found that I was able to use the good ones to build my confidence for the future.
After matches we would talk in the locker room and the final stats sheet would get passed around. Before looking at the sheet, I already knew if I was interested in what it had to say or not, based on the kind of game I had (or thought I had). If it was good, I was one of the first ones to check the exact numbers I put up, but if I felt the opposite, I wanted nothing to do with that sheet. I had already determined my worth for the rest of the night before seeing the actual stats, and I kept this up for 4 years. I haven’t admitted this to anyone else, although I’m sure it’s not breaking news, but I thrived off of recognition. I never asked for it verbally, but through my play and work ethic, I was screaming to be acknowledged. Somewhere during my career, I started to believe that my entire identity rode on my success, and I never stopped believing that. Whether it came as instant gratification in the form of player of the week, or delayed until the end of the season as All-Conference/All-American honors, I desired this validation. I allowed these things to fill my cup, and when I didn’t receive acknowledgement, I was empty and felt unworthy.
Being motivated by accolades is fine, and ultimately it works, but it also means that it’s all I was able to think about. Obviously, awards are based off of statistics...which meant that I had to show out every single match to have a shot at the accolades I had my sights set on. I got so caught up in stats and what numbers I needed to put up, that it started to have a negative impact on my play. It also made the game less enjoyable for a while. During the beginning of my junior year, I remember really struggling with this and not being able to get out of my head about stats, due to the pressure I put on myself trying to measure up to my performance the previous season. I texted my dad and told him that it was affecting my play and I didn’t know how to get break this cycle. He responded with a line that I’m sure he hasn’t thought about since but I’ll never forget, “play for fun and the stats will come.” I kept this phrase with me for the next two years, and had to remind myself of it almost every day, sometimes mid game. Before every match my senior season, I drew a greater than sign on my left wrist to serve as a reminder that WE>ME, and I was playing for so much more than myself.
It has taken me a year and a half to start to truly realize and believe that I am more than my performance. I still struggle with this way of thinking everyday, it just looks different now that I’m not an athlete. I have had to dig deeper into myself to find what truly motivates me and fills my cup. To be honest, some days I really don’t know the answer to that, and I still feel empty without my accomplishments being tangible and no longer receiving praise for my stats. Ultimately I have come to realize that my worth and identity is in God. It always has been and always will be. I’m sure He was watching me put all of this pressure on myself and allowing a sport to validate me, all the while wishing I would just let go. God loved me just as much after my worst match as He did after my best. I now realize that the people who matter most in my life never loved me because I was good at blocking a volleyball. The same goes for you in whatever it is that you’re putting above Him, allowing it to determine how much you love yourself and those around you. You are more than what you do.