Retired at 20: Finding Grace in the Wins and Losses of My Soccer Journey

I retired in the fall of 2016 at the age of 20.

Unfortunately, I’m not talking about my 9 to 5—and with the way the economy is going, I’ll likely be barely getting by to make a living until I die.

What I did retire from, however, was my soccer career. I started playing little league at the age of 4, and by the time I was 7, I was set on a path toward collegiate soccer.

I spent 13 years of my life playing competitive soccer. I traveled all across the country, won countless games and championships, and earned a free bachelor’s degree.

Despite all that, I’ve written very little about my soccer career. Aside from a post here and there when I was still playing—usually sharing about how I was balancing my faith and sport—it’s a subject I’ve avoided. Truth be told, I’ve been scared to write about it. In many ways, this post feels like a prelude to what I hope will be a series of reflections. It’s a way to express my intention, work out some of my nerves, and begin to put into words the story that’s been quietly living in my heart.

I’m very aware of the many positive things competitive sports gave me. On a professional and economic level, I’m an extremely driven and determined executor. I know how to work in a team and how to win big. I have no student debt, and I have yet to interview for a job where potential employers don’t “ooh” and “aah” at the sight of Division I on my résumé.

My family made enormous sacrifices to support my career, moving heaven and earth until the very last whistle blew. I have fond memories of tournaments and trips with my teammates. We saw each other through epic wins and heartbreaking losses.

And yet, through a lot of therapy and even more prayer, I’ve come to understand that joy and suffering are inextricably tied. For a long time, I saw them as opposites—thinking that to experience suffering meant there could be no joy, and vice versa. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see that joy and suffering always seem to walk hand in hand. In fact, I’d argue that both lose their essence when separated.

All of this is to say: as I begin to share about the sport that dominated so much of my life—and that undoubtedly will continue to shape me moving forward—I feel called to speak the quiet parts out loud. I want to give voice to the parts I’ve kept hidden in my head and heart for years.

Some of the stories I’ll share are painful, and on some days, they still make my skin crawl. But even so, I deeply reverence and cherish these parts of my life. I don’t believe in erasing history, no matter how dark it may seem. My faith in Christ has taught me that no matter how broken our story may be, grace has the power to consume it. When we allow grace to enter, we can experience a redemptive light that transforms even the darkest moments into something beautiful—something that draws us closer to the heart of the Father.

So, here’s to starting the conversation. It’s not easy, but I believe it’s worth it. The stories of joy and suffering, of wins and losses—they’re all part of the bigger story God is writing in my life. And I trust that He’s not finished yet.