I haven’t been an athlete since I was 18, but the impact of sports still lingers at 26.

Growing up, I played nearly every sport imaginable. Every season came with at least one team — sometimes two. I joined my first club team at seven, playing U9 soccer as a first grader. I rarely got in the game, but that team taught me the politics, the etiquette, the expectations — the unspoken rules of competitive sports:

Be coachable.

If you’re late, you run.

Playing time is earned.

Hustle back from a water break.

Work hard for everything — but natural talent gets you noticed.

As I got older, I played on more and more competitive teams — soccer, basketball, volleyball, swimming, rowing. Each had a slightly different culture, but my experience was always the same — I didn’t work hard because I loved the game. I worked hard out of fear. I lost my ability to relax and just enjoy playing even before my teens. There was so much fear of being yelled at, humiliated, benched, ignored. When I stepped on the field or the court, I wasn’t there to have fun or get better. I was there to follow orders and make few mistakes.

Now, even though I’m no longer an athlete, I still feel the residue. I crave external validation. I light up when my boss praises me. I tense up around authority figures. I dread any type of performance in front of a crowd.

When I became a NARP after graduating high school, I thought it was the worst thing to ever happen to me. It felt like a large piece of my identity was missing and it wasn’t until later in life that I realized it was a blessing in disguise. I discovered who I was in other parts of life — through school, friendships, hobbies, and travel. My confidence grew. Not only that, but the way I viewed sports shifted. It was no longer about me. I could enjoy sports in the way I was always meant to — with excitement, appreciation, and joy. Being a spectator means you are a supporter. And for most of my athletic life, I never had that. Not from coaches. Not from teammates. My parents were always in the stands, but on the field, it felt like I was alone — performing, not playing. 

Boston made me fall in love with sports again. I moved here at 23 and immediately felt it — the energy, the loyalty, the constant buzz of games and teams and rivalries. It’s no coincidence that my dream of working in the sports world started here. This city is saturated with sports, and the culture is infectious. It reminded me that sports don’t have to be a source of stress or fear. They can bring out the best in people. They can make you feel part of something bigger.

Sports have this unmatched ability to bring people together. They give cities something to rally around — especially in hard times. When tragedy strikes, sports teams show up. When the world feels overwhelming, a game offers an escape. And when two strangers find out they root for the same team, they suddenly aren’t strangers anymore.

High fives after a touchdown, fist pumps before kickoff, waving towels during a power play — you can find me in the stands.