Robin's Story

I want to preface this story by saying that I am always amazed how opening up to someone can start a chain reaction of connection and support. That no matter how scary it felt it was the best thing I have ever done for myself. My mental health journey began with a simple yet profound step: confiding in my athletic trainer at Temple University. This act of vulnerability led to a referral to the mental health team, who were instrumental during a time in my life where I was very sick, not physically, but mentally. Thanks to their help and the support of my family and friends I recovered, graduated, went on to work as a software developer, and found a position at a company that champions cognitive wellness, performance, and technology, the things I am truly passionate about myself.

At this company, I found the opportunity to reconnect with TUWellness, sparking a dialogue on how I could use my unique skills to help more athletes. This introduced me to Sam Steele from The Hidden Component community at East Stroudsburg University. Sam's own journey of vulnerability and community building resonated with mine, and our meeting was a testament to the power of connection. By being open and willing to connect, he allowed me to reach out to all the great people that are running The Hidden Component at ESU today. That’s why I get to share my story with you today:

It's easy to think that if someone looks healthy, they feel healthy too. But that wasn't true for me. When I was going through my toughest time, I actually looked like I was at my best. At 22, I was fit, active, and from the outside, my life seemed pretty perfect. I was doing well in college, playing Division 1 sports, keeping my grades up, and I even had a girlfriend. But despite all this, inside, I was really struggling, fighting severe depression.

However, if you looked a bit closer, things weren't as great as they appeared. I was in a relationship that wasn't working out, but I couldn't bring myself to end it. I was young, and so was she, and honestly, we were just two kids trying to figure out how to make things work between us. Looking back, it might have been that we weren't right for each other, but at the time, the thought of giving up on us felt like admitting failure. It was more than just staying in a relationship; it was about the fear of losing someone who had become an important part of my life. I worried about making a huge mistake, one that I couldn't take back. The fear of regret, of wondering "what if" I had made the wrong decision by leaving, weighed heavily on me. I had moved all the way to the US from my home, chasing the dream of giving my soccer career one last shot after it didn't take off in Germany. And there I was, mostly sitting on the sidelines for four years, feeling like I lost a part of myself along with my identity as an athlete. To top it off, I had a coach who seemed to think players were just there to be used up and thrown away. His obsession with winning overshadowed everything else. To him, I was irrelevant because I didn't fit into his vision of a winning team. This situation only intensified my feelings of isolation and the sense that I was fighting an uphill battle not just for my place on the team, but for my very identity and future in the US. The realization that I was seen as expendable, a mere relic to be managed or moved aside, was deeply demoralizing. It highlighted a stark loss of agency, reinforcing the notion that despite my efforts and contributions, I was ultimately disposable. And with the power to take away scholarship, he held not just my education but my entire life in the US in his hands. It felt like I had no control over my own life, and that was really tough to deal with.

I felt completely alone, I felt like a failure, and I felt too embarrassed to open up to anyone. I spiraled into a deep sense of isolation. I want to try my best to help you understand what depression felt like to me. Imagine not just the absence of happiness, but as if the very capability to feel joy was stripped away. It's like suddenly seeing the world without the tint of hope or optimism. It's like seeing the world exactly for what it is — stripped of the comforting illusions that give life its vibrance. To me, the world felt like nothing more than a colossal rock spinning aimlessly around a fading star. We, its inhabitants, are all so small and our lives so short. We exist momentarily and with no lasting significance. It struck me how fragile we are, how easily everything could just end; the mere fall of a tree branch could end it all in an instant. Even if by some chance we evaded such random catastrophes, in the grand scheme of things, whether we're here or not doesn't change much because eventually, the Earth will just be part of the sun's history. Those were my thoughts as I boarded a plane to Florida to ride the bench for one final American Athletic Conference Championship tournament, pondering the absurdity of human concerns. Putting on my seatbelt I heard my teammates talking about their fantasy football lineup. How could they care about something so trivial, oblivious of the fundamental truths of the world? And why is the kid next to me asking me if I’m ever nervous that our plane could crash? “It wouldn’t matter anyways so why worry about it?" I hear myself tell him. The opposite of happiness is not sadness. It’s indifference.

Depression isn’t sadness, it’s indifference. I did not just feel not happy or sad; I didn't feel much of anything. That would have been manageable. What's so tough about it is that it didn't stop at indifference. The real kicker with depression is how it pairs up with intense anxiety. There were times, no matter how physically exhausted, I found myself walking for hours on end because sitting still felt impossible. It's like your mind is desperate for a release, like needing to use the bathroom but there's none around. Nights were the worst. I like this quote from a book I just read, which describes my nightly routine pretty well: "Fear usually comes and goes, leaving us in flight, ready to fight, or just temporarily frightened. But anxiety hangs in there. It grips the mind, paralyzing it for all but its own purposes—an endless rehashing of the same useless thoughts." This is the worst way to spend your night.

Even worse, anxiety isn't just something you think or worry about; it's something you feel physically. It's a tightness in your chest, a restlessness in your legs, a signal from your body that you need to move or do something, even though you have no idea what something is, and even though the best thing for you would be to rest. Despite knowing this, you can't shake off the feeling that you have to be doing something, anything, to relieve that pressure. It's a cruel cycle that leaves you exhausted but wired. You're caught in a loop that's hard to escape.

It's this loop that drives you crazy. You can’t sleep at night because anxiety keeps you awake and during the day you feel the heaviness of the world like someone put cement in your veins. I truly believe it’s this combination that drives people to the most extreme measures. It took a lot of my energy, energy that I really needed. It was my last year of college, which meant I had my toughest classes. I also had to still go to soccer practice every day for 2 hours. Sometimes I would travel for games on the weekend. If I was even picked to go. 3rd string goalkeeper as a senior... Another blow to my confidence. To be fair, I was in no shape to perform on an elite athletic level anyways. How could I? My mind was sick.

Interestingly, during my toughest times, I also found the courage I didn't know I had. I chose to ask for help with what I was going through mentally. Even though I was scared of seeming weak, scared of admitting that something was wrong with me, and that I couldn't handle it on my own, I took the first step to seek help. Now, I understand that taking that step, allowing myself to be vulnerable, and asking for the help I really needed was the bravest thing I've ever done.

I feel so proud of myself today for that. But it wasn't easy to find the help I needed right away. I talked to my goalkeeper coach about how I was feeling, but it seemed like he didn't get it. He shared a story about himself, saying he just worked harder in his sport to overcome difficulties. He probably meant to encourage me, but it actually made me feel worse about myself.

Yet, I didn't leave it at that and went to our Athletic Trainer, opening up about the same thing. He then referred me to a new mental health department for athletes, that had just been started the year prior. This is where I finally got the help I needed. I found a therapist, who made me feel heard and began exploring together with me of what was really going on.

This doesn't mean I got better right away. It took me months of counseling and many tough times. What really helped was when my soccer career ended, and I could finally choose again how to spend my time. I also lost my fear of doing something that might make me lose my scholarship and my future in school. I loved the classes I took and was looking forward to starting to work as a software developer. Spring came around, the weather got better and the days got longer. Gradually, the darkness faded inside me faded too. My anxiety became something I could handle. The world's weight felt a bit lighter. I learned techniques and insights, how you don't have to believe all your thoughts, and how being mindful is an actual superpower. I learned to live again. One day at a time. Of course, feeling better didn't change the hard truths about our short time on earth and the destiny of our planet. But instead of feeling doomed, I now want to make the most of my time.

It also doesn’t mean that after battling with depression, everything else is so much happier in comparison. There are days I feel very sad or very anxious. But I no longer have days, weeks, or months when I don't care about my life at all. The opposite of happiness is not sadness, it’s indifference. The opposite of a life with depression, is a life with all its ups and downs, with heartbreak and with love, with laughter and with tears, with adventures and days spend in bed, with being sick and being strong and healthy.

Imagine the burst of laughter when you hear a joke that's just so silly, it's perfect, or the warmth of a hug from someone you haven't seen in too long.

Think of the pride in your parent's eyes during a graduation, and the bittersweet goodbyes as friends move away to start new chapters of their lives.

There's the exhilaration of hitting a personal best in a morning run, and the quiet contentment of reading a book by the window on a rainy day.

Feel the joy of witnessing a sunset so vibrant, it feels like the sky is putting on a show just for you, and the heartache of a goodbye that feels too final, too soon.

Think of the electric thrill of a first kiss with someone who makes your heart dance, and the crushing weight of a misunderstanding that drives a wedge between you and someone you love.

Even worse, the feeling when you close the door behind their apartment, knowing that leaving means losing them forever, but knowing that you have to let go for the best of both of you. Yet, there will be those first steps on a much-dreamed-about trip, the awe of a breathtaking view, the unexpected kindness of strangers, or the simple joy of a perfect cup of coffee on a difficult day.

These experiences, both joyful and painful, make up the intricate dance of life. They are a reminder that feeling everything with such intensity — from the heart-soaring peaks to the soul-crushing lows — is what it means to be truly alive, fully engaged in the roller coaster ride that is the human experience.

So let's dance. Let's ride the roller coaster. Let's help each other. Let's love each other. Let's live. With open hearts and open minds. Together. As humans. It's all we have and all we need.