My ‘why’

NOTE: This blog post was originally published March 2nd 2022 prior to starting the PCT.

A big part of my preparation, in between intense gear research (blog post inbound) and a few shakedown hikes, I’ve been thinking a lot about my ‘why’. Everything I’ve read has said that tough times on the trail are inevitable but being clear on your purpose can keep you focused on making it through. This post is largely about my transition out of elite sport, experiences of chronic purposelessness and the unresolved shame of unrealised athletic potential. It’s long and pretty intense so consider yourself warned.

Being this vulnerable feels terrifying but here goes nothing. 

First, a bit of background and I promise I’ll make this part snappy. 

I’d always been a sporty kid. I grew up chasing after my older siblings, playing hockey, running, surf life saving and surfing but it was the family obsession with rowing that got into my bones. I first got in a boat at age 12 with my dad and it only grew from there. After school, I spent my first few years of uni racing for Melbourne Uni Boat Club and just having a bit of fun with it. It was only really in the 2016 season that I got a taste of what elite sport could be and I loved it. After some strong domestic performances, I was thrilled to be selected in the Australian Under 23 Lightweight Double at the World Champs alongside my best mate. Competing at that level and experiencing the world-class support of the VIS program in the lead up was simply phenomenal and I was keen to keep that momentum going into 2017. Those in the rowing community know how tough it is to make that leap from U23 into the Senior team but I was motivated, fit and raring to go. 

The decline

Now that I’ve set the scene, there’s no need to go into detail for what happened next as it's a tale as old as time. For me it was a combination of a persistent tendon injury, frustrating selection decisions and shift in focus towards a centralised training model. This meant that when I missed out on making the Senior Australian Rowing team in 2017, a lot of my friends moved away to the national training centres and I was left feeling confused and isolated. Transitioning to a centralised funding model also meant the VIS program was stripped back, the coach that I’d built a really strong connection with moved into a different role and my VIS scholarship wrapped up- I was at a loose end. 

The problem with ‘potential’ is that it allows you to live in a future you haven’t earned.

In 2016, I really believed that I had the potential to be competitive internationally but come 2017, it wasn’t the reality I was living in. The fact is, that for every athlete who successfully makes the transition from U23 to Senior A, there are plenty more who don’t make it and now I was one of them. I know I’m not alone in this feeling but at the time, I’d never really heard anyone talking about it. I felt like I wasn't entitled to be suffering so much with the transition period because I hadn’t been to an Olympics or been an athlete for a decade. But what I was experiencing was a different kind of transition, one dominated not by the diminishing legacy of an esteemed sports career but of the unfounded and illegitimate grief of unrealised potential. 

I’d spent the last few years compromising my professional and personal life to realise my athletic goals so when that high performance dream began to slip away, I felt untethered. My rowing prospects were dwindling rapidly and I had a profound sense of directionlessness in my career (or lack thereof) outside of rowing resulting in me occupying a space in that all too familiar gap between elite sport and real life, feeling not very good at either. 

I knew I needed help but it took me a while to get it. After a false start in 2017 with a psychologist who I didn't vibe with at all,  it took me another year of floundering before I summoned up the courage to try again. I found a new, fabulous GP who gave me a referral to The Mind Room and encouraged me to read through the profiles of their sports and performance psychologists to find someone that sounded right for me.

Meeting Jo

I had my first session with Jo about four years ago now and I feel very lucky to have her on my team. In those first few sessions we talked a lot about my relationships- my family, school friends, rowing friends, college friends- as well as bigger life events- moving out of home, finding purpose in work, not letting work become my identity- all things that sound like pretty normal things for someone transitioning out of elite sport. I never felt the need to ask for any kind of diagnosis and it never really came up in our sessions, I was just enjoying having someone to help me unpack my thoughts. 

It must have been early February of 2020 when I popped into what would be, unbeknownst to the two of us, be my last in-person session at the clinic with Jo for some time- thanks covid! The last time we’d spoken, at the end of 2019, I’d been pretty low, stress accumulating on multiple fronts and I wasn't coping. But only a few weeks later, I felt different. Probably one of the reasons why I never felt like I required a diagnosis is that my understanding of depression didn’t fit with the fact that I wasn’t always ‘down’. Sometimes, like this time in Feb, I felt good, in fact better than good. Whilst sometimes I’d have these periods of feeling super down, I also went through periods of complete normalcy and then from time to time I’d have these bursts of inspiration where my more extroverted and creative tendencies come out- scintillating ideas scribbled on illegible pieces of paper, mind racing and a sense of freedom that expressed itself in relatively mild but still uncharacteristic periods of heightened spending and social energy. But hey, it felt good to feel good again so I didn’t overthink it too much.

The catalyst

It was late on a weeknight and I was in the middle of yet another furniture shuffle/redecorating spree in my tiny Collingwood bedroom when my housemate popped her head in to see what the commotion was. We joked about my random sudden burst of energy and she lightheartedly described my energy as ‘manic’. I really didn’t dwell on it much until my next session with Jo when I used this story as evidence of the inconsistencies of my depressive symptoms. It was towards the end of our session with just a few minutes left on the clock but that anecdote seemed to prompt an idea and Jo gently asked me if I was familiar with bipolar disorder. Dear reader, I was not. We spoke for a few more minutes before she sent me off with strict instructions- “don’t google rampantly, only look at either BeyondBlue or Black Dog and nothing else”. Dr. Google was not to be trusted but those two sites could be. So I did as I was instructed and started to read - I think you probably know where this is going. 

It wasn’t a long walk home but I took my time through the backstreets of Collingwood, my head glued to my phone looking at this exact page. Filling up with equal parts relief from validation and distress at this monumental realisation, the tension inside bubbled over as I walked in the door. I headed straight for the bathroom, turned on the shower and stood under the faucet, attempting to mask the guttural sounds coming out of me as I sunk to the floor of shower, still partially clothed, sodden and hyperventilating. I hadn’t cried like that in a long time. Like proper, grief-stricken ugly crying. I finally felt like there was a way to explain what I'd been experiencing and the weight of that realisation felt like more than I could bear at that moment. 

Whilst I am grateful that my experience overall has been what most would consider mild, on the balance of it I could identify recent experiences of almost every single sign of hypomania (the less severe version of full blown mania): high levels of creativity, energy and activity, sleeplessness, racing thoughts, talking over people, highly irritable, impatient or aggressive (for me, quick to anger), impulsiveness, poor concentration. Yet also alongside these, I’d also experienced seemingly incongruous depressive feelings: hopelessness, loss of interest in usually pleasurable activities (for me this presented as a complete loss of my passion for pretty much all physical activity), excessive sleep, loss of energy, physical slowing, low self-esteem, feelings of guilt, problems concentrating. 

Meeting Adam

After a week of processing (and an inflated gas bill from my extremely long, emotional shower) Jo referred me to a very highly regarded sports psychiatrist and not long after, I sat down across from Adam in his clinic overlooking leafy Fawkner Park. After years of seeing Jo and feeling like she knew me so well, I thought it would be strange to “start again” with someone new. Somewhere between small talk about the surf conditions, lockdown restrictions and his disarming patience, Adam somehow made me feel instantly at ease and our hour-long sessions went by quickly albeit with a smattering of more ugly crying on my part. 

I won’t bore you with the details from here but after a few sessions Adam confirmed the suggested diagnosis of Bipolar II and after much discussion of various management techniques, I started on a tailored course of medication. I was pretty hesitant to turn to medication but Adam provided me with tailored medical advice whilst I continued regular cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) with Jo. The combination of the two approaches, and their excellent communication with each other,  helped me to reconcile with the diagnosis and learn some self management techniques. Whilst I’ve now tapered off the meds, I continue my monthly-ish sessions with Jo and I’m so grateful that this combo has worked for me.

Not only is she a great psychologist, it was Jo who brought the attention to the AIS Mental Health Referral Network. Despite feeling like an absolute fraud for what I felt like was a loose eligibility (“are you sure the U23 team counts….?” I asked at every turn), I was very appreciative of the program subsidising some of my sessions with Adam and Jo. I don’t take it for granted that I had access to financial support, a small but mighty team of incredible mental health professionals and seemingly endless love and support of my friends and family- I’m one lucky duck. 

NOTE: Whilst my diagnosis really allowed me to turn a corner, I’m cautious of overemphasising the need for a diagnosis, or even a suspected diagnosis, to take your mental health seriously. I would never want someone to feel like they need a specific “reason” to seek out the assistance of a psychologist. For me, the most important thing was that it helped me to understand what I was experiencing and establish a management plan that worked for my symptoms. So if you’re struggling, a lot or even just a little, please go see your GP and ask for a mental care plan/referral. It’s so worth persevering to find the right care for you.

Looking back

In retrospect it’s easy for me to see how my mental ill health contributed to the premature end to my short lived athletic career. I had a real sense of ‘failure to thrive’ and shame about not having the ‘resilience’ to stick with rowing after a few adverse selection decisions. The benefit of hindsight shows me that I’d likely been experiencing bipolar symptoms for some years and that I wasn’t able to manage it until I understood what “it” was. Maybe with an earlier diagnosis I might have been better equipped to manage it and perhaps continue competing but there’s definitely still an unresolved contradiction with the consistency required for success in virtually any elite discipline and living with the mood fluctuations of bipolar-I’m still working on that part. 

This diagnosis story has unfurled over the last few years against the backdrop of the pandemic with layers of moving out of Melbourne to regional Victoria, changing jobs quickly followed by an unexpected redundancy, break ups (yes, plural), starting and finishing a masters degree and finally starting a not-so-new-anymore job that I actually really enjoy. Whilst thoughts of ‘what could have been’ flare up more frequently when I see my very impressive rowing friends/ex-teammates excelling in sport- from winning hard-earned medals at the Tokyo Olympics in rowing or applying their grit and determination in other sports like cycling and running- these moments of regret and wishful thinking are increasingly fleeting. I am really proud of the life I’ve created for myself since then and the experiences and opportunities I’ve had outside of rowing, filled with travel, pursuing other hobbies and a really enriching and fulfilling design career. It’s taken me a long time to get here but I feel like I have purpose again. 

If you’ve made it this far, thank you, and I promise it’s almost over.

Looking forward

In 2022, I’ve set myself my biggest challenge yet- I’m going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). They say that knowing your ‘why’ is what gets you through really hard times and I suppose this has been the world's longest explanation of my ‘why’- brevity has never really been a strength of mine. 

It’s been a good while since I’ve felt up to facing something this physically and mentally challenging but I finally feel ready. In honour of that realisation, it feels fitting to use this experience as an opportunity to raise money for the Black Dog Institute. They played a pivotal role in my experience of coming to terms with my diagnosis and ongoing management of my mental health. 

I’m hoping to raise $4265- that’s $1 for every kilometre I’m walking. 

I’d be so stoked if you were willing to slide a few dollars their way to continue the great work they do in providing support and resources for people like me but also the important work they do to provide systemic solutions to dealing with mental health from research, education and diagnostic support- click here to learn more about where your money goes. 

And whether you’re in a position to donate or not, please do me a favour and get out your phone and call or text a mate to know you’re thinking of them. It’s little moments of support like that got me through to this point and I hope I never take that for granted. 

— Indi

NOTE: It was a few years ago now, but I remember sometime in 2018-ish reading a great article about feeling like your grief of unrealised athletic potential- maybe from ‘Crossing the Line’- but now I can’t find it. If someone else knows what I’m talking about, send it to me and I’ll link it here because it articulates it better than I can.