How quitting (almost) ruined my life
A story from a reformed quitter...
I’d like to sit here and say that I’ve never quit anything, but I would be lying.
Unfortunately, one particular exit hasn’t left my mind in years. The memory of this moment in my life has haunted me for too long.
And I’m finally exorcising it out of my life.
“You’re going to be the next Serena Williams.”
That’s something I heard often when I played tennis as a kid. Most of this praise came from loved ones wishing to cheer me on.
Most of them didn’t know the first thing about tennis before I started playing, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.
When I started playing tennis, I entered a court that had already crowned its champions. They were girls my age and had been training much longer than me. But, not only did they have time on their side, they were prodigies.
I was a beginner in every sense of the word.
It was a grueling start. I was out of shape and inexperienced. So many swings and many more misses. Repetition after repetition.
I would leave practice exhausted but somehow invigorated.
I can’t say how long it took me to get better, but as with anything you do often, you eventually start getting the hang of things.
Soon I was known for my backhand. I was faster and healthier. Finally, I felt like I could call myself a tennis player.
After about a year, I joined my middle school tennis team.
Practice was more of the same.
Repetition after repetition. But this time the pressure was on. I wasn’t just playing to play, I had a team that relied on me. I had expectations to meet and a reputation to uphold.
When my first match came along, all the encouragement and compliments I’d gotten were floating around in my head. With all my training, of course, I go out there and compete. I’d win, right?
Nope.
Every ball I missed. Every serve I shot into the net. Every time my opponent flipped their score card and I didn’t.
Every single mistake felt like a kick in the stomach.
I grew progressively more angry and heartbroken through the entire match. It took a while for me to dust myself off after that first match.
But once I did, I went even harder at practice. Tried my best to excel. To hone my skills.
And yet, I still lost.
From my recollection, I lost almost every game I played.
Maybe I won more matches, but my losses have taken up much of real estate in my mind.
It was devastating.
After my last game (my last loss), I had hit my limit.
I remember that moment so clearly.
Eyes puffy from crying. Vision blurry from tears. Sitting in the back of my dad’s van, trying to make myself as small as possible.
“I’m done.”
From Loser to Quitter
I was absolute in my decision that day.
Years later, however, the ghost of that decision made its way back into my mind.
Comments from my old coach and my mom prompted the beginning of my obsession with that decision. They were convinced that I had stopped too soon and that I could have been great.
Then it was other relatives always asking me how tennis was going followed by me having to awkwardly explain why I quit.1
Did I stop in my prime? Should I have just kept going?
Am I a quitter?
A seven-letter word no one wants to think of themselves as.
A word that racked my brain, especially as someone raised to persevere.
All of my previous achievements paled in the shadow of this decision. And from that point on I did everything in my power to be anything but a quitter.
I took on jobs I hated and stayed at them longer than I should have. I dealt with disrespect and dissatisfaction, regardless of how excruciating I was.
And despite wearing my suffering as a badge of honor, deep down, I still felt less than.
I still felt like I would running away from being a quitter forever.
The Exorcism
Knowing when to quit is a skill. Doesn’t seem like it, but it is.
Some of us do it too early, others too late.
I can’t say which category I fell in after that last match, but I do know that I was wrong in seeing it as a step backward.
After trying to make something work for so long, I realized my heart just wasn’t in it anymore.
I just didn’t enjoy playing anymore.
I thought to quit something it had to be because of something outside of my control. Something drastic.
But not enjoying something anymore is just as valid of a reason to quit.
Especially when you have been trying your best.
So, instead of seeing that day as a mistake. Instead of ridiculing my younger self, I want to commend her for knowing when to stop.
It’s a lesson I forgot in recent years, so I hope to learn from her choice.
I pray that from this point on, I don’t put myself through undue harm, mentally or physically, just avoid an imagined shame in quitting.
I’ll leave with what was a working subtitle for this post.
Difficulty is not the sole measure of virtue.
Till next time xx
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In no way am I blaming anyone for anything btw, this was about my perception of the situation.
wow zavia. I don't even have the words to express here how much this post impacted me. your vulnerability and honesty here were so generous and beautiful. the way you portrayed how it felt to explain to ppl why you had to quit tennis when they asked, the way this decision haunts you... how do you feel about this decision now? has your love for tennis come back? I also want to remind you gently that there is absolutely no shame in quitting, from reading this, I completely understand why you did💜 sometimes the best choice is the one we've made, you did what you could with what you knew and felt, you felt you weren't enjoying it as much, you listened to your heart, not others. And if this is something that you feel was wrong, and it is you that actually feels it, it is a sign you have learned a very valuable lesson too that will help you make the best decision in the future <3