Share your story series: Rolling with the punches, having to adapt, then adapt again… and the reward of unwavering resilience.
“Sometimes your best one day doesn’t look the same the next day. But, if I can keep getting up, surround myself with people that allow me to be unapologetically myself, I will see the next day.”
MY NAME IS KELIS BARTON & THIS IS MY STORY
Professional Soccer Player | Rugby Borough FC Women
Trigger Warning: Topics of SuIcide discussed in this article
For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived my life by the saying:
“I’m an open book if you’re willing to read it.”
I’ve always found it difficult to talk about myself or to tell my story unless I felt the audience or person on the other side of the conversation genuinely cared about me or what I was saying… With that, needless to say this is a little out of my comfort zone, so let's all act like you’re extremely interested in my life and have made me feel really comfortable and safe, because here we go.
Lil’ KB
One’s understanding of mental health can vary for many different reasons, generational education, family upbringing(s), racial stereotypes, religious practices, availability of educational resources, and the list goes on. For the little bi-racial, curly haired, bright-eyed girl I once was, the idea of ‘mental health’ wasn’t really ever at the forefront of my big head (shout out dad); until I was about 17 years old. I grew up with my eyes wide open. I wasn’t sheltered from a lot and I’m extremely grateful for that. Because of this, from a young age I understood that the color of my skin, my mother’s skin, and my father’s skin all meant extremely different things in the world. I learned that most of my family struggled with some sort of substance abuse. I learned that neither side of my family was born with a silver spoon or loads of money, but instead was full of hard working, blue collar people. I learned that the area I grew up in wasn’t always the safest or most glamorous, but it was where we could keep a roof over our head, and that’s what was important. I learned that being half British meant a lot of my family didn’t look like me. I learned that my mom had to constantly work to make sure I had everything I needed. I learned that friends can be family and family didn’t always mean blood. But, through all my observant only-child discoveries of the world, the most important thing I learned was that soccer (football) was my safe place; it is the one thing that has always seemed to make sense to me in the midst of any and all chaos.
You’re More Than Your Diagnosis
By the age of 15, I was verbally committed to play Division I soccer at Washington State University on a full ride scholarship. Committing to a school in a power five conference, like the PAC-12, was a dream come true. While it came with loads of stress and making huge life decisions at a young age, it was my dream to compete at that level and to make sure my parents didn’t have to stress financially for me to go to college. Having done what was necessary to get ahead, at 17 years old I made the decision to graduate high school early and enroll in my university a semester earlier than the rest of my class. I was eager to get the ball rolling on the next chapter of my life, metaphorically and literally. It was leading into this transition that I began to feel my emotions in a different way, it felt like there was a consistent extra weight that I couldn’t quite understand.
I would soon find out that this confusing mix of feelings would be defined as major depression. The first vivid memory I have of my depression was shortly before I left for college. I came down the narrow stairs of the town house my mom and I lived in, tears streaming down my face, and she asked me what was wrong. I struggled to get the words out, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It was from that day that I realized my brain didn’t seem to operate the same as others. I felt like I was constantly battling demons that I couldn’t control. Waves of sadness, anger, and confusion plagued me. They would hit me when I least expected it, with very little warning and in inconsolable fashion. This left me with nothing else to think other than… I must be broken. It was during this time that I began to feel guilt for my loved ones, especially my mom, who had to deal with not only my constant mood swings as a teenager but now a severely depressed and confused kid who was getting ready to move away from home for the first time. I felt bad that the one daughter she had was a broken one.
Despite these feelings, life never slows down, even when you feel broken and confused. So I packed up and moved to the small college town that holds so much love, enthusiasm, and…snow, Pullman, Washington. My first semester of college came at me in full force. Within 14 days of being an official student-athlete our campus and athletic department was hit with heartbreak. On January 16th, 2018, the death of our Quarterback Tyler Hilinski was announced. I couldn’t fathom how this sweet boy that I had just met days before in-passing on campus with mutual friends was fighting battles so difficult that he took his own life. But, when I sat in my single dorm room that day alone, I realized that actually, I could understand how he did it, I could understand because I felt the same way. Following the loss of Tyler, our athletic department took strides in mental health awareness and support. In a leap of faith, I found myself finally seeking some support through therapy. I was scared for myself most days, and didn’t know who to turn to. It was then that I got diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, adjustment disorder with anxiety, and, eventually…wait for it… the cherry on top… ADHD.
To have a name and explanation to the feelings and tendencies I was experiencing helped me to digest things mentally. However, that’s not to say that this diagnosis hasn’t made everyday since that breakdown in my mom’s cozy townhouse living room extremely difficult and much more complex than I ever could’ve imagined. The aftermath of getting a diagnosis included a lot of coping (in all aspects of this word), which, of course, is rarely a seamless transition. I needed to learn and practice a lot of patience and grace with myself knowing this wasn’t going to be a smooth and linear journey. A silver lining that came to light through this was that I found a fiery passion in advocating for athletes’ mental health. I knew if I was walking around on campus with a smile on my face and competing on a successful team yet going home in the evening and fighting silent battles, others probably were too.
Regardless of how hard this made my life, what came next, I could have never prepared myself for.
Why Me?
Freshman year wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. It was filled with big transitions and lots of trial and errors but in the midst of the chaos I also made life-long friendships and connections that are still extremely important to me today. I’m so grateful to have made friends and built a support system within my first year because I sure was going to need it going into Sophomore year. I wasn’t naive to think Sophomore year wasn’t going to come with some more challenges, but I also thought it would come with at least more comfort, confidence, and stability…I thought wrong.
At 19 (Sophomore year) I tore my ACL, every footballer's worst nightmare. This intense injury in the best case scenario means a long and hard road to recovery, on the other side of the scale, can spell retirement for some athletes. I tore my left ACL, LCL and had an MCL strain, all in the middle of the 2019 NCAA Tournament Elite 8 game. That year we went on to the College Cup (Final Four), which in itself was a dream come true. Physically, my team was on top of the world, shocking people left and right by exceeding any expectation of what we could achieve and finding success beyond what anyone had thought possible. All of that was incredible and a blessing to be apart of, but, mentally I was struggling, I couldn’t understand why any of this was happening to me— I had finally been getting consistent minutes, I got an assist in the sweet sixteen game of the tournament, and I was playing the best soccer I had all season. Then, out of the blue this injury happened and took it all away; it changed my life. I knew God had a plan for me but I also knew navigating my first major surgery, let alone a major knee surgery was going to be difficult, but what no one could’ve prepared me for, was conquering ACL rehab in the midst of a global pandemic.
2020 was a year that everyone will remember forever, or possibly try to erase from their memories forever. As I arrived back home in Seattle from the iconic ‘never-ending spring break’ life struck yet AGAIN… March 23rd, late at night, I received a phone call from one of my best friends that was also an athlete at WSU. Struggling to get the words out to me with tears coming down her face, she said “Kelis, it’s Beek.” She was calling me to inform me that our friend, and fellow WSU athlete Bryce Beekman had been found dead that night. A pain I will never forget. Storming upstairs (as quickly as one can a few months post ACL-op) I went into my mom’s room fighting painful tears, “Mom, my friend died.”
Bryce, was someone who put a smile on my face no matter what was going on in life, his Louisiana accent always brought joy and laughter to every room and the thought of life without him felt so unfair. Another reminder that everyone was fighting silent battles. Dedicating my comeback to Bryce, I was determined to come back stronger mentally and physically than I was before. I was blessed to find rehab staff that was still open back home in the Seattle area, they quickly became my family and pushed me mentally and physically in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It was a good thing I loved them so much, because little did we all know… I’d be back.
Fast forward, I graduated from Washington State University with a bachelor's degree in Journalism & Multi-Media Production and then invited more change and transition into my life. I finished my college career at the University of Central Florida after transferring there for my 5th season (one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life so far). After a successful season with UCF, and a semester full of making more life-long friendships and connections, I began to seek opportunities for my professional soccer career. I was blessed with the opportunity to trial with some teams in England, which is where I always dreamt of playing, following the footsteps of my Grandad and his own professional soccer career.
After a couple months of spending time in the UK, living with my cousins, bouncing around with teams, and trying to make as many connections as possible, I finally got a contract offer for the up-coming season. My dreams were literally coming true. I returned back to Seattle, surprised my mom for Mother’s Day, and was fully expecting to have a lovely month and a half at home preparing for my first professional season abroad. Albeit, when we plan, God laughs. I ended up tearing my right ACL and Meniscus while back home training. I guess matching scars look better anyway, right?
Once again, I was left thinking ‘why me?' I remember calling one of my best friends crying, scared for my mental well-being saying, “I really don’t know if I can physically survive this again.” And I really thought that, I didn’t think I had it in me. Having your safe space stripped from you for 9-12 months for the second time, while already dealing with constant battles of anxiety and depression all sounded like a recipe for disaster. But as each day came, I took in stride whatever it held; the good, the bad, even the really bad, and…spoiler alert…I did survive. I stayed home in Seattle for a year, worked part-time jobs, traveled to some really beautiful places, got a lot closer to God, spent time with friends and family, and worked my butt off in rehab every single day with my favorite medical staff.
Keep Getting Up
The past seven years have been testing. I have been pushed and pulled in ways I couldn’t have ever imagined, anticipated, or prepared for. There were many times I literally did not think I would live to see the next day, month or year. But, by the grace of God, lots of work with psychologists, trial and error of medications, some really great friends and family, and friends that became family, I am still here, truckin’ along. And by ‘truckin’ along’ I actually mean I am living out my childhood dream of being a professional ‘footballer’ in England. My life is still full of ups and downs, and mental battles. I still struggle to get out of bed some days, I still have to build up courage to take my medications every morning, and I still have days where my anxiety feels paralyzing, but if there is one thing I’ve been able to reflect on over the years and learn, it’s that we are all out here just trying our best. Sometimes your best one day doesn’t look the same the next day. But, if I can keep getting up, surround myself with people that allow me to be unapologetically me, I will see the next day. And more than that, I will keep building a big and beautiful life. I often take time to remind myself that the little bi-racial, curly haired, bright-eyed girl would be so proud of where we are today. Keep going.
With Love and Grace,
KB51