With Help, We Can See Our Way Out

By Cara Keating | IG: @cjoans

As long as I can remember, I was drawn to sports. I always had that mentality, as a girl, that I wanted to be able to compete at a high level specifically “be as good as the boys”, that I was tough, mentally and physically, that nothing bothered me. This was fueled by a large family of athletes, mostly I just wanted to throw a football as good as my male cousins at family parties. Lol.

Sports were life for most of my childhood; travel softball, travel soccer, high school athletics. Anything competitive was fun. I fell in love with the game of lacrosse my freshman year in high school. Lacrosse came naturally to me. I also took my first psychology class in high school, I was immediately hooked. I wanted to know so much about the human brain, behavior, people’s experiences and everything in between. I knew very little about mental health at the time, I was just busy living my life, playing multiple sports, hanging out with friends, typical teenage things.

Fast forward to my first year of college, I was fortunate to get a scholarship to play Division 1 Women’s Lacrosse at Penn State University. This was quite an adjustment, I went quickly from being a star athlete to being a little fish in a very big pond. I knew no one, was far away from my family, and started to struggle mentally. I tried to pretend I was ok, but those close to me saw through this. I didn’t play my best, because I didn’t feel my best. I was lost. I quit without telling my parents. I gave up something I loved. Now what?

But I adjusted, I started doing martial arts as a physical outlet. After four years, I got my degree in psychology and moved back home. Life went on. I began coaching, continued martial arts, playing on women’s leagues in soccer, eventually moved, got a job in the mental health field, got married and then had a child.

Having a child completely rocked my world and my mental health. It was unexpected, I was tough, right? I was the person that “nothing bothered” that was my identity. I was the mentally strong one. I was the one others went to with their problems for help, I could carry a huge mental load. So I thought.

My son had medical issues, he was behind developmentally. I was a nervous wreck. I wasn’t sleeping, I was losing weight. I was continuing on under the impression that this was just what life was like now, just soldier on. I was detached and ignoring my mental health. Out of nowhere, I started having panic attacks. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I would wake up in the middle of the night deep in panic, heart racing, unable to breath, unable to think, unable to go to work, unable to be a mom. I was in hell. I couldn’t see my way out.

I broke down and opened up to my spouse and to my parents and a couple of close friends. I could no longer manage my responsibilities. I couldn’t function. I accepted help, but it took years of struggling. I started therapy. I started on medication to manage my anxiety. And I am so grateful for those who rallied around me at this time.

Struggling is nothing to be ashamed of, being mentally healthy requires support and vulnerability. As much as professionally I understand psychology, it was very hard to accept that I needed help. But I am happy I did.

Hang in there, you are not alone. There are always people who are willing to help, sometimes people step up that you aren’t even expecting.