Today is a day I want to remember—and hopefully will. Football has always been a great passion of mine. I started playing as a child, dedicating a large part of my free time to the sport with training sessions three to five times a week. And I loved it. The sweat, the tears, the losses, the victories—everything.
When I started a study program at 18, I didn’t have time anymore and stopped playing. After that, I had an on-again, off-again relationship with football. I played for three more good years before COVID-19 and my eating disorder led me to quit again. I couldn’t enjoy playing anymore. Either I put so much pressure on myself that one mistake would mentally knock me down into a negative spiral, or I struggled with fitness issues caused by fluctuating weight and inconsistent exercise due to my eating disorder.
During therapy, I often thought about playing again. But I kept telling myself that I needed to reach this or that fitness level first.
Two and a half years of therapy later, about a year ago, I finally started playing again. Unfortunately, I spent much of my time on the bench—either because I was sick, away for work, or making too many mistakes. By summer, I had pretty much decided to quit again—either switch to another club and play in a lower league or stop completely.
And then came the last three weeks. I trained well, and we were only 12 players. Starting lineup! Finally back in my favorite position—before this, whenever I did play, it was always out of position because the center-back spots were taken.
The first game went well—not outstanding but solid. I played the full 90 minutes. Afterwards, my body was sore and battered. I skipped two training sessions and just went running to ease the strain on muscles that weren’t used to this level of exertion anymore.
Then came the second game. This time we had 16 players—but still, I played. Again: 90 minutes. We won 4–0. Even while on the pitch, I couldn’t help but smile—smile out of sheer joy. It felt so incredibly good to be out there again. It was a very strong performance from me; I even received special praise afterwards in front of everyone. The entire Sunday, I felt happy—and grateful.
That’s exactly how I feel today too—even though we lost 3–2 in heartbreaking fashion, I’m happy. And that’s despite not starting the game well and making some mistakes during build-up play.
In the past, this would have thrown me off completely. My old coach once said you might as well sub me out after two mistakes because mentally, I'd be done by then. But this time? That didn’t happen.
During the game, I told myself that even these kinds of matches can be enjoyable—and in the end, I played strongly again. Maybe not quite as "perfect" as last week, but I fought hard and gave everything. I pulled myself out of that negative spiral all on my own.
Sure, conceding the 3–2 goal in the 95th minute hurts—but what outweighs it is gratitude. Gratitude for spending two and a half hours moving with friends. Gratitude for becoming mentally stronger. And most importantly, gratitude for being able to feel this sense of thankfulness in this very moment.
Because for me, that’s what fulfillment truly means.
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